WHEN YOU FINISH SAVING THE WORLD ✸ Joel Miller

v. Same Cycle of Nothingness

V.
Same Cycle of Nothingness
✸

       THE APARTMENT SMELLS LIKE DUST and cheap laundry detergent when I walk in, but it's home. Barely. I shut the door behind me with a tired sigh, kick off my shoes, and drop my bag by the door like it weighs more than it should.

       "Hi, Mom," Hayden calls from the kitchen table without looking up. She's hunched over her sketchbook again, tongue poking out just a little in concentration.

      "Hi, baby." My voice is softer than I feel.

I hang up my jacket and move toward the kitchen, where a box of mac and cheese sits on the counter like it's been waiting for me. I grab it and get to work. Water in the pot, flame lit on the stove. Elbows aching from the day, from crouching on cold floors, from pretending to be okay.

Behind me, I hear the scratch of crayon against paper.

The water starts to boil. I dump in the noodles.

       "Why're you so tense?" Hayden asks casually, as if she were asking what time dinner is.

I turn slowly to look at her, eyebrows raised. "Where'd you learn that word, pumpkin?"

She grins without lifting her head. "I'm not in second grade."

Rolling my eyes, playfully, I go over to where she sits at the round wooden table and rub my fingers against the top of her head. "You're not?" 

She lets out a short laugh, quickly swatting me away, but still, her eyes never leave the paper. 

      "Well," I say, trying to sound amused instead of exhausted, "maybe I'm just getting old."

She doesn't say anything. Doesn't deny or agree. Ouch.

      "How was your day?" I ask as I pull the chair out from beside her and sit down in it. 

"Boring," she says immediately. "I read half of Harry Potter. Then I drew."

I smile. "That's a pretty good day in my book."

She frowns into her mac and cheese. "Not as good as your days. You go on adventures."

My back stiffens, my brows raise with amusement. "Who told you I go on adventures?"

Hayden shrugs. "I dunno. But you always come back looking like you saw a dragon or something."

I bite my tongue to keep from laughing—or maybe crying. Either way, the sound gets stuck in my throat.

       "It wasn't an adventure today," I say finally. "Just stupid grown-up stuff."

       "What kind of stuff?"

My thumb grazes over the silver ring that lays on the one finger. I meet her eyes, all wide and unblinking. And for a second, I think about telling her. About the blood, about Marlene, about the kid with a knife and the man who might as well be her dad. 

But I don't.

So I just smile again. "Just work, baby. Nothing important."

She studies me like she's trying to solve a puzzle. Then she nods once, solemnly, and continues back to her drawing. 

         THE APARTMENT IS QUIET NOW, save for the soft hum of the fridge and the faint patter of rain against the window. The mac and cheese is long gone—Hayden scraped her bowl clean and left it in the sink without me asking.

She's curled up on the couch, blanket around her shoulders, sketchbook still balanced on her knees. The TV flickers with the glow of some old cartoon, volume turned low. I should tell her to go to bed. I should get up, do the dishes, fold the laundry that's been sitting in the basket for three days.

But instead I sit there, in the kitchen chair, elbows on the table, head in my hands. Just trying to think. My eyes sting, and I'm too tired to tell if it's from the smoke of the burned mac and cheese crust or from something else.

       "Mom?" Hayden's voice is small, almost uncertain.

I lift my head, force a smile. "Yeah, baby?"

She hesitates, chewing on the end of her crayon. "Are you okay?"

The question slices deeper than it should. I open my mouth, but nothing comes out at first. I look at her—really look at her. Hair messy from where she's been leaning back, eyes a little red from the long day. She's trying to be brave. Trying not to ask too much.

So I get up, go over, and sit beside her on the couch. I pull her close, kiss the top of her head.

      "Yeah, baby," I whisper. "Don't worry about me."

She nods against my shoulder, and I stay like that, holding her, until the cartoons blur into the night and I can't tell if she's asleep or just pretending.