“Well that’s just horrible!” Max exclaimed once I had reached the end of my story. “It looks like you’ve been through the wringer, huh?”

“It’s been a pretty stressful year,” I sighed. “Honestly, I wasn’t confident that I’d make it much longer.”

“No sweet woman like you should have to worry about that!”

I’m glad someone had some sympathy at least. It was kind of relieving to be able to tell my story, be accepted, and have someone outraged at how I’ve been treated.

“You know, I can probably talk Reginald into buying the house and-”

“No thanks,” I laughed. “Even if I wasn’t treated the best, I don’t think I’d want to ruin their lives because of it. Especially because my mum didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You’re too nice,” Max commented.

“Mum said that a nice attitude attracts nice people.”

Suddenly, the front door opened and a familiar man made his way into the house. He needed no introduction though, because it was none other than Reginald Hawthorne. The man shook his damp hair and hung his dripping coat on the rack. I watched as small puddles pooled wherever he walked. When he peered into the kitchen, he saw me and looked pleasantly surprised.

“Oh! We’ve got a guest?”

“Aven, you keep chopping the veggies,” Max told me, marching over to Reginald and giving him a bit of a forceful kiss. “I need to talk to you in private.”

“Ok?” he nervously laughed. “I’m not in trouble, am I?”

“No, no, it’s about our guest.”

“Alright then,” Reginald shrugged, getting pulled by Max to their bedroom, leaving behind a small river trailing behind his damp shoes.

I finished chopping the vegetables before they had even come back out, so I decided to take a leap and start cooking the actual soup since I was pretty confident in how the recipe that Max described was supposed to go. Before long, the pot smelled just absolutely divine. It had been too long since I had a good home-cooked meal like this… I got so absorbed in adding some spices and herbs here and there that I didn’t even notice that Max and her husband had come back downstairs.

“Oh, look who made dinner?” Reginald playfully laughed. “I’m happy to tell you, Aven, that you’ll be staying with us for as long as you like.”

“R-Really?” I asked in disbelief. I couldn’t believe that he would actually let me stay with them after one night of making dinner for them.

“Welcome to the family,” he smirked, taking his hand and ruffling my hair. I was honestly still in shock and ended up just giggling giddily while Max sipped a spoon in the pot and tasted the soup.

“Hey, how did you make this?” she sassed jokingly. “We can’t have any better cooks in the house than me. That’s the rule.”

“Sorry,” I giggled.

“Maybe she should make the dinners from now on,” Reginald remarked as Max scooped the soup into bowls.

“Maybe I should lock you out at night from now on,” Max frowned, handing him his bowl with a moody huff. I was watching relationship drama unfold in live time.

“Come on Maxine, it was just a joke.”

“Hmph.”

We all sat down at the dinner table, which seemed oddly empty for such a long table, clearly made for an entire family. Just the three of us made it seem oversized and barren. I couldn’t imagine what it felt like when it was just Max and Reginald.

When I finally was able to test the food that I helped make, my tastebuds cried in celebration. My internal jubilation must’ve showed on my sleeve, because both Max and Reginald looked at me with some curious expressions.

“Is it really that good?” Reginald chuckled, setting a napkin in his lap.

“It’s been a while since I’ve had a nice hot meal,” I admitted.

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that from now on,” Reginald smiled sweetly; a gesture that warmed my chest. “As long as you’re with us, I’ll make sure you won’t go hungry ever again.”

“T-Thank you,” I said in awe, putting my head down to eat my soup and trying not to sob in joy. 

Where had these people been up until now? This was by far, without a contest, the best day in all my life. Funny how I only say that when I’m treated like a woman, right? Max and Reginald treated me like a real member of their family, which I was incredibly honored about. I couldn’t wait to stay with them and feel like part of a family again.

*   *   *   *   *

That night, Max and Reginald had let me sleep in the guest bedroom next to the kitchen until they could put together a room for me to have a more permanent residence in. Even though I was overjoyed to be in such an inviting place, there was a part of me that was still worried. What if they kicked me out all of a sudden? The Hawthorne’s were rich and powerful enough to send me to an asylum where nobody would hear from me ever again. My anxiety and paranoia turned a very gracious and generous gift into a point of contention in my own head.

I quietly crept out of my room and made my way to the kitchen. What I was about to do made me feel especially shitty, since I was binging on someone else’s food. Someone who had taken a chance on me, and this was how I repaid them. The guilt couldn’t stop me from eating until I felt sick though. I just prayed that Max or Reginald wouldn’t ask questions in the morning.

*   *   *   *   *

The next morning, I rolled out of bed despite still feeling sick to my stomach. Quietly, I wandered around downstairs trying to find someone, since the house was nearly dead silent. It turns out that connected to the living room was this odd side room filled to the brim with painted canvases. In the middle of it was Max, who was facing into the living room and trying to paint something.

“Woah…” I mumbled, looking at the museum’s worth of art that I stumbled into. My reaction seemed to simultaneously amuse and embarrass Max. “These are all so amazing!”

“Ah well, it’s not all that impressive,” she sighed, looking frustrated. “Most of them are the same thing, just repainted.”

“They’re still so cool…” I breathed. Just one of them was way better than every drawing in my life put together.

“I used to sell them, you know,” she said proudly. “It’s how I made money before I married Reginald. But, you know, I don't really need to sell them anymore. We’re not exactly hurting on money.”

“Well, what’re you painting now?” I asked, getting a depressed sigh in response.

“Just the living room. Wish I had a better sight to… paint…” Slowly, I saw her narrow her eyes and scratch her chin like some gears were turning in her head. “Can I paint you?”

“Huh?” I said, flustered and taken aback. “M-Me?”

“Yeah, you,” she nodded, pointing to a stool near her painting setup. “C’mon, be my muse, would ya?”

“Alright…” I nodded uncomfortably, sitting down awkwardly.

“Give me a pose.”

“What kind?”

“Whatever kind you want.”

“Ok…” I just simply sat with my hands gripping the sides of the stool. “Is something like this still alright?”

“Perfect!”

Max spent what felt like hours painting me while I sat perfectly still. As much as I would like to say I enjoyed it, it was extremely boring. I’m sure Max was having the time of her life from the inspiration though, because she was hacking away at that canvas without much concern for the outside world.

“Let’s stop there for breakfast,” she finally decided. “I’ve got it all sketched out.”

“Sketched…?”

She turned the easel around and showed me a pencil sketch of my general shape and rough features. Though, I’m pretty sure that she added some embellishments that made me look better. Nevertheless, seeing myself like that did put a childish smile on my face.

“You like it?” Max asked eagerly.

“I’m not sure who that’s supposed to be,” I shrugged slyly. “I don’t know her.”

“Just who could this beautiful woman be?” she chuckled, setting the sketch down. “Maybe we’ll never know. How about I make us breakfast while we wonder about it?”

My stomach sank when I heard her mention breakfast. The last thing I wanted to do was help her start cooking and have her notice that food magically went missing the night Max and Reginald let me sleep in their house. She seemed to notice something was wrong with me, but didn’t quite know what.

“Breakfast is fine, right?”

“Oh, um, yeah…” I nodded.

“You sure? You don’t look enthused about it.”

“I’m… just hungry,” I said, trying to convince both her and myself. “What do you have planned?”

“Have you ever had a really good pancake?” she asked, almost tauntingly.

“I’ve made really good pancakes,” I sassed back.

“Oh look at little miss cool cook,” Max teased. “Can you back up all that talk?”

“I thought you ate dinner last night,” I smiled back. “I’m sure Reginald would give credit for my skills.”

“Woman, sit down, be quiet and let me show you how it’s done,” she smirked, accepting the competition. 

The challenge I issued must’ve taken all her attention, because she didn’t say anything about missing food. And I’ll have to admit, she made some damn good pancakes, even if they weren’t as good as Mum’s. Not that I would tell her that.

“How’re those?” Max asked while we munched on the pancakes.

“I guess they’re pretty great after all,” I admitted with a smile. “You sure showed me.”

“Damn right I did,” she nodded, finishing her breakfast. I was stunned at how fast that woman downed her food; I was still only halfway done with mine. Max was admittedly a far cry from what I imagined a refined Hawthorne wife would act. “How long do you think you’ll be until you’re done with breakfast?”

“I’m done now,” I decided, pushing the plate away. Honestly, I didn’t want to eat at all after the binge last night.

“You didn’t like it after all, did you?” she frowned.

“No, no, it’s great, but my stomach is disagreeing,” I reassured. The last thing I wanted was for her to think I was actually disrespecting her cooking. “How about we finish up your painting?”

“You took the words right out of my mouth,” she smirked.

*   *   *   *   *

“Alright, since you’re staying here, you’re going to be put to work,” Max said, sternly putting her hands on her hips. “I’ve got a list of housework that you’re going to be doing while I’m out running errands.”

“What errands?” I asked curiously.

“Private errands,” she said cryptically. Obviously further elaboration wasn’t on the table. “It’ll be long and hard work for me, so I’ll need you to do the work here so I can do the work there. Do that and everything will be fine. Fair?”

“Fair,” I nodded. If she won’t tell, I won’t ask.

“Here, take this list,” she said, reaching into her pocket and handing me a piece of paper, which surprised me that she’d have an actual physical list.

“Did Reginald write this?”

“Hm? No? I did,” Max retorted, furrowing her brow.

“You can write?” I asked, surprised. Not all married women were allowed to learn to write, and a lot of schools in general turned away black women from education.

“Obviously,” she frowned. “But make sure these are done before Reginald gets home, alright? I’ll be checking myself when I get back.”

“I can do that,” I nodded.

“Good,” she smirked, grabbing the man’s coat and hat by the door. “I’ll see you later tonight. Happy cleaning!”

Max shut the door on her way out, and I could see her bound down the street to who knows where. It left me to look down at the list in my hands, which included a lot of sweeping, dusting, mopping, and scrubbing. Sighing, I just picked a task and got to work.

I didn’t have to work for long to realize that it had been a long time since the house had been thoroughly cleaned. Dust caked on top of dust, and any small crevice was almost stained dark gray. Either a dust tornado came through the house every week, or Max was either remarkably bad or slacking at doing regular housewife chores. I guess her ‘private errands’ took up too much of that time, whatever those were. I thought the countertops were dull stone, but it turns out Max just hadn’t polished them in probably a solid month. I could’ve said a lot more about how much housework that Max had neglected, but I wasn’t going to argue with the woman letting me stay in the house free of charge.

*   *   *   *   *

Max had briefly come home from wherever private errands she went out for and changed her clothes to dress like a proper woman before going right back out to the market before all of the shops closed. While I finished scrubbing the kitchen floor, Reginald actually came back home. Apparently he was fairly rattled and surprised at the overall clean state of the house. The man came over to the countertops and ran his finger along it.

“I forgot these shined…” he mumbled. “Aven, did you do all of this?”

“I tried my best,” I shrugged, setting my rag down and resting for a moment. “Though, I still didn’t get to some of the things on my list for today.”

“You’ve done a spectacular job,” he marveled, looking around the house. “I don’t remember our home ever looking this spotless since we got it. Maxine should be proud of what you’ve done.”

“Well, she’s getting some groceries for dinner,” I told him. “So when she gets back, she can tell me how I did.”

“I say you did fine,” he smiled, patting me tenderly on the back and sitting in one of the kitchen chairs. “Tell me, Aven, do you have anywhere else to go?”

“Nope,” I shook my head. “I’ve got some folks in Canada, where my Mum and Dad are from, but I don’t know them personally and I doubt they’d take me in.”

“Well, you’re happy to stay with us for as long as you want,” he said, turning his head out the window with a sigh. “The doctor said Maxine will never bear a child of mine, and the house is quite empty most of the time… It just… makes me worried about Max having to spend most of her days alone in this big house. Your one night here has made the house more lively than it’s been in a month.”

“Well… I’ve felt more welcome here than I’ve felt in my own home,” I admitted.

“If you’ve got a desire to stay, then we’ll welcome you with open arms. And I’d treat you as if you were…” He paused for a minute and rubbed his eyes. “As if you were my own daughter. If you would like that.”

“T-That’s fine by me,” I nodded in awe.

“Welcome to the family, Aven,” Reginald smiled, getting up. “Let me know when my wife gets home, and maybe I can ask her if I can be the one to show off my cooking skills.”

“I-I’ll do that,” I giggled, watching the man chuckle off to his bedroom.