“You mind if I use the bathroom first?”
“No. Come on. It’s this way.” I lead him down the hall and I swear I can feel his eyes on me. I felt them last night when I was walking upstairs to the attic. “Right here,” I say, then walk down to Amara’s. She’s walking out as I approach. She looks so cute in her pajamas. I almost forgot it’s pajama day.
“Can I wear your Naughty or Nice bedroom shoes?” she asks.
“In the snow?” I counter.
“I’m wearing my snow boots there then I’ll change.”
“They’re in the top of my closet,” I tell her and she rushes to my room. She comes back out with them in what feels like seconds. “Damn, that was fast,” I say and she just shrugs.
“Is he eating with us?” she asks as we walk to the kitchen.
“Yeah. He’s in the bathroom washing up.”
When we enter the kitchen, I place the bagels in the toaster oven then turn on the griddle to cook the eggs. As I do, she grabs the Ho-Ho-Ho mugs from the cabinet. I notice her take out three. “That’s his cup over there on the table,” I tell her.
“But it’s the wrong mug,” she says.
He enters the kitchen right when she’s pouring the hot chocolate and I’m pouring the eggs onto the griddle. “Hey,” she says with a big smile. “I’m Amara.”
“Meleck,” he says, smiling too.
“I made you another cup,” she says before pushing it across the island.
“’Preciate it.”
“So, are you going to put up our lights and decorations?” she asks.
“Amara.” I gasp at her forwardness. “I’m sorry,” I apologize but he politely blows me off.
“It’s cool,” he assures me. “I saw all of it up there in the attic. I can do that.”
“See,” she utters toward me but I still give her the eye. “Thank you,” she tells him before stepping to the fridge and grabbing the cream cheese and a jar of my jam—her favorite, blueberry. “Wren makes the jam. You’ll like it.”
I guess my little sister gets the same vibe from him as I do because she’s talking her little ass off. I’m used to that with me, and even Reece, but normally, she isn’t this chatty and hospitable. It’s cute though and it truly eases my anxiety about him being here. At the end of the day, she is what matters most to me.
When we are all sitting at the kitchenette with our food and hot chocolate, Meleck reaches his hands out for us. Amara and I just smile, sharing a great memory between us. Our father always blessed the table and we would hold hands. So with hugesmiles, we both accept his hands and bow our heads. He prays then we dig in.
“You have to try the jam,” she insists. While I know my jam is the best, I find myself holding my breath as he spreads it over half of his bagel and takes a bite. When he nods and smiles slightly as he chews, I exhale. “Told you. It’s gas,” she says.
“It really is,” he agrees. “Is this the only flavor?” he asks genuinely and my little chatty sister beats me to answer him.
“No. She makes strawberry and peaches. Sometimes she has muscadines but it depends on the season,” she says and I’m truly surprised and amused at her level of comfort with him. “You live here?” she asks.
“No. I’m originally from Montana but just came from Missouri. I’m retired Army so I’ve lived a few different places though,” he says and I’m intrigued. She’s finding out more about him than I did so I decide to let her interrogate him so I don’t have to.
“That’s so cool. Have you ever been out of the country?”
“Germany and South Korea,” he reveals.
“We were talking about South Korea in my history class. It’s crazy over there. Were you scared?” she asks, so enthralled by his words.
“No. I wasn’t scared at all. I was there for sixteen months.”
“Did you learn to speak Korean?”
“Just annyeong haseyo, ne, and aniyo.”
