Page 123 of ICED
We mix up his morning meal together, measuring out the flour, adding warm water, stirring with an old wooden spoon. Lila gets flour on her nose and looks very serious when I tell her she’s officially Dave’s new stepmama.
By the time Maya wanders in, barefoot and sleepy-eyed in my hoodie, Lila’s giggling over pancake batter and explaining to Dave that he can’t eat syrup because “he’s already too bubbly.”
Maya stops in the doorway, eyes wide and soft like maybe this is all too good to be real.
“Hey,” I say.
She simply smiles. “I’ve never seen her like this in the morning. She’s usually a gremlin.”
“I bribed her with pancakes and bread farts,” I say, flipping a pancake. “Works every time.”
After breakfast, we pile onto the couch, laptop open and balanced on my knees while Lila scrolls through an endless stream of kids’ beds.
“This one has a slideanda tent!” she exclaims, pointing.
“Wow,” I say. “That’s a whole fortress.”
But beside me, Maya shifts slightly. Just enough for me to feel it.
“How about this one?” she says gently, nudging the laptop toward a plain white wooden bed. No bells. No whistles. Half the price.
Lila frowns. “But that one’s boring.”
“It’s still really nice,” Maya says. “And we could decorate it with some stickers, maybe. Or fairy lights.”
My stomach twists. I know exactly what she’s doing. She’s worrying about money. About depending on me. Aboutasking for too much. I close the laptop gently and look at both of them.
“Lila, sweetheart,” I say, “you can have whichever bed you want. Even the one with the slideandthe tent.” Maya opens her mouth, but I cut in gently before she can argue. “I know what you’re thinking,” I tell her softly. “But I want to do this. Icando this. And honestly, Iwanther to have the kind of room that makes her light up like she just did.”
Maya’s quiet. Lila’s watching both of us with wide eyes.
I reach out, cup Maya’s hand in mine. “You’ve done everything on your own for so long. But you don’t have to anymore. Let me do this. For her. Foryou.”
She blinks hard, and I see the way her throat works like she’s trying to swallow the part of her that always says no. Always says she doesn’t deserve this.
Finally, she nods. Just once. But it’s everything.
Lila crawls into her lap with a victorious squeal. “I get the bed with the slide!”
“I’ll order it right now,” I say.
And I do.
An hour later, we’re in my truck headed to the home store. Lila’s in the back seat with my phone, scrolling through pictures of unicorn duvets. Maya’s beside me, still a little dazed, her hand curled in mine on the console.
“I haven’t been wallpaper shopping since I was a kid,” she murmurs.
“Did you pick something fun then?”
She lets out a tiny huff of laughter. “I wanted clouds. My mum promised we’d do it together after her night shift. She never got the chance.”
I glance over, heart aching.
“Then clouds it is,” I say.
At the store, Lila dashes between aisles like she’s on atreasure hunt. She picks out rainbow bedding, a matching cloud pillow, and a set of glow-in-the-dark stars. Maya trails behind her, watching like she’s afraid to breathe too loud and shatter the moment.
When we get to the wallpaper aisle, Maya stops in front of a roll with soft watercolour clouds in dusky pastels.
