Stitches
Published in Issue #18 Translated from Hebrew by Shira Atik subscribe to unlock the full storyWe’re sitting at the breakfast table, but I feel as if I’m not really here. I have to concentrate on everything I do, to focus all my attention on every movement. I haven’t been this happy since Elia was born. It’s wonderful. But it can’t go on this way; that much I know.
Elia has already taken her antibiotics, and I help her spoon out the white from her soft-boiled egg. I watch her little fingers pick up a strip of toast and gingerly dip it into her egg. She has this certain expression, when she’s concentrating. I don’t know how we ended up with a blondie when both of us have brown hair.
Noam looks at Elia. He also cuts his egg and dips his toast. He sprinkles salt and pepper on his egg, watching her the whole time, like he’s waiting for something. It’s awful — I’m looking at my children, but I’m thinking about Michal.
Elia places her toast at the edge of her plate. The yolk is dripping down her chin. “Daddy, I want milk,” she says, grasping her cup by the handle. I pick up a napkin to wipe her chin. “Me, too,” says Noam.
Racheli comes in from the kitchen, holding a frying pan. She puts a sunny-side up egg on my plate, and another one on hers.
Noam watches the egg slide over the plate. “Mommy, we want milk,” he says.
Racheli raises her eyes for a moment. “So get some,” she says, and goes back to the kitchen.
Noam follows her and...
Subscribe now to keep reading
Please enter your email to log in or create a new account.