“We have six,” Brea’s dad said proudly. Brea downed her drink as her father whipped out a scrapbook and started going through the various Roombas they owned and where they had found them. Then he showed me a series of candid shots of the Roombas going about their day.
All the while, Brea was pleading, “Dad, please, Mark does not want to see this. He doesn’t want to see any of this! No one does!”
“It’s okay,” I assured Brea. “It’s not like they’re showing your baby pictures.”
“Oh, we have those too!” her dad said, happily pulling out another scrapbook. “Look at Brea! Wasn’t she just the chonkiest baby?”
“Dad!” Brea screeched.
“Dinner’s almost ready to go!” her other dad called, coming past us with a whole raw duck on a board and a container of frying oil.
“I’ve cleared off the fire escape,” Todd said, setting down the scrapbook.
Brea looked at them in horror. “You were serious?”
Her fathers stared at her blankly. “You can’t very well fry this in the house, Brea. Be reasonable.”
“You can’t fry a duck out on the fire escape,” she sputtered. “You’ll set the whole building on fire!”
“Brea, I have a nice dinner planned,” her father insisted.
“Let’s…” Brea looked around helplessly.
I shrugged. “You could do it on the sidewalk.”
“I can’t cook on the sidewalk, Brea. What will the neighbors think?” her father scoffed.
“I’ll do it then,” she said, grabbing the tongs, duck, and fryer from her father.
Not knowing what else to do, I followed her.
“I am so sorry,” Brea told me as we took the stairs down. “They are just the worst.”
“They aren’t that bad,” I told her, smiling. “They mean well. And they clearly love you and your Roomba siblings.” Brea stuck her tongue out at me, and I kissed her.
When we stepped outside, Brea inspected the deep fryer. “How does this work?”
“Just insert the hose into the opening,” I told her with a smirk.
She snorted, and I kissed her. Then we set up the deep fryer and waited for the oil to heat up.
“Ugh, I wish I’d brought my drink down with me,” Brea said, sitting on the stoop of her building.
“I’ll grab you one,” I offered, kissing her on the head then petting the dead ferret on her hat.
Brea’s parents were finishing the side dishes when I walked back up. They poked their heads out of the narrow galley kitchen. The dad with the elaborate brocaded gown frowned when he saw me.
“I’m just going to take this down to Brea,” I said, grabbing her drink.
“We need to talk,” he said. “Sit.”
I sat.
Beau took a deep breath. “Brea is everything to us. It was the happiest day of our lives when Brea arrived.”
Todd nodded. “She’s perfect. An angel. Don’t you dare hurt her! She’s the sweetest thing.”
“I won’t,” I said honestly. “I care about her a lot.”
