He stopped in the doorway, his eyes darting from Ivy in her bouncer to the dirty dishes piled high in the sink. He winced as Ivy let out another high-pitched wail that seemed to vibrate off the low kitchen ceiling.
“Can we do something about the noise?” Brandon asked, his voice rising over the crying. “I could hear them from the concrete driveway before I even turned off the engine.”
“She has been crying since three,” I said. My voice sounded thin, even to me, barely carrying across the small space.
Brandon took off his work shoes and left them in the middle of the walkway, where they sat like two dark obstacles on the linoleum. He did not bend down to pick up Ivy or look at her face.
“I just got through ten hours of budget meetings with the regional director,” Brandon said, his words coming in a quick, defensive rush. “My head is absolutely splitting, Amy.”
I reached for the sink faucet, turning it on. The water ran cold over a stack of unwashed plastic rings and small blue valves.
“The bottles need to be scrubbed,” I said, pointing to the sink. “We have none ready for the midnight feed, and I cannot hold Lila while I wash them.”
Brandon cracked his knuckles, a sharp double pop that made Lila flinch against my shoulder. He looked down at his watch, then back at the hallway.
“I am not doing dishes the second I walk through the door,” Brandon said, his voice rising. “You have been home all day with them, and I have been driving in seventy-five traffic.”
“I have not slept more than two hours at a time in four weeks,” I said.
“You wanted to be a mother, so act like one,” he said.
He turned his back to me and walked down the short hallway toward the guest room, his socks sliding against the linoleum.
