Morning Puzzle – Short Story by R.S. Nelson
A quiet breakfast, a crossword, and a memory that won’t let go.
Morning Puzzle by R.S. Nelson unfolds in small gestures and soft memories until one question shatters the silence. Read it now on Written Tales. Submissions are open if you’ve got a story that speaks through the stillness.
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Kate places a bowl of steaming porridge in front of Edgar. He lowers the newspaper and looks at her through his thick-rimmed glasses.
“Careful, my love, it’s hot.” She offers him a tender smile.
Edgar returns the gesture—a thousand untold words crossing between them—and resumes his reading. Kate slowly lowers herself on the seat across from him, pushes a strand of gray hair behind her ear, and opens the crossword puzzle book their daughter, Cece, gave her for Christmas.
“Number twelve down, three-letter word for flightless bird. Do you know it?” asks Kate. Before Edgar can reply, Kate says, “I think it’s Emu,” tapping the pencil on her chin. “Number seventeen down, five-letter word for original ‘White Christmas’ record label…Oh, I love that song. Remember when we played it at our Christmas party?” She reaches across the table for Edgar’s hand. “You asked me to dance and then you kissed me in front of everyone. You looked so handsome!” Kate closes her eyes, allowing the memories to sink in.
But the front door opening wakes her up from her reverie.
“Mom?”
Kate sits straight and exhales deeply, wondering why she gave Cece an extra key. “In the kitchen, dear.”
Cece walks in and drops her purse on the counter. She scowls at the bowl on the table. “Is that all you had for breakfast? I can make you something else,” she says, opening the fridge.
“No thanks, dear.”
Cece sticks her head out of the fridge, holding her nose. “Ugh. Mom, when was the last time you cleaned this?”
Kate’s smile tightens. “How are the boys, Cece? I haven’t seen them in so long,” she asks, changing the subject.
Cece freezes, her eyes surveying her mother’s face. But her puzzled look lasts only a second. She mumbles, “They’re fine, Mom. You know how teenagers are.” Then she starts taking things out of the fridge and unceremoniously dumping them into the garbage.
“Yes, of course,” fibs Kate. Images of Cece as a sulky teen, of slammed doors, glimpse inside her head. But no matter how much she tries; Kate can’t remember her teenaged grandsons. Is it Leo and Blake?
“Anyway,” say Cece, grabbing a bottle of disinfectant and a rag from under the sink. “Have you thought about what we talked about?”
Edgar lowers the newspaper, and exchanges a quick look with Kate, who rolls her eyes, as if saying, ‘Here we go again.’
“Sweetheart, my answer is still no.”
“But Mom—”
“You know I love you, Cece…but I just can’t.”
Cece doesn’t reply. Instead, she sprays the disinfectant on the fridge door and scrubs it hard with the rag, her arm moving in circles like a tornado. Then she suddenly stops and sighs. She throws the rag on the counter and looks at her mother, her arms folded. “You can’t what, Mom? Let us care for you? Like us enough to want to live with us?”
Kate takes a deep breath and rubs her right temple. “Cece, sweetheart, we have talked about this. I just can’t leave this house—”
Cece lifts her hands up and then drops them. “Why, Mom? It’s old and needs fixing, and if we sell it we can use the extra income—"
Kate looks at Cece, her eyebrows raised.
“I mean, you. You can use the extra income to…travel, or save it. Or to do whatever.”
Kate winces at her and breathes fast, the throbbing pulse of her heart thumping in her head like a techno song. She tries to keep her voice low, and measured, but it comes out brash. “I can’t leave—,” she starts and then stops herself.
Hands on her hips, Cece moves closer to Kate. “What, Mom? Why don’t you just tell me, what can’t you leave?”
Kate looks at Edgar, who is frozen in his chair, the newspaper showing only his pale face. Kate looks at her hands and smiles a forced smile. She pulls the crossword puzzle book closer. “This is tough, sweetheart,” she says to Cece. “But you’re right, this is good for the brain. I think I have number seventeen down. The answer is Decca,” she adds, scribbling the word on the paper so hard that the pencil’s tip breaks. Kate places her left hand on top of her right, to keep it from shaking.
Cece looks at her mother’s hand and sighs, her shoulders slump. She grabs Kate’s hand. “I know you miss him, Mom. But you can’t bring him back—”
“Cece!” Kate removes her hand from her daughter’s, leans away, and narrows her eyes, desperately trying to remember the little girl with pigtails who used to beg her parents to spin her around in circles. The girl who giggled and laughed. She remembers she had loved her. Where did that little girl go?“Please say hi to Leo and Blake from me.”
Cece’s lips tighten and she blinks, fast. She swallows hard to remove the lump that has just formed inside her throat. “Sure, Mom,” she says, kissing the top of Kate’s head. She grabs her purse, holding it tight, like if it were a life preserver. “But Theo and Jake will be here on Saturday, remember? Just like every week.”
When the front door closes, Kate’s bottom lip quivers. Edgar stretches his hand and places it on top of hers. She meets Edgar’s eyes and smiles, a thousand words crossing between them. Then she shakes her head and snorts. “Can you believe it? She didn’t say goodbye to you. It’s as if you’re not even here.”
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✍️ About the Authors
R.S. Nelson (she/her) is a Latina writer who lives and finds inspiration in Southern California. Her work has appeared or is forthcoming in Flash Fiction Magazine, Every Writer, Spillwords, Every Day Fiction, Afterimages, Twin Bird Review, and elsewhere. She was also shortlisted for the fall 2024 Women on Writing fiction contest.
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