“Your family really likes white,” I say, noticing the white umbrellas that top the three tables at the end of the pool.
“My mom does,” Trystan says, heading back to the house.
I race to follow him. “Your mom?”
“This was her house. My dad got it in the divorce.”
“Your mom bought this? What does she do?”
I know very little about his mom or anyone on this side of my family. My mom never wanted to talk about them, and neither did my dad.
“My mom doesn’t really do anything,” Trystan hurries to say, seeming uncomfortable with the question.
He goes through the living room, down a hall to the kitchen. It’s huge, and all white.
“Number one rule for the kitchen,” he says. “Don’t eat anything that’s Braden’s. He gets pissed if you take his food.”
“What food?”
“His training food.” Trystan walks over to the large center island. “All this shit is Braden’s.” He opens a drawer full of protein bars. “And this is mine.” Trystan opens the drawer below it, which is full of small packets of something.
“What are those?”
“Protein and vitamins. You add them to water.”
“You don’t have to worry about me taking those. Or the protein bars. I don’t eat that stuff. Where do you keep the chips and candy?”
“We don’t. Braden and I eat healthy. We’re athletes. We have to.”
“You don’t eat junk food? Like at all?”
“If we want that shit, we go out. We don’t keep it in the house.”
“You will now,” I say, opening a cabinet. It’s full of containers of brown rice and whole wheat pasta. “I need junk food. I can’t eat this stuff.”
Going to the fridge, I open it and see sushi, raw tuna steaks, several bottles of green juice, and different colored vegetables chopped up and put in clear containers.
“Okay, seriously, where’s all the food?”
“What do you mean?” Trystan asks, standing beside me.
“I’d maybe eat the sushi, but I wouldn’t eat anything else in here.” I close the fridge. “Your dad said you guys eat all the time.”
“We do. But this is what we eat.”
“That’s not gonna work for me. I need Pop-Tarts. Cereal. Ice cream.”
“Maria will get it. Just text her what you want.”
“Maria’s the maid, right?”
“She also does the shopping. She’s usually here but she took the afternoon off. C’mon, I’ll show you the rest of the house.” He walks down a long hall and points to a room to the left. “That’s my dad’s office. Never go in there. He’ll kill you.”
As Trystan continues on, I stop and peek in Brock’s office. It’s huge with tall ceilings and windows along the back wall. There’s a long desk that backs up to the windows and a couch off to the side. Framed posters of the TV shows Brock’s been on hang on the walls, and there’s a bookcase with pictures and award statues on it.
“What the hell did I just say?” Trystan asks, looking back at me.
“What? I didn’t go inside.”
