Silence Beyond Words

Old Spice

"So?!" Francine's voice rumbles through the thin walls as Norma shuts the door behind her.

"Jesus!" she shrieks and rests her entire body against the wooden door with a loud thump, her keys dangling in her hands. "Mom!"

"I'm sorry, honey," she cackles as she steps closer to her daughter. She holds onto the straps of Norma's backpack and slides it off her body. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Francine tangles her arm with Norma's, escorting her to the kitchen and excited as ever to hear her talk about her first day of school.

"I thought you were working late," Norma sighs, allowing her mother to lead her to the kitchen.

"I had a meeting, but it got postponed."

"So, you rushed home? That's unlikely of you," Norma states with a sparse grin. "You cooked?"

"Don't act so surprised," Francine rolls her eyes and drops the bag on the kitchen counter. "I made your favorite. Chicken Marsala."

"No way!" Norma pretended to be dazzled, understanding that her mother only makes this specific meal when she's feeling sorry for something.

"Oh, quit," Francine spat sourly, recognizing the significance behind Norma's ironic tone. "Wash your hands. Sit."

"Yes ma'am," Norma smiles as she roams towards the sink, pumping soap into her hands.

"Tell me about your day," her mother starts, opening the cabinets and taking out two white plates. "And keep it PG."

"Oh, the events of today are rated R."

"What happened?" she stood there waiting for an answer, the plates still in hand. Her feet were clung to the ground, and she refused to move. It fulfills her with sparse hope to hear that glint of playfulness in her daughter's voice.

Norma looks over her right shoulder, locking eyes with her mother as she proceeded to rinse her hands.

"Nothing in particular," she responds indifferently.

"I will not settle for anything less, Norma Louise. Spill it."

"Mom," Norma titters and squints her eyes, knowing that she had spoken too soon and maybe too much. Her mother is not going to drop the subject now, and she hates herself for bringing it up instead of granting her the old fashion answer that keeps her from asking further questions.

"It was a good day, that's all," Norma dries her hands, using the small towel that hangs from the wall next to the sink.

She had managed to hide her enthusiasm a little, and she had noticed because her mother continued moving around the kitchen without any more preamble.

"Set the table, please," Francine handed her the plates, and Norma willingly took them. "I'll get the salad going."

"How was your day?" Norma asks as she paces back and forth from one end to the other, setting down their placemats and utensils on their Elsmere Antique dining table.

"Not as good as yours, apparently."

"Mom!" Norma beams, and Francine turns around just in time to enjoy that grand smile of hers.

"Goodness gracious! You're all smiles today!" her mother simpers brightly, placing the plates with their chicken marsala on the table.

"No, I am not!" she exalts, her smile still present. "You're the one making me smile!"

"Oh, I'm sure," Francine chants with delight. "I think someone else is making you smile. Not your mother!"

"Quit!" she shouts, stomping her foot on the tile floor like a spoiled brat who doesn't get what she wants.