He looked up.
The instant he saw her, his face changed.
Not desire.
Not curiosity.
Embarrassment.
He immediately looked back at his screen.
Kayla smiled.
“Morning.”
“Morning,” Andrew said.
She opened the refrigerator.
“Do we have milk?”
“Yes,” he replied without looking up.
She leaned over.
I cleared my throat.
“Kayla?”
She turned.
“Oh.”
I forced a smile.
“Could you put on a robe before coming downstairs?”
She laughed.
“It’s just a towel.”
“I know.”
“Andrew’s your husband.”
“I know.”
“He’s not a stranger.”
“I know.”
She shut the refrigerator.
“Okay.”
I nodded.
“Thanks.”
She walked upstairs.
Andrew looked at me.
“I didn’t know what to do.”
“I know.”
“Did she just…”
“Yes.”
He sighed.
“I’ll stay out of it.”
I kissed his cheek.
“Thank you.”
At the time, I believed it was over.
It wasn’t.
The next morning, she did it again.
This time, she walked through the kitchen while Andrew was making toast.
She stood beside him.
“Can you reach that?”
She pointed toward the cabinet above his head.
Andrew stepped away.
“Sure.”
He opened it.
“Which one?”
“The blue mug.”
He handed it to her without turning around.
She smiled.
“Thanks.”
I watched from the doorway.
She wasn’t embarrassed.
She wasn’t apologetic.
She was watching Andrew.
And more importantly, she was watching me.
That afternoon, I pulled her aside.
“Kayla.”
“What?”
“Can we talk?”
She sighed.
“Sure.”
“About this morning.”
“What about it?”
“I asked you to wear something before coming downstairs.”
“I forgot.”
“You didn’t forget.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Claire.”
“I mean it.”
She crossed her arms.
“You’re seriously upset because I wore a towel?”
“I’m upset because I’ve asked you not to.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s uncomfortable.”
“For whom?”
“For me.”
She laughed.
“Andrew doesn’t care.”
“You don’t know that.”
“He didn’t say anything.”
“He doesn’t have to.”
She shook her head.
“You’re being weird.”
I stared at her.
“Weird?”
“Yeah.”
I lowered my voice.
“Kayla, you’re staying in my house because you had nowhere else to go.
I’m not asking you to do anything unreasonable.”
She looked away.
“I said fine.”
“Thank you.”
I walked away.
I thought we’d settled it.
That night, Andrew asked me:
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
I sighed.
“She thinks I’m insecure.”
Andrew’s jaw tightened.
“You’re not.”
“I know.”
“Do you want me to say something?”
“No.”
“She needs to hear it.”
“I don’t want to make things worse.”
He took my hand.
“You shouldn’t have to feel uncomfortable in your own kitchen.”
I leaned against him.
“I’m hoping she’ll stop.”
He kissed my forehead.
“She will.”
He was wrong.
Three days later, Kayla did it again.
Then again.
Then again.
Sometimes it was a towel.
