My only achievement of note this morning has been to get out of bed. I’m not even dressed yet, and Jimmy’s been Tai Chi-ing and Ben’s been running. Sawyer’s been cooking and…
Darian thumps down the stairs, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, and I feel slightly less guilty for acting like such a sloth. At least I’ve been awake longer than my brother.
I try to catch his eye as he walks past the dining table, but he’s too busy staring into the kitchen.
Guess I’ll have to run another test on my own, then.
While he’s busy getting coffee, I glance around the table, then go for my first acting award of the day and “accidentally” knock over the juice as I’m reaching for the maple syrup I don’t need.
The jug wobbles, then tips, splashing juice across the table and onto the floor.
“Watch it.” Enzo jumps back before he gets hit, grabbing his plate and moving to the other end of the table.
Adonis snickers, then keeps eating, while Sawyer points the spatula at me.
“You good?”
“Yeah.” I keep waiting to see who else will notice the spill and come to help me clean up, but… nope. Ben’s not here, so it looks like this lands on me.
Stupid boys.
Standing up, I snatch a towel off the hook and nudge my oblivious brother out of the way. He’s leaning against the counter, mumbling something to Nix that I’m too annoyed to pay attention to. He’s probably just being impatient about getting his morning coffee.
“Don’t worry, guys, I got this.” I glare across the table, my frown deepening before I drop to my knees and clean up this orange juice spill on my own.
Adonis and Enzo are out! And Cash, the toenail biter, was never an option anyway, so that eliminates three!
16
SAWYER
The dishes are piledin the sink, and I throw them one cursory glance before plunking down onto a dining room chair and resting my heel on the one adjacent to me. Grabbing my phone, I open upTemple Runand figure I’ll play until everyone has finished getting ready for the day. There’s a very chill,relaxed vibe in the air this morning, and I’m sure it’s because half of us are hungover.
I’m not feeling too bad.
Sure, I had to down a few shots last night, but nothing drastic, and I was smart enough to sip at my drink as the night wore on. People were too drunk to notice, but I wasn’t about to get so wasted that I needed help going up the stairs. I did crash pretty fast, though, I think. But I’ve woken up with only a mild headache, which I’m sure will dissipate after a few more glasses of water.
Snatching my cup off the table, I finish gulping it down just as Ben saunters down the stairs. Tugging his T-shirt straight, he dips his chin with a closed-mouth smile that quickly morphs into a gaping frown when he notices the mess in the kitchen.
I softly snicker at the fleeting look of horror before focusing back on my phone. Renewing the game, I start running away from psycho monkeys, jumping across destroyed bridges, and trying not to fall off the narrow path as I get my character as close to the treasure as possible.
I’m not about to get up and clean the mess. I cooked! And the rule is that if you cook, you don’t have to clean. Why do you think I got my ass in the kitchen when I was just a kid? I made that decision the first time I heard my dad say to Mom, “No way, you are not doing the dishes. You cooked, and the cook should never have to do cleanup.”
I may have only been like four or something, but I remember that so clearly, and I was determined to learn how to cook as fast as possible.
And then it became a necessity.
My insides deflate, my mind jumping back to those early days after my sister died. Mom couldn’t do anything. Shit, hardly any of us could. I remember dragging a stool into the kitchen soI could reach the bread, and I started by making peanut butter sandwiches for everyone. I guess I just learned from there.
When my parents separated, Mom had to take on extra work. I mean, she didn’thaveto—she chose to because she was so fucking miserable, she decided that busyness was the only way to counter it. I stepped into the kitchen because she was never around. And then when Dad moved back home, I hung out in the kitchen so I didn’t have to be around them so much.
And I guess I just started to enjoy cooking.
So… now I cook.
But I don’t fucking clean, and I’m not planning on changing my stance on that anytime soon.
Ben’s at the sink, humming to himself while he plunges his hands into the soapy hot water and scrubs the dishes.
