Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Selkie
When I arrive at Myrtle’s Breakfast Buffet, Brody and Oscar are already there, standing side by side, leaning against the truck, sunglasses on, arms crossed, not talking. These two are reflections of each other running on parallel tracks.
Almost anyone else would be talking to each other, waving at us as we parked. Henri and I never not engage with each other. Even when we’re not talking, we know how the other is feeling through our facial expression or posture.
I didn’t exactly have a postcard childhood, and neither has Henri, but along with mom, we’re a solid family. Oscar and Brody seem lost. Not sure how to interact with life or each other. They need understanding not derision. I make a vow to be a better person towards them in the future.
“Hey,” I say as I get out of the car. “Hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
“Thirty minutes,” Brody replies blandly. “You need to replace that piece of shit.”
And just like that, my vow is broken. “Sure, Brody. Maybe you could help me round up a few of your criminal friends so I’ve got enough to pay for a new one.”
His mouth tightens as he pushes away from the truck. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Where’s Brambles?” Oscar asks.
“I took him home first. He doesn’t have enough self-control around buffets.”
For the first time since I’ve met him, Oscar smiles at me.
We’re like a nuclear family as Brody leads the way into Myrtle’s and the rest of us follow obediently. A surly one, but nonetheless, dad’s in charge, mom’s meek and the fucking children are squabbling again.
“Cut it out,” I whisper to them as Henri elbows Oscar out of her way so she can catch up with me.
He gives her small shove, making her stumble.
“Oscar,” Brody reprimands.
“Yeah, Oscar,” Henri mimics.
“Enough,” I say to her as I give her a small shove, making her stumble.
At the booth, Henri and I sit across from the guys, the kids by the window so their escape route is blocked.
“Coffee?” The waitress asks as she stops by the table. Her name is Brea. It’s on her name tag. Nothing gets by me.
“Yeah,” Brody says.
“Please,” I say.
“Make it an expresso,” Henri says.
“Make it an orange juice,” I say.
“And you?” She looks pointedly at Oscar.
He glances at his dad. “I’d like a coke, please.”
Brody says nothing, which gives Henri the go-ahead to protest. “Not fair he gets coke and I have to drink juice.”
“Too bad for you,” Oscar retorts.
Brea looks at me as if I should control my squabbling kids. I stare at Brody. He sighs. “Bring him orange juice.”
Oscar huffs and Henri smirks.
“You doing the buffet or should I bring menus?” Brea asks.
“Menus,” Brody and I say at the same time.
When our eyes meet, he grins at me and my heart almost stops.
He has a beautiful smile. Everything about him draws me in.
Hands big, calloused and I want to feel them wrapped around my waist. His body, hard, unyielding, his arms holding me tenderly.
Even his eyes, even when they’re dead or angry.
But it’s in those rare moments when they soften and open up to show the way to his heart.
Those are the moments that really suck me in.
I want what he represents. Passion, love, the knowledge that I’m safe in the arms of a man I can trust.
My heart thumps fast, but my head douses me with cold water. Don’t let that fuckin’ man under your skin. You can’t trust him.
Brea drops the menus on the table. “I’ll give you a few minutes,” she says as she saunters off.
It’s unnervingly quiet as the four of us peruse the offerings. Of course the peace doesn’t last as Henri pokes me in the side with her sharp elbow. “Why can’t we have the buffet?”
Oscar looks over at her, then me. “Yeah, why not?” Solidarity at last, but bad timing.
“This is a bonding exercise,” Brody says flatly. “We can’t bond when we’re hunting and gathering.”
Did he just make another joke? Is it possible he has a sense of humor? Or maybe I’m losing my hearing. It’s gotta be that.
Brea returns. “Ready to order?”
Brody puts his menu down and says, “Yeah.” Once again, leader of the pack.
“I’m not.” Truthfully I am, but he’s got to stop making decisions for me.
“Then order last,” he retorts as he looks expectantly across the table at Henri.
She abruptly shuts her menu. “A Belgian waffle with strawberries and whipped cream.”
“Don’t you think you’re hyper enough?” Brody says like he’s her dad.
Oscar rolls his eyes. “I want pancakes and scrambled eggs, bacon and sausage.”
“Gonna get fat, bruh,” Henri taunts.
Oscar doesn’t rise to the bait. “White toast.”
“Same as Oscar,” Brody says to Brea.
Brea looks at me. “Have you decided?”
“Yeah. Oatmeal with almond milk and the fruit cup with a side of bacon.”
Brody snorts. “That’s like ordering a burger and fries and then having a Diet Coke with it.”
I look at Brea. “Double order of bacon please.”
I try to make small talk as we wait for the food, but it’s like hammering nails into concrete with the bottom of a shoe. The Brody boys have no understanding of the concept.
I say, “The weather’s good. Nice and warm.”
Brody says, “Yeah.”
I say, “A new barbershop opened up.”
Brody says, “I heard.”
Henri says, “My gramma has a boyfriend.”
Oscar looks bored.
Brea walks up with the food and I almost kiss her.
As we start to eat, Brody throws me a questioning look.
I shake my head. “After we’ve eaten. Keeps the food fight option off the table.”
“Yeah,” he says.
“What’s that mean?” Henri says. Oscar has checked out.
“Means nothing,” I mutter.
Usually, Henri and I would chatter away as we ate, but it feels awkward with the morose, tight-lipped males across from us, so we let the clink of cutlery on plates keep us company.
It gives me time to observe the Brody family. They have good table manners. Better than mine and Henri’s. They have good posture. I feel inadequate as I straighten my spine. I almost elbow Henri to do the same, but she’s slid down so far in her seat that I’d hit her ear.
She’s done eating though. There’s half the waffle left on her plate and she’s barely touched the strawberries and whipped cream. Oscar eyes it. “Is that all you’re gonna eat?”
Henri narrows her eyes. “As if it’s any of your business, but yeah, I’m done.”
He reaches across the table, grabs her plate and sets it on top of his empty plate.
“Hey!” Henri protests.
Brody squeezes his eyes shut as I say to Oscar, “You should ask first.”
Oscar furrows his eyebrows. “I did. She said she was done.”
Fair play.
He shovels the rest of the waffle into his mouth, then sets his fork down, and belches as he smirks at Henri. I guess my impression of his table matters was premature.
When Brody and I are finished, Brea pours us more coffee, then disappears with the plates. It’s showtime.
“You go first,” Brody says.
“Coward,” I mutter. Then, “Brody and I talked it over.” I stop. Brody sounds disrespectful and since I’ve asked for his respect, I’ve got to give him mine. “Eight…” I try on. “Yeah, Eight.”
The three are looking at me with varying expressions of confusion.
I shrug. “Eight and I talked about you two getting along and we decided on another plan.”
“Groannnn,” Henri says.
“No, no. You’re gonna love this. You and Oscar don’t have to breathe the same air for a while.”
Oscar looks heavenward. “Thank god.”
“Instead, Oscar’s going to spend three days with me and Henri’s going to spend three days with Eight.” I’m staring at Eight, hoping he’s still on board.
“It’ll be fun,” he says lamely.
“What?” Henri says, her eyes wide, her mouth gaping. “Why? No!”
Oscar says nothing. Just looks at Eight in shock.
“Because you both need to spend some time understanding who each other are.” Even to my ears it sounds lame, but I think Oscar and Henri are too stunned to notice.
Henri slumps in her seat. “You’re kidding, right? Like you’re trying to scare us straight.”
“We’re not kidding,” I say in my most-unkidding voice.
“No. No. Nooooooo!”
Oscar is still speechless but the betrayal on his face as he looks at Eight gives me perverse pleasure.
“It’s a big yes, kid,” I reply to Henri. “We’re doing this and you’re going to learn to like it.” I pause. “Or tolerate it. Or whatever.”
“I’m telling gramma.”
“Elle,” I correct with a grin. “And you know as well as I do that she’ll love the idea. She’s all about embracing adventure.”
Henri moves her gaze from me to Oscar. “Help.”
Oscar flattens his features. “No point. When dad makes up his mind, he doesn’t change it.”
“Just great.” Henri says as she lays her arms on the table, then buries her head in them.
Eight takes a drink of his coffee. “It’ll be a nice break from your life.”
Henri lifts her head and withers him with a glare.
I give him a small kick under the table. “No bad mouthing the other while we do this.”
“I wasn’t bad mouthing you,” he protests.
“No implied badmouthing the other while we do this.”
Oscar pats his pocket. “I need my cell phone back.”
I start to dig in my purse, but Eight says, “Nope. No cell phones during this experiment.”
I glare at him. “Who died and made--”
“No implied badmouthing the other. Your rule.”
Shit, I did make that rule without consulting him. Even so, my rule is rational. What kid doesn’t have a cell phone these days?
Brea comes over with the bill and Brody slaps some money down on the table.
Interesting. One: he’s a generous tipper, which is okay I guess.
Two: who pays with cash anymore? I think of all the air miles he’s missing out on by not using a credit card.
And three: who does he think he is assuming that he should pay my half?
I let the last thought go because I’m still as broke as I was when this nightmare began.
“Let’s go,” he says as he stands and stalks toward the exit. The three of us dutifully follow him out of the restaurant.
“I need my clothes and stuff,” Henri says immediately. “We gotta go home first, mom.”
Not a chance in hell is that going to happen. If I let her loose in our neighborhood, she’ll run like nobody’s watching and I’ll never track her down. She’s got too many friends.
Brody answers for me. “You got your backpack full of stuff in the trunk of your mom’s car. You don’t need more clothes.”
Once again, the master of the universe speaks for me, but I let it pass. After all, I totally forgot about the camping clothes.
“They smell like campfire,” Henri says lamely.
“We never got around to having a campfire,” I remind her.
Henri lets out a bull-sized snort.
After we exchange backpacks, I reach to hug my darling offspring.
She flinches away from me. “I’m never talking to you again.”
“I should be so lucky,” I reply as I watch Brody and Oscar.
They nod goodbye to each other, then Oscar tosses his backpack into the trunk of my car and climbs in the passenger seat.
“I’m gonna die, mom,” Henri yells as she yanks open the door to Brody’s truck. “You’ll see. I’ll get killed by friendly fire.”
“I should be so lucky,” Oscar mutters as he crosses his arms and slumps down in his seat.