Chapter 15 #2
“This is my favorite part of the day,” Briggs speaks quietly behind me, his sudden appearance causing me to jump. I turn to glare at him, but he’s too focused on the show to pay me any mind.
“Do you have any dietary restrictions, Andi?” Colsen asks, his attention never straying from the cutting board he’s using to chop a head of lettuce. “Vegetarian? Vegan?”
“No aversions to meat or animal products,” I mumble absently, my stomach letting loose a vicious growl at the delectable scents permeating the air. “Can I help with something?”
“Sure,” he answers, making room for me to join him on the opposite side of the counter. “Do you mind stirring that pot of green beans?”
I slip behind him, using the oven mitt beside the stove to lift the lid.
Steam billows out, the smoky hint of bacon only making my hunger more prominent.
Next, Colsen points me in the direction of their walk-in pantry and asks me to fetch him a salad bowl.
As he’s tossing the ingredients with a heavy dose of dressing, the black-paned window that spans the entire length of the wall across from us folds in on itself like an accordion.
A man I don’t recognize enters from the balcony, his smile stretching when his eyes find mine.
“You must be Andi,” he states, his eager strides bringing him closer in a matter of seconds.
I place my hand in the one he offers me, smiling politely at the gentle squeeze he gives it.
His hair is mostly silver, a sure representation of his age, but there’s a youthful air about him.
Perhaps it’s the neon yellow bowtie, or the dress socks that subtly match it peeking out from his cuffed suit pants.
“Royce DuPont, but you can call me Roy.”
“What the hell?” Colsen huffs, his fake offense edging towards dramatic. “I’ve known your ugly mug for close to a decade, and I’m not allowed to call you that.” His put-out expression really seals the deal, but Roy just scoffs and rolls his eyes.
“That’s because nicknames are reserved for the ladies in my life. Last I checked, you’ve got a pecker, and though it may be small,” he holds his finger and thumb an inch apart to really hammer home his point, “it still counts.”
“You refer to me as Col on a daily basis, so I guess that makes you my special lady,” Colsen mocks, his cackle trailing off as he sprints for the doorway before Roy can retaliate.
“You’re awfully close to getting a pink slip, Colsen Wilder!
” he yells after him, mumbling under his breath about the aforementioned man giving him an ulcer.
“I was sent to let everyone know that dinner is ready, so I apologize for getting sidetracked.” Roy straightens his bowtie, as if that helps him to regain some of his composure.
“About time,” Briggs chimes in as he pushes off the wall he’s leaned against. “My stomach’s gnawing on my fucking backbone.” He saunters off, not needing any further prompting.
“Let’s go then,” Roy sighs, his look of exasperation letting me know this is a regular occurrence.
I glance at Raiden and shrug my shoulders.
He shakes his head, looking just as clueless as I am.
We follow Roy outside, and I finally catch sight of the spiral staircase everyone else has taken.
We exit onto a rooftop terrace, the sound of laughter preceding our arrival.
An outdoor dining table takes up the majority of the left side, but to my right sits a fire pit surrounded by Adirondack chairs.
String lights adorn the border, secured by wooden posts cemented inside planters at each corner of the roof.
“Well, well, well,” Dayton chides, pointing his tongs at me and clanking them for emphasis.
He’s manning a flat-top grill, the stretched armholes of his tank top doing little to combat the heat it’s emanating.
A backward ballcap conceals his short brown hair, the overall look lending to the All-American type I pegged him as long before we met in person.
“If it isn’t the little flight risk herself.
” Raiden looks to me in question, but I dodge having to answer when Roy gestures over a middle-aged woman.
She’s tall, her olive complexion only showing the faintest hint of wrinkles.
“Andi, I’d like you to meet Rita. She’s an excellent ally to have when surrounded by so much testosterone.” He beams at the woman beside him, appearing giddy to make the introduction.
“It’s nice to meet you, Andi. Please ignore their poor behavior. I think men are hardwired to stick their foot in their mouths, but I’m working to break them of the habit,” Rita teases, her accent making the playful scolding sound far more serious than it is.
“Let’s eat,” Dayton announces, plating the steaks he’s just finished cooking.
Raiden and I hang back until the others have claimed their seats, and then we fill the empty ones.
The center of the table is stacked with food, but I’ve been programmed to know better than to reach for anything without invitation.
Sensing my hesitancy, Raiden makes his plate, then passes it to me, taking mine for himself.
We chat and eat, but I mostly listen. I learn that Royce is the owner of the construction company that Colsen works for, and all about their efforts to aid the homeless crisis the city is facing, which I only knew a little about beforehand.
Rita explains her role and how she became a fixture in their lives, delving into the early years of her life that were riddled with hardships.
Roy is hanging on her every word, his eyes filled with adoration.
I could listen to the stories she has to tell for hours, but the alarm on Colsen’s phone interrupts the moment.
“Chop, chop, drug boy. Give daddy the goods,” Briggs snaps his fingers, springing from his seat impatiently.
Colsen glares at the snide remark, but proceeds to pull a pill bottle from his pocket.
He pops the top and hands one to Briggs, who swallows it dry without a second thought. “Please, Sir, I want some more.”
His cupped hands, combined with that awful imitation of a British accent, make a laugh bubble out of me.
The others aren’t nearly as amused by Briggs’ theatrics, but they’re forced to endure his idiocy on a regular basis, and I’m not.
It just so happens, Oliver Twist was one of the first books I ever read for entertainment.
It was also the first thing I ever stole.
Unintentionally, but stolen all the same.
Like many times before, my parents had hauled off in the middle of the night for parts unknown, my borrowed book tucked safely beneath my pillow while I slept.
By morning, we were in another state, and any hope I had of returning it to the public library was long gone.
Mailing it back wasn’t an option when I didn’t know the name of the town we’d fled, much less have the funds to do so.
I was mortified at the time, but it didn’t take long for my morals to be pushed to the wayside.
I did some questionable things in the name of hunger, but I was a child trying to survive the incompetence of her parents, doing everything I could to keep us afloat.
I didn’t have the luxury of taking the high road when it was common practice for Prissy to give our last dollar to anyone who asked for a handout.
Her heart might have been in the right place, but despite her many reassurances that the universe would provide for us, it never did.
Instead, at the age of ten, I learned to clip coupons from the Sunday paper.
I’d steal them off of lawns as often as I could, but I mostly scrounged for quarters in high-traffic places.
You’d be surprised by the number of people who’d drop their change along the sidewalk, but couldn’t be bothered to pick it up.
Whether they lost it or kept it was of no consequence to them.
It didn’t amount to anything substantial, but to me it was the difference in whether or not we had enough food to make it through the week.
When times were especially tough, my parents would have me stand at busy intersections with a sign begging for handouts.
Gas wasn’t a cheap commodity, and as often as we traveled, the Airstream put a huge dent in our funds.
As they saw it, strangers were more inclined to help a child in need, so once again, the responsibility to secure our livelihood fell on my shoulders.
I’ve seen so much of this country–more than most, in fact, even with the nine-year hiatus–but the lens I had to see it through is clouded with a heavy dose of resentment.
My trip down memory lane is blessedly interrupted by Raiden’s phone ringing. He slips it from his pocket, but after a quick glance at the screen, he passes it to me. Seth Taylor flashes across the display, so I politely excuse myself and take the call.
“Hello?” I answer, my stomach dipping with nerves as I wait to hear how Hudson’s appointment went.
“Andi? Hey, it’s uh…it’s Seth,” he starts, then pauses to clear his throat before continuing.
“Today was good. Well, it was okay, but Hudson’s doctor feels confident that he’ll start to show improvement within a few weeks.
According to her, he needs consistency and reassurance more than anything, so… I’ll do that. I’ll be that for him.”
“That’s great, Seth. I’m really happy for both of you.” My smile is wobbly but genuine.
“Yeah, it is great…” he trails off, the uncertainty in his voice unmistakable.
“Listen…if you need help, all you have to do is call. But you’ve got this.” I run my fingers across the chest-high brick barrier surrounding the rooftop, hoping the roughness of it will distract me from the tears pricking my eyes. “Keep in touch, okay?”
“Will do, Andi.”