Chapter 5 - Orion in the Kitchen
The kitchen was quiet, bathed in the soft glow of under-cabinet lighting. The chaos of the dining room felt a million miles away behind the closed white swinging door.
Emma pulled a wooden counter stool up to the island and climbed onto it, resting her chin in her hands as I pulled the glass dome off the apple cake. The rich, sweet scent of cinnamon and baked apples filled the room, warm and comforting.
"Is everyone mad?" Emma asked quietly, her small voice carrying a heavy weight that no eight-year-old child should ever have to bear.
I sliced two generous wedges of the cake, placing them onto vintage ceramic plates, and added a scoop of vanilla ice cream to each. I slid a plate across the counter toward her before taking the stool beside her.
"People get overwhelmed sometimes, sweetheart," I said, choosing my words with extreme care. "When adults are stressed, they forget how to use their words properly. But none of this has anything to do with you. You didn't do anything wrong, and neither did I."
Emma poked at her ice cream with her spoon, watching it melt into the warm cake. "Mom has been really mean lately. She works late a lot. And Dad just stays on his phone."
I placed a gentle hand over hers. "Your mother loves you very much. She's just carrying a lot of worries on her shoulders. But sometimes, when people carry too much, they forget to look at who is walking right beside them."
Emma nodded slowly, digesting that wisdom with a maturity that surprised me. Then, her face brightened as her mind shifted gears. "Grandma? Do you want to see my school project? It's on the solar system, but I picked my own constellation."
"I would love nothing more," I smiled. "Which one did you choose?"
"Orion," she said proudly, sliding off the stool and running over to her backpack on the kitchen desk. She pulled out a thick blue folder filled with glittery construction paper, star stickers, and hand-drawn diagrams.
For the next twenty minutes, sitting at that kitchen island while shouting could occasionally be heard muffled through the dining room doors, the rest of the world ceased to exist. Emma pointed out Betelgeuse and Rigel, explaining how the hunter's belt pointed toward Sirius. I listened intently, asking smart questions, letting her lead the conversation, and building a bubble of safety around her.
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Whatever mistakes Dean and Amanda were making in their marriage, whatever reckoning was happening in the other room, my granddaughter was going to remember tonight not as a screaming match, but as the night her grandmother sat down and listened to her talk about the stars.
By the time the dining room door finally creaked open and heavy footsteps approached the kitchen, Emma and I were laughing quietly over a missing sticker on the Orion belt diagram.
