The sun poured into the bow window, splashing across the kitchen table, dripping golden light towards the sink. Catherine was rinsing a jadite mixing bowl. Humming to herself, she turned the bowl delighting in its rightness. Nic sat at the kitchen table. A wide ruled notebook lay in front of her and a thick pencil was held tight in her fist. Nic was writing furiously. Catherine assumed it was more scribbles and stick figures. Her little girl wasn’t the best students. Neither of her girls were going to set the world on fire n the brains department, but Chrissy was pretty in her way and Nicole was a title sweetheart. Last Sunday on the way home from church Nic announced she was going to be an author. Chrissy snorted but Catherine pretended to believe.
Nic made a show of carrying an old notebook around and staring with a serious adorable expression. Chrissy teased her, snatching the book and tossing it to one of her trashy friends. Nic had cried ad Catherine and Chrissy screamed horrible names at each other. Chrissy was out with the boyfriend. Again.
The home was peaceful, warm, and smelt of baking cookies. Nic had her tongue poking out, her brow furrowed in concentration. She wrote and wrote. Catherine wished it could always be like this. She rubbed her bowl. Its smoothness soothed her washing away the thoughts of her fights and her difficult daughter. After all I’ve done for you, she thought. She turned to her good girl.
“How’s it going sugar plum?”
Catherine focused back on the sink.
“Mommy, it’s a scary story.”
“Really.” Catherine chuckled. “Are there fighting robots on a space station or a giant lizard in a jungle?”
“No a regular big house with cars and tvs. But the nice house has a queen who is really a witch. She gets a prince to kill the king and the prince does it because he loves her and he thinks she love him but she really loves this thing called insurance. The prince and the queen fight and stuff and the queen witch poisons the prince for his insurance. And now the evil queen wants to insurance the princess.”
The sun washed kitchen is drenched in cold air. Her breath , an icy cloud, Catherine has turned to glass, afraid to move because she would shatter.
“Mommy, how do spell anti-free,” Nic said, “no wait the prince said the witch’s potion was antifreeze. ANTIFREEZE. He’s so smart. He’s my friend and he promises to watch over his princesses. Isn’t that nice?”