CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Summer
Itake in the spotlesskitchen, feeling rather proud of what we have achieved.Not even an hour ago, every surface had been covered in takeout boxes, tubs, packets, or bottles.Ordering a takeout didn’t save us from washing-up either, and since none of us wanted to wake-up to dirty dishes, the dishwasher has been filled, and I am hand-washing the remaining glasses and plates that didn’t fit.
Malia yawns from beside me, taking the clean plate from the drainer to dry it.“I didn’t even know I owned this many plates.”
I chuckle as it reminds me of the complaints my dad always made when I was growing up.“Dad always accused Mum of stealing plates whenever she ate out somewhere else.She didn’t even dispute the accusation since she never knew how she ended up with so many either.”
“Spares,” Reid announces, and at our confused looks, he continues.“Each time one of us accidently broke one or more of a plate set, Mum would go out and buy new sets.She hated having mismatched plates at a table.She would never throw the old ones away.She’d always say, ‘we’ll keep these as spares in case we run out’.I’m pretty sure Paisley had a clear out of them before she moved into the bed and breakfast.And then there’s the sympathy plates.When our dad died, apparently everyone would bring plates of food over.And you can’t forget parties.I don’t know about you, but our mum never showed up empty handed, and guaranteed she would forget the plate there.Same if we were the ones throwing the party.Everyone would leave their plate and never come back for it.”
Malia lowers the plate onto the pile to be put away, seeming to think it over.“That’s probably right.Our parents always moved into neighbourhoods where the neighbours would bring plates of food over.We weren’t poor growing up, but we did move around a lot, and buying new each time did cost, so we never returned them.We packed everything, from salt and pepper packets to sauce sachets.”
I twist until I’m facing the two.“This conversation reminds me of what Rachel from work said once.She offered to give one of the guys a shovel and when they asked if she wanted anything for it, she said no, because she had loads, and admitted she’s never actually bought one before so she didn’t feel right taking money for it.She just accumulated them over time.”
“Kind of like lighters,” Reid muses.“I have a drawer full, but I’ve never actually been into a shop to buy one.”
“You smoke?”I ask, surprised.
“I did.Or do on occasion,” he admits.
When Malia yawns again, and the plate she’s drying nearly slips from her hands, I speak up.“Go to bed, Malia.It’s been a long day and you got up earlier than the rest of us.”
“You nearly got blown up, so pretty sure your day has been longer,” she softly remarks.
I nudge her out of the way.“Look, your breath stinks.I wasn’t going to say anything but you keep breathing all over me, so please do me a favour and go to bed.”
She snorts, slapping the tea towel down on the counter.“You are such a heifer.My breath doesn’t stink.”
“It really does,” Reid tells her.“It smells like something died in there.”
She glares at him.“Really?”
I splutter out a laugh.“I’m joking.Just go to bed.You arguing about it is just taking longer.”
“I’m going,” she snaps, then pushes past Reid.“And my breath doesn’t stink.”
“Trust me, I’ve been debating whether to throw a mint in your mouth whilst you were yawning,” Reid tells her.
She walks out of the kitchen, holding her middle finger up in the air.“Sleep well, Reid.Sleep well.”
I laugh as I reach for another plate.“She’s going to kill you in your sleep.”
“As long as she doesn’t come up close and personal, she’s welcome to try,” he states, picking up the tea towel.“Is it me, or do people with bad breath purposely get in your space?Ant, a bloke who worked for us a few years ago, always leaned in to talk to me, like he was sharing a secret.His breath stunk like a rotting carcass.Just fucking text whatever you need to say or stand three meters away from me.”
“Or you could just tell them they have bad breath?”
