wait.”
“But—”
“Maya, it’s okay. I’ll take care of it.”
She studied my face as though trying to decide whether I really meant it.
Finally, she pulled off the gloves and walked toward the kitchen.
Tiffany immediately moved closer.
“Greg,” she whispered sharply, “could you not make a big deal out of this in front of my friends?”
I looked at her.
“I’m not making a scene.”
“You’re embarrassing me.”
“I just told my daughter she could stop cleaning.”
Tiffany glanced over her shoulder.
“This is why consistency matters. You can’t tell children to ignore their responsibilities whenever you feel like being the fun parent.”
I looked down at the box beneath my arm.
Four hours earlier, I’d been thinking about how happy Maya would be to see me.
Now I was standing in my own entryway wondering how much of her afternoon had been spent on her knees.
It
