Saturday mornings used to smell like cinnamon.
Now it smells like coffee burning.
Ava turns the knob down too late. The pot hisses, bitter and sharp. Sophie reaches over her shoulder and flicks the stove off.
“Wow,” Sophie murmurs. “You trying to poison us?”
Ava forces a small smile. “Multitasking.”
“You’re stirring an empty bowl.”
Ava looks down. The whisk scrapes against ceramic. Nothing inside.
She sets it aside. Wipes her hands on a towel that’s already clean.
From the living room, the low murmur of the news. Matthew’s voice was once, short, distracted. Then silence again.
He hasn’t come into the kitchen.
He used to hover. Steal strawberries off the cutting board. Slide his hands around her waist while she pretended to be annoyed.
Sophie watches her watch the doorway.
“Go t
