Cameron
I’m sipping coffee, courtesy of Edison’s fancy espresso machine that reminds me of the ones they have at Starbucks, while he rummages around in the fridge. It’s bright and early. So bright and early that no one else is awake yet.
I guess one of the benefits of being an early riser is getting the opportunity to spend more time with Edison.
I would say everyone has a deep appreciation and respect for him, especially after seeing how hard he was willing to work to ensure Andi’s safety over this past month, but my admiration for him runs deeper.
Andi called me a fanboy that first day we were all introduced to him—and she was right.
“What are you looking to make?” I ask, taking a sip from my coffee.
“French toast,” Edison answers, straightening and shutting the refrigerator door behind him. “I’ve never been particularly good at cooking, which probably explains all the takeout containers in here... but I do know how to make French Toast. It was Andi’s favorite as a kid.”
“That’s really sweet of you.”
The attentiveness with which the guys tend to Andi’s needs and the sheer volume of effort Edison is putting in for her, makes me feel a little insecure about my own contributions.
It’s a feeling I’ve grappled with for a while now.
I know what I told her last night, that I didn’t want a consolation kiss and that we would take things at her pace—and I meant those words when I said them—but I can’t help but feel a little like I’m falling behind.
I should be doing more, shouldn’t I? Not necessarily doing more with her, but doing more for her, right?
“Do you think she’ll like it?” Edison asks, reaching up and massaging where his neck meets his shoulder. The sweater he’s wearing blocks the view of his bondmark, but I’ve noticed ever since the court case yesterday when he saw Gina that he’s been touching his bondmark like it aches.
“I’m sure she will. Even if French Toast isn’t her favorite anymore, I know she’ll appreciate the effort.”
Before Edison has a chance to respond, Andi appears, her feet padding softly against the wooden floor. She stifles a yawn behind her hand before offering the two of us a smile and a little finger wave. Her hair is messy around her shoulders, like she just rolled out of bed—probably because she has.
She’s wearing a baggy t-shirt that I’m pretty sure she borrowed from Beck, considering the lingering scent of his caramel perfume, and a pair of pajama shorts.
“Good morning,” I say, returning her wave with a far more awkward and significantly less cute wave of my own. “Did you sleep well?”
“Oh, totally,” she nods. “I just couldn’t go back to sleep after I woke up to the sun in my face. None of us remembered to close the curtains.”
“Ah, yes, that room does get a lot of sun,” Edison says. “I’m sorry, breakfast isn’t ready yet. I expected you to sleep in a little later.”
“Oh, that’s okay, no need to worry. What were you thinking for breakfast?” she asks, perching herself beside me on one of the barstools.
She’s so close I can practically taste the soothing chamomile of her perfume at the back of my throat. The sight of her, all sleep-rumpled and beautiful, feels incredibly domestic.
“I was planning on making French Toast,” Edison says, starting to pull out the ingredients.
Andi freezes beside me. Edison likely doesn’t notice, considering the way he’s moving around in the kitchen, but I catch the way Andi’s hands clench into fists in her lap.
“That—Thank you,” she rasps. “Was that—Am I going crazy or was that something you made for me as a kid?”
“It was!” Edison’s face splits into a bright smile.
“Let me make you some coffee,” I offer, pushing my barstool back and standing.
Since I’m unable to shake the itch that I should be doing more for her, this is a good start, isn’t it?
Why in the world am I so insecure around her? I wouldn’t exactly call myself a confident guy, but I’ve never second-guessed every single action or thought I have in this fashion for a very long time. Not even when my ex-girlfriend cheated on me.
Maybe it has something to do with the fact that the one area of life—my work—that I feel remotely confident in, has taken a backseat to getting Andi out of that terrible situation.
Most of my work revolves around the documentation of tragic events like that, not actual rescue.
That’s been one of the hardest pills to swallow about my job. That I can’t save everyone I meet.
My job is to tell their stories to inspire the people who can make widespread change, to make it. I’m only one man, after all.
I’m lost in my own thoughts as I make her a homemade white-chocolate mocha using Edison’s fancy coffee machine. If I weren’t so familiar with how to make the drink already, I’m sure I would’ve fucked up somewhere, but I’ve been making them for a few weeks now.
I mix the white chocolate sauce we keep in the fridge with the fresh espresso and add some steamed milk to it.
“Here you go,” I say softly, sliding a mug towards her. I rest my knuckles against the counter, watching her with rapt attention as she takes a sip.
Her eyes go wide and a grin brightens her face. I’m struck by how similar her and Edison’s smiles are.
“Holy shit, is this a white chocolate mocha?”
“It is,” I nod, sliding into the seat beside her with a small smile.
“Wait, this is crazy. How did you know this was my favorite? And how in the world do you know how to make it yourself? I don't even know if I know how to make it!”
“All of us... we would watch your vlogs,” I say gesturing to the living room. “… when we missed you,” I rub the back of my neck, a little sheepish to admit that. Will she think it’s stalker-ish? I hope not. She’s the one who filmed and posted those for the world to see.
“Wait, like, you’d put it up on the big screen?” She jerks her thumb towards the large TV in the living room.
“Sometimes,” I answer honestly, my lips quirking up at the sight of her acting all shy. “Sometimes we’d watch it on our own time. But you mentioned that drink was your favorite, so all of us learned how to make it when we were bored out of our minds, waiting for some of the paperwork to be filed.”
“Wow. That’s—you guys are kinda crazy.” She winces as she tries to hide her face behind the mug of coffee.
“There’s no need to be embarrassed about it,” Edison offers, mixing up the batter for the French Toast. “I found your vlogs to be fantastic watches. Your editing skills really highlighted your sense of humor. You did an impressive job, especially if you were limited in the software you could use.”
“I was pretty limited,” she says, brushing some of her hair away from her face. “Did you really like it?”
“I did, Sweetheart. I’m excited to see what you can do now that you’re free to do whatever you wish.”
That comment has her quietly drinking her coffee as Edison cooks a few loaves of brioche bread worth of French Toast. Considering there are three alphas in the makeshift pack we’ve started to form, I guess he’s making enough for all of us. Using multiple loaves is a good bet.
“This is delicious,” she says, covering her mouth to speak between bites. “Seriously, what’s the secret?”
“Flour and sugar in the batter,” Edison says, wiping his hands on the kitchen towel before settling in on the wooden barstool beside Andi. “Helps thicken more than a basic egg batter.”
“Well, it’s magical,” she hums. She sets her fork down after devouring the first few pieces, glancing between us. Her expression that tells me she has something she wants to say at the tip of her tongue.
“Penny for your thoughts, Sweet Tea?”
“Hmm? Oh, that obvious, huh?” She sheepishly takes a sip of her coffee.
“Not obvious in a bad way.”
“You guys seem to be able to read me like I’m a children’s picture book or something,” she says with a soft huff. “I was just... thinking about what you said, Dad.”
Edison straightens, unable to hide the lightness in his shoulders at her calling him dad.
“You said I’m free to do whatever I wish now... but if I’m being honest, I don’t know what I’m allowed to want.”
“If you’d said you don’t know what you’d want, I think I’d have fewer suggestions,” I offer quietly. “But you just said you don’t know what you’re allowed to want, and I think Edison and I are on the same page when I say you’re allowed to want whatever the hell you want.”
“But—but that’s scary,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
The earnest way she admits that reminds me of abuse victims I’ve worked with in the past. Even though Gina herself never directly hit Andi, the kind of psychological warfare she engaged in against her daughter is the kind of thing that leaves long-lasting scars.
“It must be terrifying,” I murmur, reaching out and stilling her anxious movements. She slowly flips her hand underneath mine so our fingers are laced together.
“Yeah,” she swallows hard before glancing up at Edison. “Please—please don’t take offense to this. I just—just need to hear that there’s not some secret way I could fuck up and have you change your mind about being such a nice Dad to me.”
“Oh, Andi,” Edison says, his brows drawing down.
He reaches out, his hand trembling as he gently pats her on the head.
“There’s nothing you could ever say or do that would make me stop loving you.
And my love for you will always be the kind that looks like championing for what you want.
I will be honest and say that as your father, there are certain things I wish for you—in order for you to have a happy life—but you have a good head on your shoulders, I will support whatever you choose. ”
Andi swallows hard, nodding slowly.
“What kind of things do you wish for?” she asks softly.
“Well, selfishly, I love that you have an interest in film and video editing; I’d love it if you wanted to continue that passion,” he says, offering her a reassuring smile.
“That’s a good thing, though. Are there any not-good things you want?” She shakes her head. “Sorry, I’m not making any sense.”