second cup of coffee and had Trip’s bacon and eggs plated and on the table when her son thudded down the stairs.
“Morning, sweetie,” she said, wondering as she always did how he managed to shower and dress without actually opening his eyes.
His greeting was garbled and his eyes mere slits as she pulled out the kitchen chair and guided him into it. Without further comment he lifted the glass of orange juice and drained it. In a matter of minutes his plate was empty.
“Morning, Mel.”
Melanie looked up in surprise at Vivien’s greeting. She was even more surprised to see that her sister was fully dressed.
“Oh, my God,” Vivi said. “Is that bacon and eggs I smell?”
Melanie hesitated, unable to believe her sister could have an ounce of vacant space inside her, given the amount of lasagna she’d consumed the night before. “Yes. Do you want some?”
“That would be great.” Vivien mussed the top of Trip’s head as she passed. “I’m completely ravenous.”
Melanie lit the burner under the frying pan without comment. “You want some coffee?”
Vivien looked at the pot longingly but declined. “I think I’ll just have some tea.” She whipped bags of chamomile from her pants pocket. “I’m trying to lay off the caffeine.”
“Okay.” Melanie filled the teakettle and put it on to boil. When the frying pan was hot again, she laid strips of bacon in it, then popped four slices of whole wheat bread into the toaster. Upstairs Shelby’s alarm clock blared on, the beep sirenlike in its intensity.
How Shelby could tune out the sound, which originated about six inches from her head, Melanie didn’t know. But she did know that somebody needed to go upstairs and pry her out of bed.
Despite his superior size and physical strength, Trip wasn’t awake enough to be sent into such hazardous combat. Melanie’s own hands were full with breakfast. Removing the now-whistling kettle from the burner, she poured the boiling water into the mug that held Vivien’s teabag and realized she had another option.
“I’ve got breakfast under control,” Melanie said casually. “Would you mind getting Shelby up? If she doesn’t get in the shower right now, I’ll get stuck in the car-pool line from hell.”
“Sure.”
Melanie felt a brief flash of guilt for sending her sister up unarmed and without a warning. But Vivien was a big girl and had managed to survive in New York for over a decade; she’d even been shot. Surely she could handle one seventeen-year-old girl.
She hid her smile as Vivien climbed the stairs. While she cracked eggs into a bowl, then began to scramble them, Melanie eavesdropped. There was murmuring, Vivien’s words crisp and pointed, Shelby’s an indecipherable whine. The alarm went off in midbeep. Melanie and Trip exchanged a glance, but studiously avoided placing bets on who would win the skirmish.
Just when it seemed there’d be nothing to hear, there was a yelp. Then another. A loud thud followed as something—or someone—hit the floor.
Melanie flipped the bacon and gave the eggs a final scramble. There was a shout. The stomp of angry feet, though it wasn’t clear whose. A door slammed, then was yanked open, then slammed again.
Trip snorted with laughter when the shower in Shelby’s bathroom went on. He hummed the theme song from Rocky as Vivien walked unsteadily down the back stairs into the kitchen.
Her blouse had come untucked and her hair stuck out in strange angles from her head. A grim, but satisfied, smile hovered on her lips. Her eyes still carried the glint of battle.
“You might have warned me,” she said.
“Sorry.” Melanie dished the food onto their plates and handed one to her sister. “I thought you’d be the perfect person for the job. You never used to be a morning person, either.” They carried their plates to the kitchen table and settled in to eat. “I’m a little surprised to see you up and dressed,” she said as Vivien tucked into her food.
“Morning, sweetie,” she said, wondering as she always did how he managed to shower and dress without actually opening his eyes.
His greeting was garbled and his eyes mere slits as she pulled out the kitchen chair and guided him into it. Without further comment he lifted the glass of orange juice and drained it. In a matter of minutes his plate was empty.
“Morning, Mel.”
Melanie looked up in surprise at Vivien’s greeting. She was even more surprised to see that her sister was fully dressed.
“Oh, my God,” Vivi said. “Is that bacon and eggs I smell?”
Melanie hesitated, unable to believe her sister could have an ounce of vacant space inside her, given the amount of lasagna she’d consumed the night before. “Yes. Do you want some?”
“That would be great.” Vivien mussed the top of Trip’s head as she passed. “I’m completely ravenous.”
Melanie lit the burner under the frying pan without comment. “You want some coffee?”
Vivien looked at the pot longingly but declined. “I think I’ll just have some tea.” She whipped bags of chamomile from her pants pocket. “I’m trying to lay off the caffeine.”
“Okay.” Melanie filled the teakettle and put it on to boil. When the frying pan was hot again, she laid strips of bacon in it, then popped four slices of whole wheat bread into the toaster. Upstairs Shelby’s alarm clock blared on, the beep sirenlike in its intensity.
How Shelby could tune out the sound, which originated about six inches from her head, Melanie didn’t know. But she did know that somebody needed to go upstairs and pry her out of bed.
Despite his superior size and physical strength, Trip wasn’t awake enough to be sent into such hazardous combat. Melanie’s own hands were full with breakfast. Removing the now-whistling kettle from the burner, she poured the boiling water into the mug that held Vivien’s teabag and realized she had another option.
“I’ve got breakfast under control,” Melanie said casually. “Would you mind getting Shelby up? If she doesn’t get in the shower right now, I’ll get stuck in the car-pool line from hell.”
“Sure.”
Melanie felt a brief flash of guilt for sending her sister up unarmed and without a warning. But Vivien was a big girl and had managed to survive in New York for over a decade; she’d even been shot. Surely she could handle one seventeen-year-old girl.
She hid her smile as Vivien climbed the stairs. While she cracked eggs into a bowl, then began to scramble them, Melanie eavesdropped. There was murmuring, Vivien’s words crisp and pointed, Shelby’s an indecipherable whine. The alarm went off in midbeep. Melanie and Trip exchanged a glance, but studiously avoided placing bets on who would win the skirmish.
Just when it seemed there’d be nothing to hear, there was a yelp. Then another. A loud thud followed as something—or someone—hit the floor.
Melanie flipped the bacon and gave the eggs a final scramble. There was a shout. The stomp of angry feet, though it wasn’t clear whose. A door slammed, then was yanked open, then slammed again.
Trip snorted with laughter when the shower in Shelby’s bathroom went on. He hummed the theme song from Rocky as Vivien walked unsteadily down the back stairs into the kitchen.
Her blouse had come untucked and her hair stuck out in strange angles from her head. A grim, but satisfied, smile hovered on her lips. Her eyes still carried the glint of battle.
“You might have warned me,” she said.
“Sorry.” Melanie dished the food onto their plates and handed one to her sister. “I thought you’d be the perfect person for the job. You never used to be a morning person, either.” They carried their plates to the kitchen table and settled in to eat. “I’m a little surprised to see you up and dressed,” she said as Vivien tucked into her food.
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