“Good morning!” He greets us cheerfully.
“Hello,” I say, and DJ gurgles his response too.
“There’s coffee in the pot, and I’m making eggs,” Hawk says. “They’ll be done in a minute.”
I buckle DJ into his high chair and locate his formula can on the counter. “That sounds great, thanks. Can I help you with anything?”
“Nah, all I have to do is wait for these to be done and press a button on the toaster. What’s lil’ man gonna eat? I wasn’t sure what you usually give him.”
“He’ll get some formula in his sippy cup, and I’ll give him some of my eggs. And this avocado that travelled with us from Tucson yesterday,” I say as I lift the fruit in question. “Are you going to the gym?”
“Already went,” he says.
I’m impressed, but not surprised. A body like his doesn’t come about without single-minded tenacity.
“Can you tell me where you keep the plates?”
Hawk gives me a rundown of the various cabinets and their contents, and before I know it, the three of us are sitting at the table together, eating and chatting.
Afterwards, Hawk rinses the plates and utensils and puts them in the dishwasher. I try to feed DJ the rest of his avocado, but he resists.
“Do you need a refill?” Hawk asks as he fills up his travel mug.
“No, thanks, I’m good. Thank you for breakfast.”
“It was my pleasure. I hope DJ liked it.”
“He did,” I say with a smile. “Tomorrow I’ll make us something.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Hawk says, “if I’m up, I don’t mind cooking. We can alternate prepping dinner if you’d like.”
“Sure! I can make dinner every night,” I offer, and he shakes his head reproachfully.
“Please don’t think you have to earn your keep. I was the one who insisted on you two being here. What will it take to convince you of that?”
“Making dinner tonight?” I say, and he chuckles.
“There’s a club meeting today at 4, so I think dinner will have to be a freezer meal,” he says. “But tomorrow you can preparewhatever you want if that’s going to make you feel better. Now I have to go get ready for work.”
I wasn’t prepared for freshly showered Hawk in his work clothes. He smells even better than usual, and he’s dressed how I (probably incorrectly) imagine Navy SEALs dress, like he’s going on a secret military mission somewhere.
I suddenly remember asking him about what happened to Beavis and Butthead. He told me, “You don’t want to know,” in a tone that chilled me to the core.
I continue wiping the crumbs off the table.
“I’ll call you later to let you know if we’re meeting at the clubhouse or if I’m picking you up here, okay?”
“Okay. Have a nice day,” I tell him with a small wave.
Right before noon, Bev calls and asks if she can come over. She shows up holding a manila folder in one hand, and a tote bag filled with some bulky items in the other. She’s wearing white capri pants and a peach-colored blouse that makes her torso seem even longer.
She hugs me like we’re best friends.
“Hi! Sorry for springing this visit on you, but I need your help.”
That doesn’t sound right.
“Hi, DJ,” she coos at DJ, who’s playing on the living room floor. “Are you guys hungry? I brought lunch from the Friendly Fork,” she says as she lifts up the tote. “We can eat, and I’ll explain everything.”
