Of Poseidon

from the oven as I take the last step down the stairs.
    “Is the water heater broken?” I say, pulling a bowl from the cabinet.
    “Good morning to you, too,” she says, forking a muffin onto wax paper to cool.
    “Sorry. Good morning. Is the water heater broken?” I scoop a mound of oatmeal from the pot on the stove and slop it into my bowl. A muffin hits my foot—we always have at least one casualty because the pan sticks.
    “Not that I know of, sweetie. I showered this morning and didn’t notice anything different.”
    “Probably broke on my shift,” I grumble, grabbing a muffin and sauntering to the table. My legs are too sore to lower myself with any kind of dignity, so I drop into the chair and spoon oatmeal into my mouth to keep from complaining more. Mom worked all night, then cooked me breakfast. She doesn’t deserve vinegar.
    “Galen picking you up for school?”
    “No, I’m driving myself.” Vinegar turns to acid. Sure, it’s irritating to take a lukewarm shower when you intended to scald the flesh from your body. But not being able to see Galen today is more disappointing than not having hot water all winter. And I hate it.
    Spending all of yesterday with him slaughtered my intention of keeping him at a distance. Even if he weren’t worthy of his own billboard underwear ad, he’s just too likeable. Except for his habit of almost-kissing me. But his obsession with trying to order me around is too cute. Especially the way his mouth gets all pouty when I don’t listen.
    “You two fighting already?”
    She’s fishing, but for what I don’t know. Shrugging seems safe until I can figure out what she wants to hear.
    “Do you fight often?”
    Shrugging again, I ladle enough oatmeal into my mouth to make talking impossible for at least a minute, which is more than enough time for her to drop it. It doesn’t work. After the exaggerated minute, I reach for my glass of milk.
    “You know, if he ever hit you—”
    The glass in mid-tilt, I swallow before the milk can escape through my nose. “Mom, he would never hit me!”
    “I didn’t say he would.”
    “Good, because he wouldn’t. Ever. What’s with you? Do you have to interrogate me about Galen every time you see me?”
    This time she shrugs. “Seems like the right thing to do. When you have children, you’ll understand.”
    “I’m not stupid. If Galen acts up, I’ll either dump him or kill him. You have my word.”
    Mom laughs and butters my muffin. “I guess I can’t ask for more than that.”
    Accepting the muffin—and the truce—I say, “Nope. Anything more would be unreasonable.”
    “Just remember, I’m watching you like a hawk. Except for right now, because I’m going to bed. Soak your bowl in the sink before you leave.” She kisses the top of my head and yawns before she shuffles up the stairs.
    * * *
    I’m exhausted when I get home, even though the school day was the equivalent of a seven-hour yawn without Galen or Chloe. Mom is darting around the house like an agitated wasp. “Hi, sweetie, how was your day? Have you seen my keys?”
    “Nope, sorry. Did you check yesterday’s pockets?” I say, opening the fridge door to pull out some strawberries.
    “Good idea!” The carpet on the stairs muffles her stomping. She reappears a few seconds later as I pop a strawberry in my mouth and hoist myself onto the counter. “I didn’t have pockets yesterday,” she says, tugging on her hair to tighten her ponytail.
    “Why don’t you just take the Honda? I’ll keep looking for your keys.”
    Mom nods. “You don’t need to go anywhere this afternoon? Still fighting with Galen?”
    “The only plans I made for tonight is make-up work.” That is, after I step out back and try to turn into a fish.
    When Mom’s doubtful frown doesn’t escalate into another interrogation, I know she’s trying to uphold our truce from this morning. “Okay. There’s leftover stew in the fridge. If Julie doesn’t show up again tonight, I’ll be working another double so I might not see you until later tomorrow. Don’t forget to lock up before you go to bed.”
    When I hear the Honda’s gears grinding in the driveway, I pick up my cell phone. Galen said Rachel never answers, but she calls back if you leave a message. After an automated woman from Trans-Atlantic Warranty Company gives me the option of leaving a message or calling back during normal business hours, I wait for the beep. “Hey, Rachel, it’s Emma. Tell Toraf he’s