“Then why ask like that?”
His wife crossed her arms.
“Because I deserve to know what people are saying about me.”
The father looked toward his daughter.
The girl lowered her eyes.
That was when he realized the conversation could not happen with all three of them standing in the same kitchen.
He turned toward his wife.
“I need you to give us some time.”
Her face hardened.
“In my house?”
“Our house.”
“You're asking me to leave because a child complained about chores?”
“I’m asking you to go upstairs or outside for twenty minutes.”
“No.”
He stared.
She continued.
“We are married.”
“I am not going to be ordered out of my own kitchen because your daughter learned that crying gets her father home from work.”
The girl’s face crumpled.
The father’s restraint disappeared.
Not into yelling.
Into certainty.
“Go upstairs.”
His wife stared at him.
“You think she can destroy our marriage with one phone call?”
“No.”
He looked directly at her.
“I think you might have been doing that without her help.”
For the first time, she had no answer.
She turned and walked upstairs.
Not defeated.
Furious.
The father waited until he heard the bedroom door close.
Then he looked at his daughter.
She was still holding the cleaning cloth.
He took it gently from her hand.
Set it on the counter.
“Come sit down.”
She did not move.
“Sweetheart.”
“I didn’t finish.”
The sentence hit him harder than anything his wife had said.
He looked around the kitchen.
Counters already spotless.
Floor clean.
Sink empty.
“What isn’t finished?”
The girl pointed toward the refrigerator.
“She said I have to take everything out and wipe the shelves.”
“Why?”
“I spilled juice.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
“Where?”
She pointed toward a small section of tile.
The father looked.
Nothing.
His daughter continued.
“I cleaned it.”
“Then why the refrigerator?”
The girl shrugged.
“She said I needed to learn.”
He pulled out a chair.
“Sit.”
She hesitated.
“Is she going to get mad?”
“No.”
“Are you?”
“No.”
She sat.
The father sat opposite.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
The girl looked toward the staircase.
He noticed.
“She's upstairs.”
“I know.”
“You don't have to whisper.”