I woke up the next morning to a house that seemed to breathe differently. The air felt still, the kind of quiet that settles in after a storm has passed. Sam and Lily were already at school, their excited voices from the night before now just a fading memory in the walls. The absence of sound wrapped around me as I made my way to the kitchen.
Mrs. Blake stood at the sink, rinsing a coffee mug with the kind of slow, unhurried movements that made everything she did seem peaceful. She was humming, a tune I didn't recognize, soft and melodic. The sunlight streaming through the window caught in her hair, making her appear almost golden. I hesitated in the doorway, not wanting to disrupt her moment, but she noticed me anyway.
"Good morning, Emily," she said, glancing over her shoulder with a smile that made her eyes crinkle. "Did you sleep well?"
I nodded, though I wasn't sure if I had. My fingers curled around the edge of the counter as I stood there, feeling out of place in the silence. After the warmth and laughter of yesterday, this quiet felt strange. It reminded me too much of the kind of silence I knew well—the kind that came before things got bad.
"I was thinking," Mrs. Blake continued, drying her hands on a towel with practiced ease, "since you're home today, maybe you could help me out with a few things around the house? Nothing too big, just some light chores to keep busy."
The word hit me like a slap. Chores. My stomach twisted, and I couldn't breathe for a moment. A wave of memories crashed over me—mom's sharp voice barking orders, the sting of her anger when I wasn't fast enough or good enough, the endless list of things to do. My hands clenched into fists, nails biting into my palms as my chest tightened.
"Emily?" Mrs. Blake's voice was soft, but it jolted me out of the spiral. Her concern was written across her face now, her brow furrowed as she turned to face me fully.
I opened my mouth, but the words felt stuck, lodged behind the lump in my throat. "I... I don't..." I stammered, my voice breaking. Heat rushed to my cheeks as I looked away, my heart pounding like a drum.
Mrs. Blake set the towel down on the counter and stepped closer, her movements slow and deliberate, as if approaching a frightened animal. "It's okay," she said gently, her voice steady and calm. "You don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with. Let's sit down for a minute, okay?"
I didn't trust my voice to respond, so I nodded instead. She led me to the kitchen table, where the morning sunlight pooled across the polished wood. She poured two glasses of water, the sound of it soothing in its simplicity, and placed one in front of me before taking a seat across the table.
"Emily," she began, her voice warm and steady, "I'm sorry if I upset you. That wasn't my intention. Can you tell me what's on your mind?"
I stared at the glass, the cool condensation slick under my fingers as I traced lazy patterns on its surface. The words wouldn't come at first, but Mrs. Blake didn't rush me. She waited, patient and unhurried, like she had all the time in the world. Finally, I found my voice, though it came out in a whisper.
"Chores," I said, the word trembling on my tongue. "They... they make me think of... of before."
Mrs. Blake nodded slowly, her expression softening. "That makes sense," she said, her voice like a warm blanket. "Sometimes, things that seem small to other people can bring back big feelings for us. It's okay to feel that way. And you don't have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. I'm here to help you, not to pressure you."
Her words settled over me, easing the tightness in my chest. I risked a glance at her, and when our eyes met, I saw nothing but understanding and kindness. It was like a lifeline in rough waters.
"Thanks," I murmured, my voice shaky but sincere.
She smiled, and it lit up her whole face. "How about this? Instead of chores, we can do something together. Maybe bake cookies? Or sort through some books for the library donation?"
Cookies. The word carried a warmth that pushed away the lingering shadows. The thought of mixing dough and the smell of something sweet baking in the oven felt safe, almost comforting. I nodded slowly. "Cookies, maybe," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
Her smile widened, bright and reassuring. "Great choice. Let's get started."
We stood and moved toward the counter, where Mrs. Blake began pulling out ingredients with the same steady calm she always seemed to carry. I watched her, my hands steadying as I reached for the mixing bowl.
We spent the morning in the kitchen, the soft light streaming through the window, catching the floating dust particles in its glow. Mrs. Blake guided me through the steps of baking with an unhurried calm that I wasn't used to. Her hands, steady and sure, moved over the mixing bowl, showing me the rhythm of blending ingredients. She explained each step in a soothing voice that felt like a warm blanket on a cold morning.
The scent of sugar and vanilla filled the room, blending with the faint tang of cinnamon we'd decided to sprinkle into some of the dough. My hands were clumsy at first, smudging flour across my face when I scratched an itch, but Mrs. Blake only chuckled softly. "That's the sign of a real baker," she teased. "A little mess never hurt anyone."
I giggled despite myself, feeling the smallest flicker of ease settle in my chest. Rolling out the dough, I focused on the way the rolling pin felt under my palms, the satisfying press of it smoothing the uneven lumps. Mrs. Blake didn't rush me, even when the clock ticked on. She seemed to understand that I needed this quiet space to just be.
When the cookies were done baking, their golden tops glistening from the sugar glaze, we pulled them out of the oven and placed them on a cooling rack. The kitchen was warm now, the heat of the oven mingling with the laughter we'd shared when one of my cookies turned out lopsided. "It gives it character," she said with a smile. "Every cookie tells a story."
We sat at the table with a plate of the warm cookies between us, the delicate crackle of their edges breaking as Mrs. Blake took a bite. Her eyes lit up, crinkling at the corners. "These are perfect," she said, her voice filled with genuine pride. "You're a natural baker, Emily."
A tiny smile tugged at my lips, shy but real. "Thanks," I murmured, the word slipping out more easily than it had in a long time. I took a bite of my cookie, savoring the sweetness that melted on my tongue.
As we sat there, the quiet hum of the kitchen surrounded us. The clink of our glasses of milk against the table, the soft sound of our chewing—it was simple, but it felt like a balm on a wound I didn't know how to heal. Mrs. Blake didn't ask questions or press me to talk more, and I was grateful for that. Instead, she simply shared the moment with me, her presence steady and warm, like the sunlight streaming in through the window.
When Sam and Lily came home from school that afternoon, the smell of freshly baked cookies still lingered in the air, mingling with the faint scent of vanilla. It wrapped around them like a warm hug as they opened the front door. Lily's nose wrinkled as she took a deep breath, her face lighting up almost instantly.
"Cookies!" she squealed, her ponytail bouncing as she darted toward the kitchen. Her sneakers squeaked on the linoleum floor as she came to a stop and stood on her tiptoes, craning her neck to get a better look at the plate on the counter. "Did you make these, Mom?"
Mrs. Blake, who had just finished wiping down the table, looked up from her task and smiled warmly. Her auburn hair glinted in the late afternoon sunlight streaming through the window. "Actually," she said, setting the dishcloth aside, "Emily did most of the work. I just helped a little."
Lily's wide-eyed gaze swung toward me, and her excitement only seemed to grow. "You made these? Can I have one? Please?" she asked, bouncing on her heels like she couldn't wait another second.
I hesitated for a moment, feeling the familiar twist of shyness tug at me, but then I nodded. "Sure."
Her face lit up even more—if that were possible—and she grabbed a cookie with both hands, like it was the most precious thing in the world. Sam, who had followed her into the kitchen at a more measured pace, wasted no time grabbing one for himself. He took a big bite, crumbs tumbling onto his shirt as he chewed with exaggerated delight.
"These are so good," he said, his words muffled by his full mouth. "Like, really good. You should make more tomorrow."
Lily, her cheeks bulging with her first bite, nodded enthusiastically, sending crumbs flying in every direction. "Yeah! We could help next time!" she chimed in, her words slightly garbled.
I couldn't help but laugh softly at their enthusiasm, even as I felt heat rising in my cheeks. I wasn't used to this much attention, especially the good kind. "Maybe," I said, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
Mrs. Blake's gentle touch on my shoulder caught me by surprise, but when I looked up, her green eyes were kind and full of pride. "You did a great job today, Emily. I'm proud of you," she said, her voice steady and sincere.
Her words settled in my chest, warm and comforting, like the sunlight filtering through the window. For a moment, the weight I often carried seemed lighter, and I felt something I hadn't felt in a long time—like I truly belonged.
Sam was already reaching for a second cookie, pausing only to ask, "So, what kind are these, anyway?"
"Chocolate chip," I replied softly. "With a little cinnamon."
"Cinnamon? That's why they taste so good!" Lily exclaimed, wiping her hands on her skirt. "It's like a hug in cookie form!"
Her comparison made me chuckle, the sound coming out more freely than I expected. "I guess so."
"Maybe tomorrow we can try peanut butter ones," Sam suggested, leaning against the counter with an air of importance. "Or oatmeal raisin. Those are Dad's favorite, right?"
Mrs. Blake laughed, her hand still resting gently on my shoulder. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Emily's cookies are pretty hard to top as is."
The praise made my cheeks warm again, but this time, I didn't mind. As the room filled with the sound of laughter and the clinking of glasses as Mrs. Blake poured milk, I realized that, for once, the house didn't feel quite so big and empty. It felt alive, full of warmth and possibilities.
That evening, as we sat in the living room, I noticed something odd. There was a TV in the corner, but it was turned off, a faint layer of dust on its screen. The room was warmly lit by a lamp with a floral shade, casting soft shadows that danced across the walls. The air smelled faintly of cinnamon. It was cozy. A far cry from the constant hum of electronics that filled the nights back home.
Sam was stretched out on the couch, completely absorbed in a comic book. His brows furrowed occasionally as he flipped a page, and every so often, he muttered something under his breath—probably mimicking the characters. Lily was sprawled on the rug, crayons scattered around her like a rainbow explosion, her tongue poking out in concentration as she worked on a drawing of what looked like a princess riding a dragon. Mrs. Blake sat in the armchair near the window, a thick recipe book in her lap, her glasses perched on her nose as she flipped the pages with slow deliberation.
I couldn't help but ask, "Why don't you watch TV?"
Mrs. Blake looked up, her eyes crinkling with a smile. "We decided a long time ago that we wanted to spend more time together as a family. Watching TV is fine now and then, but we try to focus on things that bring us closer, like reading or playing games or just talking. It helps us feel more connected."
Sam, without looking up from his comic, added, "Plus, it's way more fun to do stuff together. TV gets boring after a while."
Lily piped up, her voice high and earnest. "And when we do watch, it's always a movie night! With popcorn! Sam always picks action movies, but I like the ones with princesses and animals."
Mrs. Blake chuckled, shaking her head. "I think we can all agree that movie nights are special because they're not every night. They're something we look forward to."
I leaned back in the armchair I'd been sitting in, taking it all in. Their answers made me think. I'd never known a family to choose each other over the constant background noise of a screen. Back home, the TV was always on, because of Mom watching her soaps. Here, the quiet wasn't awkward or lonely. It was alive with the sound of Lily's crayons scratching across the paper, the occasional rustle of Sam's comic book, and the turning of pages in Mrs. Blake's recipe book.
"What are you reading?" I asked Mrs. Blake, pointing to the thick book in her lap.
She held it up with a small laugh. "It's a collection of old Southern recipes. I thought I'd try something new for dinner tomorrow. Maybe a pecan pie or a peach cobbler."
"Pecan pie!" Lily shouted excitedly, lifting her head from her drawing. "I can help, right, Mom?"
"Of course," Mrs. Blake said, reaching out to ruffle Lily's hair. "You're my little sous chef."
Sam groaned theatrically. "As long as she doesn't eat all the pecans again. Last time, there weren't enough for the pie!"
"I did not!" Lily protested, her cheeks flushing pink.
"Yes, you did," Sam teased, glancing at me with a conspiratorial grin. "She's a pecan thief."
Just as I started laughing, the door to the hallway creaked open, and Mr. Blake poked his head out. His hair was sticking up like he'd been wrestling with it, and he was wearing the most ridiculous expression—a cross-eyed, tongue-out face that looked like he was auditioning for a cartoon.
"Hey, what's all the racket out here?" he asked in an exaggeratedly grumpy voice, though his eyes twinkled with mischief. "Some of us are trying to work, you know!"
Lily gasped dramatically. "Dad! Your face looks broken!"
"Broken?!" he exclaimed, widening his eyes and sticking his tongue out even further. "Oh no! I knew I shouldn't have looked in the mirror today!"
Sam snorted so hard he almost fell off the couch. Lily rolled onto her back, giggling uncontrollably. Even Mrs. Blake shook her head, trying not to laugh as she said, "Matthew, don't you have work to do?"
"I do," he replied, already retreating back into his office. "But I just couldn't resist coming out here to see what all the hullabaloo was about." He poked his head out one last time, this time with his cheeks puffed out like a blowfish, and said in a mock-serious tone, "Carry on!"
The door clicked shut behind him, and for a moment, the room was silent. Then Sam burst out laughing again. "Did you see his face? He looked like a fish!"
Lily was still giggling as she clutched her stomach. "Dad's so weird."
Mrs. Blake sighed, shaking her head, though she was smiling. "You're all weird. Must be something in the water."
I couldn't stop grinning. That goofy interruption had turned an already warm moment into something unforgettable. As I sat there, listening to Lily's crayons scratch across the paper and Sam still chuckling to himself, I realized that maybe I could get used to this—a life filled with moments that actually mattered, even the silly ones.
Comments
There are four TV’s in our house……
And we hardly ever turn even one of them on. My wife watches TV in the evenings, and I will occasionally watch a movie with her - and sometimes on my own if it is something she doesn’t want to see. She doesn’t like SciFi, while I do, so there are movies I have to watch by myself. And usually, while she is watching TV, I am sitting in the same room as her either working or reading. The TV is just background noise to me.
And when I travel for business, I will turn the TV on in the evening while in my hotel room - but for the same reason. It is background noise while I work or I read.
There are too many people in this country whose lives center around their television every day.
It is good that Emily is seeing that there are families who love each other, that helping to do things is entirely different than being nothing more than a slave and a whipping boy for her mother, and that there are people who can spend time together without a TV.
D. Eden
Dum Vivimus, Vivamus
Wonderful Chapter!
Mrs.Blake is wonderfully loving and patient with Emily and I agree with the family about TV . I rarely watch it and when I do, it’s usually something on YouTube on a subject not related to the usual stuff going on in the media.