Marissa #2
The moment my foot lands on the bottom step, though, realization hits me like a ton of bricks.
I’d meant to pick up some groceries on the way back from dinner last night, but somehow it completely slipped my mind.
Maybe it’s because I was too busy thinking about the to-do list that awaited me here: making up the beds, unpacking the essentials, getting the kids showered.
Or maybe it’s because back in LA, our wonderful part-time nanny usually does the grocery shopping.
A luxury I’ve never taken for granted but have clearly come to depend on.
In any case, it’s now morning and we have nothing to eat.
“I’ll get the bread!” Isla calls, skipping toward the pantry.
“Isla, wait.” A half-formed thought occurs to me: The house has been sitting vacant for a while now. Surely there’s nothing to be found in the pantry. Unless …
Isla’s scream shatters my thought before it reaches completion. A massive eclipse of moths bursts through the open cabinet doors, forming a brown, fluttering cloud around our heads.
“Jesus, what is this? The Possession?” I yell way louder than intended as I swat them away.
Levi joins in our screaming. His eyes have gone wide with fear, and he claws at my leg, desperate for me to pick him up. When I do, he wraps his arms tightly around my neck, but it does little to calm him down. His little body is vibrating with distress.
“Bad butterflies! Bad!” he screams against my throat.
I slam the cabinet doors shut and open the door to the backyard, attempting to shoo the moths outside with my free hand. Once I’ve gotten most of them out, I collapse against the kitchen counter. The day is just getting started and I’m already exhausted.
Isla pins me with a judgmental look. “I thought you said this was the best place to spend the summer.”
“It is!” I reassure her, wincing at the shrill edge to my voice. I detangle Levi’s fingers from my hair. “We just need to get the house in order. Give me a day or two. In the meantime, why don’t we go out for breakfast?”
To call Lake Tranquility a small town is a bit of an understatement.
There are only a handful of places to eat, so we quickly settle on a café the next block over, which Google informs me has a decent breakfast menu.
The restaurant itself looks like a house, and the homey vibes extend to the inside.
I watch Isla as she surveys the interior, which is artfully cluttered with kitschy décor.
Damask wallpaper covers the walls and a collection of brightly colored teacups dangle from the molding.
My brain is flooded with shadowy memories as I take it all in. I’m certain I’ve been here before.
“Just you three?” a woman behind the bar asks. She’s wearing overalls over a purple tank top, and her lavender hair is separated into two long pigtails.
“Just us three?” I echo numbly. My brain is still straddling the line between past and present, and the caffeine deficiency isn’t helping.
She gives me a patient smile. “For breakfast. Are you waiting on someone?”
“Oh!” I blink away the mental cobwebs. “No, it’s just us. And do you have a kids’ menu?”
“No kids’ menu, but not to worry. We have lots of kid-friendly options for breakfast.” I press my lips together.
Kid-friendly does not always mean autistic-kid friendly.
Levi can be very rigid when it comes to food, especially in restaurants.
He always orders the same thing: chicken tenders, fries, and lemonade.
We rarely eat out for breakfast, since he has a nonnegotiable morning meal: miniature chocolate-chip Eggo pancakes.
As in Eggo and no other brand. I’ve tried to make him a homemade version, but he refused to even try them.
If the pancakes don’t come in that tiny yellow bag, he’s not interested.
And not for my lack of trying to switch him to an organic brand.
We follow her into the dining section, where she seats us at a table with overstuffed fabric chairs and hands us plastic-covered menus, a welcoming smile stretched across her face.
“I’m Violet,” she says. She points to her pigtails. “Like the hair. And I’ll be taking care of you today. Do you want any coffee while you look over the menu?”
“Yes, please.” I throw her a desperate look. “Feel free to bring over the whole pot.”
She tips back her head and laughs. “I feel that. If you ask me, the government should be providing free coffee to moms.”
“It’s honestly the least they could do.”
She laughs again and then turns to Isla.
“You seem like a sophisticated lady. Can I interest you in some coffee as well?”
Isla gives her a reluctant smile. “I’m only nine years old.”
“You’re nine? I’d have guessed you were a petite seventeen.”
Isla giggles and I feel my shoulders relax. This is the Poconos, I remember, full of people who are friendly, welcoming, and down-to-earth. Exactly the vibe I need right now. It’s a stark opposition to LA, where most people are nice but never without an ulterior motive.
“I’ll give you folks a few minutes to look over the menu.”
“I want tiny pancakes!” Levi tells her gleefully.
Violet tips her head to the side and presses the pen in her hand to her lips. “Hmm. Do you mean silver dollar?”
“My brother only likes miniature chocolate-chip pancakes,” Isla tells her primly. “And they aren’t on the menu. Can you make them for him?”
Oh, Isla. Her brother’s keeper, always. Still, the request fills me with discomfort. The last thing I want is to give the people here the impression that we are stuck-up and demanding. The quintessential celebrity stereotype.
“Sweetie, I don’t know—” I begin, but Violet waves me off.
“We can throw some chocolate chips into the silver-dollar pancakes. No problem at all,” she says. She smiles at Isla. “He’s lucky to have a big sister like you who looks out for him. I wish you were my big sister.”
Isla flushes with pleasure. “My brother has autism,” she explains. “Sometimes he needs extra help.”
Something changes in Violet’s face as she appraises Isla. “You’re a gem,” she tells her. “And I bet you’re a hungry one too. Do you know what you’d like to eat?”
After Isla and I place our orders, I can sense a shift in my daughter’s mood.
“I guess this place isn’t so bad,” she admits. I do my best to suppress a smile. Maybe she’ll let go of her attitude sooner than expected.
“I think it’s going to be a really great summer,” I say.