Page 14 of Unspoken Words
His tone was smug—too smug. I didn’t like it.
Sloshing the water around like a maniac, he started speed-washing and piling dishes on the drying wrack until there was no room left. I couldn’t dry them quick enough and they started to slip onto the table.
“Stop it! They’re gonna fall onto the ground and then you’ll have to wash them again. You’re so dumb.”
“Not if I’ve finished, I won’t. If they fall, it’s your fault so you better keep up.”
I tossed two plates back into the tub of soapy water. “You missed spots.”
He pulled them back out again. “Bullshit!”
“Christopher Roger Mitchell!” Mum scolded as she rounded the corner, her cheeks pink and shiny from her afternoon walk. “What did I say about your choice of language?”
I bit my lip to suppress my laugh just as Chris shoved the two plates in my hands and wiped dishwater bubbles on my face. “There. Done. You snooze, you lose.”
Mum tutted as she watched him strut away. “I wish you two would just get along. It would make my life so much easier.”
“I wish I was an only child.Thatwould be even easier.”
She laughed. “Nice try, sweethear—” Mum’s words ceased, and her shoulders straightened. “Oh, hello, Connor. Can I help you with anything?”
I swivelled around to see him hunched over so that his head didn’t hit the roof of the annex where it dipped in the middle.
“Hello, Mrs Mitchell,” he mumbled, barely above a whisper. He took one look at me and scrunched his nose. “Are you a huge fan of Santa as well?”
“Huh?”
He pointed to my face. “This morning you had a spot on your cheek. Now you have a white bubble-beard.”
I swiped at my chin. “Stupid, annoying, dumb, idiot, brother,” I groaned.I’m gonna kill him.Better yet, I’m going to paint his fingernails pink while he sleeps.
Connor ducked under the annex and approached my mother. “Mrs Mitchell, do you have an extra tea towel?”
“Sh … sure,” she stuttered. Mum quickly opened one of our kitchen tubs, reached in, and then handed him what he’d asked for.
My jaw dropped when he joined me at the makeshift sink and started helping. “You like drying dishes?”
“No. Who likes drying dishes?” He glanced over his shoulder at my mum and then lowered his voice to a whisper. “I just wanted to say sorry.”
“Oh.” I, too, glanced over my shoulder at mum and fired her an I-think-you-should-leave look.
Her eyes narrowed before shooting wide open. “Oh! I … um … I think I left my walking stick on the path,” she babbled. “It was a good walking stick. I’m going to go find it.” She hurried off, a childlike grin on her face.
Connor chuckled. “You’re a lot like your mum.”
I pointed to my hair. “Tell me about it.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“It’s fine. It is what it is. You can’t choose your hair colour. Well, you can’t until you’re older.”
“No. That’s not what I meant eith— Wait! What’s wrong with your hair colour?”
“It’s red.”
“What’s wrong with that?”
“It’sreallyred.”
