Chapter Twenty-Five
It’s slice o’ life time.
Elodie
It turns out that doing healthy, heartfelt communication is exhausting. By the time I make it back to Jove and Lyra’s house, I’m wiped out despite it only being midafternoon. A nap, I believe, is in my future.
I wander into the kitchen with a yawn, waving hello to Mars—Jove’s more than a little insane brother, who stands at the counter piping cute little carrots onto a cute little cake—and Jove and Lyra, who sit opposite him on barstools lining the counter.
Roman sits beside them, scribbling furiously into his recipe notebook.
“I’ve been trying to perfect this for years,” he mutters, glancing at a second, finished, carrot cake beside him. This one is missing a piece, which I find in meticulously cut pieces on a small plate next to Roman. “This one, though… where did you get this?”
“It’s my own special recipe, packed with love and trauma,” Mars answers, aiming a pointy grin my way. The hairs on my arms raise. “Hello, Elodie.”
Roman twists on his stool and snags me around the waist. “Sweet, try this cake,” he orders, replacing his pen with his fork.
“Mars said he’ll give me the recipe if I pinky swear not to share it with anyone else, since we’re family.
‘At risk of Jove,’ he said. Here, taste.
” He lifts a forkful to my mouth, and I open, too tired to care and too used to Roman in recipe mode to mind.
Recipe Mode Roman is different from Regular Roman. Recipe Mode Roman doesn’t care who you are or whether or not he hates you. Recipe mode Roman cares only about recipe. Right now, I’m not Elodie. Right now, I am Recipe Tester Number One.
I let him feed me and pretend like I did not eat loads of this cake at Jove and Lyra’s wedding. I ooh. I ahh. I nod along as he rhapsodizes about the carrot-to-flour ratio, the buttercream frosting, and the presentation. “ Tiny cakes,” he declares. “Better control of the ingredients!”
“Much tiny,” I agree, patting his head. His short-cropped hair prickles against my palm. I yawn. “Much control.”
“We can’t use it for the shop,” he says, squinting at Mars’ hands as they add the final flourish to the cake he’s working on. “But we can have it at home. Ruby likes carrot cake.”
Ruby likes anything Roman makes, so long as he keeps olives out of it.
“Can he make this while we’re here?” I ask Jove.
“And you,” I nod to Mars, “can observe to make sure he doesn’t miss anything?
” My eyes fall on the two carrot cakes in front of us.
Well… one and three-fourths carrot cakes in front of us, since Roman continues to pick apart his quarter-cake-sized piece, alternating between feeding me bites and taking some himself. “Will that be too much carrot cake?”
Lyra and Mars laugh.
“There’s never enough carrot cake,” Jove informs me. “Never.”
Mm. I can see how that would be true, yes, when the carrot cake is this good.
“We can do it tomorrow,” Mars agrees, eyes alight. “Two days in a row away from Ceres ought to have my little avoidant-attachment wife begging for me to give her attention.”
Yes, because that is what avoidant attachments are so known for doing. Not that I’ll be mentioning that . If Mars wants to play hard to get with his not-even-fishing-wife in a way that makes yummy, nummy, perfect carrot cake at home a possibility for me? By all means, my man. Play away.
“Do you have an oven thermometer?” Roman asks. “I’d like to make sure the temperature between here and home stays consistent. And I’ll have to take elevation into consideration… Indiana’s a lot lower…” He frowns, poking at his cake.
I pat his head again. “It’ll be fine, Salty.”
His face clears of Recipe Roman focus, and he seems to realize I’m being held captive by him. His arm twitches, but, notably, does not drop. “Yeah,” he grunts. “It will be fine.”
I feel sorry for our kitchen should it disobey his whims.
“If you’re done throwing cake down my throat,” I say mildly, “I’d like to take a wee nap.”
His brows furrow. “A nap? Since when do you take naps?”
Since never. “I’m on vacation, and I promised your sister I’d rest and restore.” And I’m worn out from an emotionally wrought reunion with my brother. “You have a problem with me napping?”
“After your nap, do you want to have movie night?” Lyra asks when Roman’s only reply is a scrunch of his nose and a scowl.
I agree to movie night before extricating myself—with effort—from Roman’s hold. “I’m going to the bedroom, not the moon,” I grumble. “Let me go.”
“Fine,” he grumbles right back. “But don’t think I don’t see you being weird.”
“You’re weird,” I retort. “Leave me alone.”
He rolls his eyes.
I stick my tongue out at him.
His mouth twitches.
Heh. I win.
I bid goodnap to an amused Lyra, Jove, and Mars, scrunch my nose at Roman, then disappear into my temporary bedroom for a much, much needed sleep.
I wake up from my nap unsure what year it is, what planet I’m on, and why the room is so dark.
“It’s 7:30,” Roman says, poking at my nose. “Dinner’s ready.”
I groan, batting his hand away. “No dinner,” I mumble. “Only sleep.”
“Yes dinner. You’ve been asleep for three hours.”
“Mm. Give me… twelve more.”
“If you don’t get up on your own, I’ll be carrying you to the table.”
Ugh.
Ugh, ugh, ugh.
He will, too. I know he will.
Ughhhhh.
“You’re being annoying,” I complain, rolling out of bed.
“So annoying to make sure you’re fed and taken care of,” he deadpans. “Yes.”
“You were supposed to stop this,” I remind him. “As part of your character development bit.”
He hums. “Growth is a journey that includes steps back among the steps forward.”
Uh huh. In other words: he forgot he was trying to be a better person.
“Have you tried dangling a carrot in front of your face?” I ask. “To keep you moving forward.”
“I’ll keep that option in mind,” he snorts. “For now, let’s go. Food is getting cold. Carrot cake is going stale.”
Ugh, ugh, ugh .
“That bad, huh?” Lyra asks when I manage to drag myself to the table—a small, wooden thing covered in carvings of planets and stars.
It didn’t used to be carved up, but Jove is a bit of an artist. At some point between now and the last time I saw this table in June, a glass top has been added to protect the mural.
I fall into an old, worn-in seat with a grunt.
“I was having a very nice dream before Grumpy Pants McMeanie Head came and woke me up. There were biceps. And triceps. And shoulders. And back muscles.” I fan myself, fluttering my eyes at my cousin before glancing pointedly at Jove.
“You know anything about all of that, Ly-ra?”
Jove blinks at me as a blush takes over Lyra’s face, and I wink. “Got her blushing for you, big man! You’re welcome!”
He blinks again. “I don’t really need any help in that department.” He pauses, then, “Thank you.”
I sigh. Woken from my nap just to be underappreciated. It figures.
“Stop being rude to our hosts,” Roman bosses, taking a seat next to me.
“Hosts,” I scoff. “That’s my family. It’s no different than you picking on Will and Ruby.”
“I don’t pick on Will and Ruby,” he huffs. “That’s you, too.”
Hmm.
“Don’t you have food to feed us or something? That is what you dragged me out here for, yes?”
He raises a maybe-amused brow at me, then rolls his eyes.
“Yes, I have food to feed you, little brat.” He gestures to the veritable buffet in the middle of the table, pointing at items and making all our mouths water.
“Spring rolls, rice, chicken katsu, California rolls, cucumber salad, miso soup, and crispy tofu.” He clears his throat.
“There’s some sliced melon for dessert. It’s slightly out of season, but it looked good. Ice cream, too.”
So. Maybe it was worth him waking me up for. I guess.
He tugs on one of my curls. “Wish I’d let you sleep?”
I stick my nose in the air and shrug. “I guess this is fine.”
“This looks incredible,” Lyra says. “And all the sauces!”
“Cover your eyes,” I tell Roman as Lyra reaches for the four different homemade sauces scattered throughout the serving dishes. “Don’t watch.”
“Why?” he asks, eyes narrowing on Lyra’s hands as they grab two of the sauce dishes.
“Trust me,” I suggest.
He does not heed my warning.
He grunts, then winces when Lyra dumps a little bit of each sauce into an empty sauce dish by her plate, quickly adding the other two in her dipping abomination.
“Why would she do that?” Roman wheezes.
I pat his back. “I tried to tell you.”
“You did not put nearly enough urgency in your warning.” He rubs his chest. “That was…”
“I know.” I nod. “You’ve no one to blame but yourself, though.”
“Her. I could blame her.”
I tut, shaking my head. “Blame Lyra? My perfect, adorable, sweet, kind, beautiful all-things-lovely cousin, Lyra? I think not.”
“I think I’m having a heart attack. Or an aneurysm."
“Can you have that after dinner instead?” Jove asks. “This looks good, and if we have to go to the ER, it’ll be cold before we can eat it.”
Roman straightens, nodding sagely, and I snort. Less than a day and Jove’s already got his number. What a man.
We eat, then have Jove show Roman Mars’ carrot garden so that Lyra and I can do the minimal amount of dishes before Roman tries to intervene.
He cleans as he cooks, so we only have the stuff on the table to deal with.
We’re putting dishes away while K-pop music blasts from a speaker in the windowsill when the men return.
I dance around Jove, banging a couple of mostly dry spoons together before flicking the final few drops of water off them at Roman.
He scowls as he takes in the scene, redness coasting up his throat and over his cheeks.
“I was going to clean that,” he pouts.
I snicker. I won again.
“Sucks to suck!” I yell over the music, twirling until I reach the silverware drawer. I put the spoons in, then shut it with my hip. “Cleaning is over! It’s time to dance!”
Jove stalks a giggling Lyra around the kitchen, spinning her in a lift when he catches her.
I grin.
“Aren’t they so cute?” I ask Roman, who hasn’t quite let go of his pout. My eyes roll. “Oh, get over it, Salty. You can do the dishes at home!”
He scowls, crossing his arms.
“Remember your character development,” I suggest, laughing. “Character-developed Roman would dance!” Then I grab his hand, tug, and start us whirling.
At first, his movements are stiff as I pull him around the kitchen, dodging Lyra and Jove as my cousin jumps and whirls and her husband gazes adoringly down at her, whirling with her.
When the next song starts, with a bumping beat and a K-pop idols’ deep voice singing words none of us understand, Roman’s shoulders start to lose some of their tension and his steps develop a slight bit of, dare I say, pep .
Elodie. Wins. Again.
A few more songs, a few more laughs, a little bit of the big man tossing his wife around, and we’re all out of breath.
“Movie time, I think,” Lyra puffs, falling into the sofa as the final song ends.
The rest of us concur, piling around her to pick a movie. Jove sits to her left, pulling her into him for a cute, cute, cute cuddle. My heart takes off watching them, and I find myself grateful I can feel joy for one person in my life without it being overshadowed by jealousy.
I sit to Lyra’s right, and Roman plops down to my right, throwing his arm over the back of the couch and threading his hand through my hair as Jove finds a movie.
I eye Mister Touchy, but ultimately decide to let it go.
He’s spent all day in a strange place with strange people after I pretty much abandoned him…
twice. If he wants the comfort of his hand in my hair, I’ll let him have it.
Plus, it feels kind of… nice.
Kind of very, very nice.
I settle into the touch as the opening credits of a not-Barbie movie roll, surprised at just how kind of very, very nice it feels. Surprised that maybe I, too, am finding comfort in this familiar connection with Roman.
What a kind of very, very strange thing to feel.