As noon approached, Ivy decided to prepare a simple lunch. She chopped fresh vegetables for a salad, grilled a chicken breast with a seasoning she'd learned from her mother, and boiled baby potatoes. The smell of cooking wafted through the downstairs, drawing David out of his study. He emerged into the kitchen, his shirt slightly wrinkled from sitting in front of the computer for hours, his sleeves still rolled up to his elbows.
"Smells delicious," David commented as he approached the counter, standing a short distance away h from Ivy. She took a piece of freshly cut raw carrot and chewed it slowly. "You're getting better at cooking. Your mom used to teach you, but now you're taking over."
Ivy smiled faintly, tossing the salad with deft movements, though her hands trembled slightly from David's close presence. "I'm just trying to remember what mom taught me. If it's too salty or not seasoned enough, tell me. I still often make mistakes."
They ate lunch at the same table as that morning. David praised Ivy's cooking with genuine enthusiasm and shared a bit about the meeting he had just finished—about the new company project he was working on and the challenges his team was facing. Ivy listened intently, occasionally asking questions or making small comments, happy to be able to listen to him. Their conversation flowed easily, moving from work matters to old stories about past family trips, but nothing touched on any deeper feelings. It was just the usual warmth of a stepfather and stepdaughter trying to survive the silence of a large house.
After lunch, Ivy went out into the backyard, even though David had told her not to that morning. He didn't do anything heavy, just watered the wilted houseplants, picked a few dry leaves, and cleared the fallen leaves on the terrace. The midday sun beat down on his skin, making a thin layer of sweat appear on his forehead. He wiped it away with the back of his hand, his oversized T-shirt slightly damp on the back. From the window of his second-floor study, David watched Ivy's small figure move around in the yard. He stood behind the glass for a long time, his hands gripping the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white, before finally sitting back down and forcing himself to focus on the document on the screen.
In the afternoon, Ivy showered and changed into looser home clothes—a simple white T-shirt and cotton shorts. She sat in the living room with a novel on her lap, trying to read but her mind often wandered. David came down from his study around five, his hair a bit disheveled from his frequent fussing with it. He was carrying two glasses of ice-cold juice he had just made himself from fruit in the refrigerator.
"This is for you," David said, handing one glass to Ivy. He sat on the sofa opposite, his long legs stretched out leisurely. "You looked hot in the yard earlier. Don't push yourself too hard, Ivy. This house is big, but we don't need to maintain it like a museum."
Ivy accepted the glass with a small smile, their fingers touching briefly as they exchanged glasses. The cool taste of orange juice immediately soothed her parched throat. "Thanks. I just wanted to help out a little. The house feels too quiet without anything to do. How about you? Did the meeting go smoothly?"
David nodded, sipping his juice slowly before answering. "Not bad. There were a few budget issues, but we can work it out. I might have to go into the office for a quick meeting tomorrow. Do you want to come? You can walk around town and pick up something you need."
Ivy shook her head slowly, her eyes staring at the glass in her hand. "Maybe another time. I still want to stay home today. I'll clean out some of Mom's things that are still in the closet. I think… I should start taking it slow."
David didn't push. He simply nodded in understanding and changed the topic to lighter matters—about the book Ivy was reading, about the new movie coming out, and about the new luxury car the next door neighbor had just bought. Their conversation flowed comfortably, filled with small laughs and casual comments, as if there was no heavy burden hanging between them. Ivy felt reassured every time she heard David's low, steady voice, while David quietly enjoyed her presence, which made the house feel less empty.
Evening approached sooner than they expected. Ivy prepared a simpler dinner—warm chicken soup with vegetables and white rice. They ate at the dining table with the lights dimmed, the soft yellow light illuminating their faces. David shared a fond memory of Ivy's mother, how she always nagged when he came home late but still prepared a warm meal. Ivy smiled at the story, occasionally adding details she remembered. There was no heavy conversation, just memories shared carefully so as not to hurt each other.
After dinner, they cleaned up the kitchen together as usual. Ivy washed the dishes, David dried and tidied up. When their hands touched again while passing a sponge or a glass, they both remained silent, continuing their work without comment. The air in the kitchen felt slightly warmer, and their breaths occasionally hitched, but neither of them expressed it.
The night wore on. Ivy sat on the sofa She sat in the living room, a thin blanket covering her legs, watching a light television show about traveling. David joined her shortly after, sitting on the other end of the sofa, his large frame slightly dipping into the cushions. They watched together in comfortable silence, occasionally making humorous comments about the places shown on the screen, and Ivy chuckled. They were only a cushion apart, close enough to feel each other's warmth, but far enough away to still seem normal.
When the clock struck eleven at night, Ivy yawned softly and stretched. "I'm sleepy. I'll try making pancakes for breakfast tomorrow morning. You like them with honey, right?"
David smiled, his eyes following Ivy as she got up from the sofa. "Sure. I'll wait. Don't stay up too late."
Ivy nodded and headed for the stairs. As she passed David, she paused, her hand lightly touching his arm. "Good night, David. Thank you for today."
"Good night, Ivy," David replied in a lower voice than usual. He watched her back as she ascended the stairs until she disappeared around the bend in the corridor. Afterward, she remained sitting alone on the sofa, staring at the dead television screen, her hands gripping her knees tightly as she let out a long, heavy sigh.
In her room, Ivy lay in bed, hugging her pillow again, just as she had the night before. She closed her eyes, trying to sleep, but the image of David's smile and his low laugh kept coming to mind. She rolled onto her side, trying to chase those thoughts away with the thought of tomorrow—making pancakes, cleaning the closet, and maybe reading a book on the porch. Meanwhile, in the living room, David still sat silently, staring at the empty staircase where Ivy had disappeared, his heart filled with feelings he didn't understand and didn't want to name.
The large house was silent again, accompanied only by the ticking of the wall clock and the night breeze outside the window. The two people living there continued their day in their usual way, maintaining a fragile emotional distance from each other, never acknowledging the growing waves behind the inevitable glances and small touches.