Chasm laughs at me, Parrish remains as stoic and uninterested as usual, while Kimber glares daggers at me from across the table. Paul actually cringes and covers his phone with his hand, mouthing be right back to Tess before disappearing out to the balcony and closing the glass doors behind him.
“Mi—” Tess starts to scold me, changing tactics at the last second. She exhales sharply, and I want to scream. How hard is it to just call me by the name that I grew up with? “Dakota.”
My fingers twitch under the table, digging into my upper thighs and scraping at the zippered pockets. Paul comes back in a moment later and takes his spot at the head of the table. It bothers me a little bit, that he always sits there. I smell patriarchy. Shit, I spot patriarchy as his eyes flick over to my half-shirt with the characters from Food Wars on it and his mouth twitches with disapproval.
“Do you believe that clothing can dictate the way others perceive you?” he asks rhetorically, and the stink of judgment becomes almost unbearable. I brace myself for ridicule, snatching up a spoon and slopping scrambled eggs onto it. They’re sort of … different than I’m used to, runnier.
“This restaurant,” Tess interjects, trying to distract her husband, “P’tit Dej’, makes their scrambled eggs with fresh cream.”
“Back home, we take eggs from the coop and scramble them with salt and pepper,” I say, once again before I can stop myself. Chasm snorts, Parrish stops buttering his toast to look up at me, and Kimber makes a huffing sound that has me half-ready to take one of the fine China teacups off the table so I can chuck it at her.
“That must be nice,” Tess says primly, her mouth pinching into a thin line. “To have fresh eggs every day.” I notice her attention is still on Paul. With a huff that reminds me of Kimber, and a grumble under his breath, Paul returns his focus to his phone.
“It was nice,” I say, knowing that Chas and Parrish are still watching me. Chasm has his phone out, but he isn’t looking at it. “Actually, we had eggs when we celebrated my birthday on October twenty-fourth.”
There’s a long, heavy pause that follows, and I feel suddenly like the most ungrateful brat there is. I’m not allowed to be upset when there are two families fighting over me, two families that both want and love me. I’m just … not.
The thing is, the heart doesn’t always see reason; emotions don’t have to make sense.
“You celebrated your birthday on October twenty-fourth?” Tess asks, her voice strained and tense. She’s got a full face of makeup on now, hair coiffed, a short-sleeved suit jacket over a red blouse. Very professional, very pretty. I preferred the way she looked when she first knocked on my door.
“Since before I can remember,” is how I respond, knowing that I’ve bungled this whole morning.
Silence follows, broken only by the twins as they start to bicker over the last piece of bacon. I’d give anything to spend the day with just them and Ben.
“Did you know that your real birthday was today?” Tess asks, and my savior comes, strangely enough, in the form of Parrish. Although I’m not entirely sure he knows he’s taking the heat off of me.
“Does it matter?” he asks, setting his toast on his plate without even taking a bite. Tess glances over at him and he shrugs. Even Chasm is glancing his way now, like he isn’t sure where his best friend is going with this. “You should just give her the gift now, so we can all move on with our day.”
Rather than chastise him, Tess glances over at me, at the uneaten portion of eggs on my plate. Her cheeks are as red as mine were when Parrish kissed me last night. She’s embarrassed. Maybe she should be, I don’t know, but I feel suddenly bad about it.
“It didn’t occur to me that …” she starts, and then pauses, looking over at me like she’s never seen me before, like she has no idea who I am. And she doesn’t, really, does she? She won’t unless she makes more of an effort to get to know me instead of just treating me like the daughter she lost all those years ago.
“I wouldn’t mind having two birthdays,” I offer up, trying to smooth my way through a conversation that I derailed in the first place.
Tess smiles but doesn’t answer, and we suffer through a mostly silent meal.
Afterward, Tess and Paul lead the way to the garage, pausing just in front of the door to offer me up another key. This time, however, it isn’t an iron skeleton key that smells vaguely of blood. No, this is a shiny black key fob with chrome accents. The BMW logo takes up the center of the device.
