The blue utility drawer in the kitchen did not slide shut all the way because the silver kitchen shears were missing from their slot. I pushed the wooden handle with my hip, but the drawer stuck, leaving a two-inch gap that showed the clutter of twine, rubber bands, and old receipts inside. I had used them just yesterday to trim the plastic packaging on a new set of dish towels, and I always put them back in the front compartment.
Aaron stood by the toaster, packing a brown paper grocery bag with snacks. He dropped three chocolate granola bars into the bottom. The box of bars had cost four dollars at the grocery store yesterday, and it was already nearly empty.
I washed a heavy ceramic coffee mug in the sink, letting the hot water run over my fingers. The soap smelled like lemon, the suds rising up around my wrists before slipping down the drain.
“You need to eat your toast, Aaron,” I said, pointing to the plate on the counter.
He did not look up from the bag. He reached for a yellow apple from the wooden bowl on the microwave and tucked it beside the granola bars. His shoulders looked narrower than they had in the summer, hunched inside his varsity soccer jacket.
“I will eat it on the way,” he said.
He paused, his hand hovering over the open paper bag. His fingers were red from the morning chill, and I could see the dark smudge of blue ink on his thumb from his history binder.
“Diane is staying at the hospital again tonight,” he said.
I rubbed my gold wedding band with my thumb, feeling the worn metal against my skin. The ring was loose now, sliding easily over the knuckle when my hands were cold.
“She didn’t reply to the message I sent last night, Aaron.”
“She was busy, Mom,” he said.
He did not touch the buttered toast sitting on the small white plate. He folded the top of the grocery bag twice, pressing the crease down with his thumb until the paper was sharp and flat.
