Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91536 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 458(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
First, my brother in the kitchen.
Daniel, in the linen, the master of the brunch. Pan preheating on the stove. Oil, eggs, goat cheese, sundried tomatoes, pour over.
An omelet with intense flavors. His favorite.
Cynthia wouldn't object—she's never been all that picky—but she doesn't love it either. She was always more into the stuff dad likes. Homemade barbacoa with Trader Joe's salsa.
Daniel is more into his expensive tastes.
Ivy is a good match for him that way, I guess. She sips gin and tonics. She drinks tea. Her fridge was filled with fresh fruits and vegetables.
What does that tell me?
She told Mom she's not particular. So, she's not a foodie, either. She keeps it simple. Classic. But subtle, the way tea and gin are.
What else do they have in common?
Herbs.
Ha. She and Cynthia both.
Not that I can share that joke with Daniel.
I try to recall the scene at my apartment, when Sasha fixed Ivy's tea. How did she fix her tea compared to at her place?
Balanced, with milk and honey.
That's enough.
I scan the fridge for ingredients.
As usual, Mom is well stocked. Eggs, four types of cheese, overflowing shelves of fruits and vegetables, bread, flour, oatmeal.
Ivy might prefer a sweet breakfast. Pancakes or French Toast.
But savory is a safer bet. Eggs. Medium. With a little something extra. Green onion or basil and tomato. Just enough for oomph. Not so much to overwhelm.
Like a simple gin and tonic.
The pan sizzles as my brother pours eggs over tiny cubes of red peppers.
"I would have thought you covered this on the first night," he laughs. "Or did you leave too early that morning?"
"You know women. Once they've had their fun, they're done with you," I say.
That disarms him.
Ha, I've still got it. Tragically, pride fills my body. I want his approval too much. It's sickening.
"Is that really how it started?" he asks, in a tone that almost suggests he believes Ivy is my girlfriend.
"No. She waited until I woke up to kick me out of her apartment," I say.
"And how did you convince her to see you again?" he asks.
"How else?" I ask. "I promised to make her see stars again."
Daniel shakes his head. "Is everything about sex?"
"You started it."
"Mature," he says.
"Back at you." My eyes go to the table outside, where the ladies are chatting. Ivy laughs at something Cynthia says. They do have a lot in common, in a strange way. With their smarts and straight-shooter attitudes. And nothing in common, in another.
Maybe this can work.
"Cyn suggested you two dropped acid together," I say.
Daniel rolls his eyes. "She did not."
"Mushrooms, but still."
"Who says I haven't?"
"Really? You two are getting high and having crazy sex?"
"Sex, again, Rome? You know there's more to life than the five minutes you get your dick wet," he says.
"Fifteen, please," I say.
"Women don't like it when you go too long," he says.
That's not wrong. I'll give him that. I'm not sure where men got the idea women want to go for hours. The flesh gets tired. But so many men put their pride above an actual woman’s satisfaction.
Daniel shakes his head in that older brother way of his. Oh, Romeo, you're so silly, so immature. When will you grow up?
But none of it is you don’t really have a girlfriend.
It’s much more you’ve probably spent barely any time together with your clothes on. I’ll take it.
He steps to the right as he motions to the left burner. Then to the kitchen island, where the cutting board and knife sit, ready for action. "I'm about done."
"Did Cyn say anything about Ivy?" I roll my shoulders back. I channel my poker face. I'm calm in the face of my brother's judgment. No, I'm not just calm. I'm beyond his judgment. I understand it, but I'm a changed man now that I'm with Ivy. I see my past self as foolish too.
"Yeah." He flips the omelet. "She likes her."
"Ivy too."
He makes one of those hmm noises that could mean anything. From him, it usually means yeah right, you are so full of shit, but I choose to ignore it.
I accept his invitation and move into the space. Mom's tea selection is only slightly better than mine, but I still find a solid English Breakfast and a ceramic tea set.
Then the eggs. Fresh basil. With tomato and mozzarella. Probably not Ivy's favorite breakfast. But she can claim a love of caprese salads.
"Wasn't that your old line?" Daniel watches me slice a tomato. "What can I fix you for breakfast tomorrow?"
"It's effective. For people with charm."
"People this handsome don't need charm," he counters. Back to playing an old game.
I can't help but laugh, the way I did when we were kids. "You've got me there."
"I think you might be delusional about the charm vs looks ratio yourself, kid." He looks to the table. Watches Ivy laugh at one of Mom's jokes. "She fits in here, doesn't she?"