Page 25 of Menotte avec toi

“My uncle was a confirmed bachelor when I wound up on his doorstep and considerably older than my parents. He didn’t know anything about raising teenagers, let alone a girl who was constantly dabbling in something. He was afraid that me being as free-spirited as I was, I’d get into trouble or attract the wrong kind of attention and get hurt,” I explained. “I know he loves me in his own way; there was just a huge learning curve to conquer, and we both messed up a lot along the way. I was kind of angry and rebellious when I went to live with him, and he was at a bit of a loss for what to do when I kept defying him.”

“Did he ever lay a hand on you?”

“Never, not once,” I said as I cracked the eggs. “But the language he used wasn’t exactly kid-friendly, even for an older kid like me, so there were times when he was just harsh and sharp when he spoke and times when he cited news articles about other girls who’d snuck out or done this and that and gotten themselves hurt or killed in the process.”

“Was sneaking out something you did often?”

“In the beginning, yes,” I admitted. “I was used to doing whatever I wanted, since my folks were rarely at home or paying attention. It was hard to learn to live by his rules, and he said more than once that he hated being in a position to make them since he wasn’t a fan of rules himself.”

She shot me a side eye, knife still and poised over the chopping block, one fruit finished while the others waited for her attention.

“Did something happen to make you start listening to him?”

“I snuck out,” I admitted, squirming beneath her scrutiny.

“And?”

“Went to a party?”

“And?” she prodded again, never taking her eyes off me.

“Got jumped by a bunch of girls who thought I was being a showoff and trying to steal their boyfriends,” I explained. “Only it wasn’t their boyfriends whose attention I was after; it was another girl who was there who’d kind of been flirting with me at school. Only when everything popped off, she sort of ran away and hid so she wouldn’t get jumped too.”

“I hope that ended your infatuation with her.”

“Yeah, it did,” I admitted. “I found out later that she thought they were jumping me for being a lesbian.”

“Doesn’t matter what she thought was happening; if she cared about you, she’d have done something to help, even if it was just to scream, holler, and make a ton of noise until someone called the cops or came to help you.”

“I know.”

“Good,” she growled, hacking the second plum with far more fierceness than she’d chopped the first. “I hate that you had to endure that. Growing up is hard enough without people making it harder with their bullshit. I hope you reported what happened.”

“My uncle made sure of it once he found out what happened,” I explained. “He nearly got himself arrested after he paid a visit to their houses to have words with their parents; it was such a mess. I’ve never been so scared. Not just because of what happened, but because it almost cost me the first stable, available person I’d ever had in my life.”

I hoped that eased some of her growliness towards my uncle, who was still a part of my life. While we didn’t get together often, he always popped up around the holidays and my birthday to both spoil me and thrill me with whatever adventures he’d gotten up to since we’d seen one another last. Introducing them would be inevitable if we were going to make this new relationship a long-term thing, and I’d hate for it to get off on the wrong foot.

It wasn’t long before the eggs and toast were ready and the fruit salad was in bowls, drizzled with a bit of lemon juice and a squeeze of lime. I cut up the rest of the lime and put it in the water pitcher for later. It would be a refreshing addition to whatever was on the menu for lunch. While she added hot sauce to her eggs, I topped mine with a dollop of ketchup and giggled as she raised an eyebrow at me.

“Another gift from my uncle,” I explained as I put the ketchup back. “We always ate our scrambled eggs this way. This one time, we ran out of ketchup and tried grape jelly, which wasn’t bad, especially with a sprinkle of red pepper flakes to cut the sweetness a little.”

It was a good thing she wasn’t drinking anything when I said it because she snorted and scrubbed a hand over her face, fork landing on her plate with a rattling clank.

“And you stood there giggling at my hot sauce.”

“Only because you and spicy have become synonymous in my head,” I explained.

“Would you think it strange if I said I was curious to try scrambled eggs with grape jelly and red pepper flakes the next time you make them?”

“Nope. It will be fun to try them that way again.”

Yawning, I took the seat across from her with a sudden realization that I was actually tired and more than ready to lay back down, especially if that meant more time getting to snuggle up beside her and be cuddled in her embrace.

“Eat up, Kitten. I think the sandman is calling your name.”

“Yup, and loudly too,” I replied before digging in.

While last night had been fun and romantic as we’d fed one another, this morning just felt domestic and blissfully tranquil. Eating breakfast with her felt like the most natural thing in the world, and the best part about it was the way my thoughts stayed firmly fixed in the moment and never once strayed to the project in the other room or the rambling list of other artistic ideas that usually tumbled through it when I took a break.

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