KEEP IT SEPARATE
1512 Words
Rosa got home at seven-fifteen.
I heard her keys jangling from upstairs where I was sitting at my desk, fake-doing calculus homework. That familiar sound of the door opening, the little sigh she always let out when she finally kicked off her shoes after a twelve-hour shift. I stayed put because the ruined shirt was hanging right there on the back of my chair like a damn crime scene. I'd rinsed it twice in the sink, but the marinara stain had faded into this pale ghost and the chocolate milk had left a nasty shadow across the chest. No fixing that tonight.
She wouldn't come upstairs anyway. She never did without a real reason.
I heard her down in the kitchen... fridge opening, tap running, those small, restless noises she made to unwind. A woman who couldn't just sit still after being on her feet all day.
Then footsteps on the stairs.
A soft knock.
"Yeah," I called.
She opened the door and peeked in, still in her scrubs, hair messy from the long day. Her eyes landed on me first, then flicked straight to the shirt on the chair. She took it in for one quick second... the big faded spill from collar to hem, the kind that screamed "this wasn't an accident."
Then she looked back at me.
"Come downstairs," she said calmly.
"I'm doing homework."
"It'll wait."
She left the door open and headed back down. I sat there for about ten seconds, stomach twisting, then closed the stupid calculus book and followed her.
There was already a glass of water and a plate waiting on the table... rice, leftover chicken, some greens. She was at the stove with her back to me, making tea.
"Sit," she said without turning around.
I sat.
"I spilled something at lunch," I blurted out. "Totally my fault."
"Okay," she replied.
She brought her tea over, sat across from me, wrapped both hands around the mug, and just looked at me with those steady eyes. The kind that had seen way too much in hospital hallways and could spot the difference between a clumsy girl who dropped her own lunch and a girl who had it dumped on her.
But she didn't call me out, she didn't say s**t about the shirt. She just let me sit with my little lie for a minute before changing the subject smooth as hell.
"You're studying general courses at the college, right? That's what Dax said. What are you taking?"
The switch was so clean I almost didn't catch it.
"Um." I picked up the fork and poked at the rice. "English, some math. Just the basic stuff for now."
"Do you know what you want to study yet?"
"Not really. Still figuring it out."
She nodded like that made total sense. "I didn't know until my second year either. Everyone acts like you gotta have your whole life planned at eighteen, but it's bullshit. Nobody actually knows anything at that age. Anyone who says they do is just fronting."
I ate some rice, feeling the warmth from the food and the kitchen light settle into me.
"I wanted to be a teacher," she went on, sipping her tea. "Did two years of an education degree before I switched. My mom thought I'd lost my damn mind." She smiled a little. "Now she tells everyone her daughter's a nurse like she knew it all along."
I almost smiled back. "Did you like the teaching part? Those two years?"
"I loved the kids, I hated all the paperwork though." She made a face. "Turns out nursing has even more paperwork. Nobody warns you about that crap."
She told me about this patient from last week... an older guy admitted for something small who spent the whole time grilling her for serious opinions on his fantasy football roster. Like it was life or death. She actually had thoughts because her brother used to run a league.
I laughed for real... the kind that bubbled up and surprised me. Picturing Rosa at a hospital bed breaking down tight ends had me cracking up.
She grinned and kept going, telling me about another lady who dragged her whole crew of seven to a routine check-up and turned the waiting room into a full-blown family meeting about Thanksgiving dinner plans. Rosa just rolled with it like it was normal.
I told her about Willa and her ring tower obsession... how the little girl would build it up just to knock it down every single time with this huge, proud grin like she'd won the lottery.
"Every meal too," Rosa said, laughing as she made an explosion gesture with her hands. "She builds a little pile and then ... boom. Dax was exactly the same at that age. I'd stack his blocks just so he could wreck them. It was the only way to get five minutes of quiet."
"So it's in the blood," I said, smiling.
"Apparently. God help us all."
We sat there like that for thirty minutes, maybe longer. The kitchen felt warm and safe under that soft yellow light, the kind that makes the cold dark outside not matter so much. Just talking about random stuff... nothing heavy, but everything that actually counted. The food, the tea, the easy back-and-forth.
I hadn't had this in four years.
The thought hit me quiet, like a soft punch. Four years since I'd sat at a table with someone who talked to me like a real person, no strings, no performance needed. Since my dad. Before Veronica, before feeling like a tolerated guest in my own house. Rosa didn't know any of that though. She thought I was just a community college student crashing here for work. She was being kind in that simple, everyday way that hit way harder than it should.
I kept my head down and ate so she wouldn't see my face get weird.
Dax came downstairs around eight. He'd been home since before Rosa got back ...
He walked into the kitchen in sweats, hair still damp, water bottle in hand. He stopped short when he saw us.
Me at the table, Rosa across from me. Empty plate and tea. The two of us just chilling there like it was the most normal thing.
Something flashed across his face real quick. I caught it anyway... I was getting better at reading his fast little moments. Not mad. More like... wanting something but not knowing what to do with it. Then it went blank.
He went to the fridge.
"Willa go down okay?" he asked, staring inside like it was super interesting.
"Six forty-five," I said.
"Good." He grabbed something, closed the door. "Got film study," he told Rosa. "Don't wait up."
"There's food if you want," she offered.
"I ate already." He glanced at me for one quick second... kinda unfocused, like he didn't know where to land... then headed back upstairs. Footsteps, door closing.
Rosa looked down at her tea.
I stared at my empty plate.
She didn't make excuses for him. Just stood up, took my plate, and waved off my attempt to help clean. "Go finish your homework, I'm here until ten if Willa wakes up."
"I can get her."
"I know you can." She gave me that warm, simple smile. "Go on."
Back at my desk, the calculus numbers actually started making a bit more sense. Those thirty minutes downstairs had loosened something up. I was working through problems when my phone buzzed.
Dax.
My mom can’t know about school. Keep it separate.
I read it twice.
Rosa's face popped right back into my head... the way her eyes had scanned that shirt, understood everything in a heartbeat, then chose to let it go. How she'd fed me, sat with me, talked about nothing and everything for half an hour because that's what I needed.
Keep it separate.
I thought about him standing in the doorway, that quick flash on his face before he shut it down. Tyler's laugh. Dax going dead still in the hall. All the silence.
I typed back fast.
You mean keep YOUR secret separate.
I set the phone down.
Opened the book again, knocked out two problems, the third one took three reads but I got it.
My phone stayed dark, there was no reply.
I hadn't expected one. There wasn't a good answer that didn't make him own up to s**t, and Dax didn't do that. He did silence instead... and that said plenty.
Through the wall, I could hear his TV going low. Game film, whistles, coaches yelling, the same play on repeat like always.
I turned off my light at ten.
Lay there in the dark, thinking about that kitchen table and thirty minutes of real talk that made me feel more human than I had in four years. Then thinking about his text with no reply.
I stopped thinking about both at the same time because trying to make sense of them together? Yeah, that s**t didn't add up yet.
Not even close.
- Writer
