Charlie stood behind the stepstool at the bathroom sink, rubbing the paint off of their fingers. They’d have to see if little Sam was ready to stop painting so they could clean up the kitchen. They’d gotten much better at cleaning the past couple months. Having a five-year-old around will do that, they supposed.

Charlie reached for the soap bar. It would have to be replaced soon, it was getting thin.

Very thin.

Before they knew it, Charlie dug their fingernail into the edge of the bar. They tore off a strip and rolled it between their hands into a ball. Okay. We can stop now. We can rinse our hands. And leave the rest of the soap. Their hands stumbled, fidgeting, and rolled another. And another. Until the soap bar was replaced with a neat little pile of balls in the dish.

Charlie sighed. The compulsions were getting harder to fight.

Back out in the kitchen, Sam announced she was bored of finger painting and marched off to wash her hands after Charlie.

Charlie set up the stick figures, sunsets, and mountains to dry and set to work cleaning up the paint. As they scrubbed at the table, thoughts popped up unwanted. You’re not a good parent. You’re not even a real one. You got Sam because no one else would take care of her.

Charlie frowned and scraped harder at a particular bit of dried paint. It’s not enough that you love her, or you’re trying. When has trying ever been enough? You can’t even wash your hands right.

“Blech,” Sam said. Charlie walked to the bathroom and saw her spit out one of the balls of soap.

“These are bad peas, they taste gross.”

“Oh honey, you’re not supposed to eat those. That’s soap.”

“Ooooooh. Why’s it look like peas?”

“I–” Charlie flushed. “When the soap bar gets thin I roll it into little balls.”

“Ooo, can I try?” Sam jumped up and down on her stepstool. “I wanna make soap peas!”

“Well–there’s another thin soap bar in the bathroom in my room. I’ll grab an extra stepstool and we can go there.”

“Yay!” Sam marched into Charlie’s bedroom, clapping her wet hands with each step. She popped up onto the stepstool when Charlie set it down, and smiled into the mirror.

Charlie took the bar of soap. “You see how the edge comes to a little point?”

Sam nodded.

“If you stick your fingernail in, you can tear off a piece. Then you just roll it between your hands like this.”

Sam followed the instructions closely, staring hard at the soap like it would boost her fine motor skills. She opened her hands. “A soap pea!!”

Charlie smiled.

“Again! I wanna do more!”

With paint stains and wrinkled fingers, Sam and Charlie rolled the rest of the bar into peas, Sam humming and shouting “Ta-da!” after each one. Charlie looked up into the mirror, their head above Sam’s. And their thoughts didn’t say a word.