Page 60 of Princess's Revenge

One time, the guy who mows the lawns in our old neighborhood was having a problem with his kid acting out and becoming all ‘goth’ and shit like that—bad grades, smoking pot.

He was hanging out with the wrong crowd.

I’m not sayingI’mthe right kind of crowd, but his dad called me over to speak to the kid as a favor.

I scared the bejesus out of him. The kid’s been flying right ever since. Now, show me a cop who’d go through the effort!

We take care of our own.

But, even as I say this, bile rises in my throat, knowing what my father did.

Andrea comes out of the bathroom and she couldn’t give a fuck that’s she’s stark naked. Then again, why should she? I’ve seen everything…and it’s a hell of a view.

She even gives me a smile before she pads over to the closet and starts choosing her outfit. “So, what’s this breakfast about?”

“I’m not sure, we’re all going to find out at the same time I suppose.”

“Hmm.” After she slips on some underwear, she turns to me and holds some beige Capri pants and a white blouse against herself, giving me the—what do you think—look.

I give her the—yeah, that’s great—nod.

After she dresses, she comes to me, hops up, gives me a peck on the lips and holds my hand.It feels more intimate than sex.It’s a gesture of trust…in me.

We go down and outside to the garden, hand in hand. It’s a beautiful day. There’s a crisp breeze, the sun is shining and the birds are chirping.

Too beautiful of a day for bad news.

The smell of freshly cut grass mingles with the sweet scent of jasmine.

A large, round table, loaded with breakfast foods, has been set up in the open on the lawn and everyone is already seated and waiting for us.

Conversation dies when they spot us, then they suspiciously avert their eyes as we approach—Strange.

There are two spaces left, side by side, it’s for us. Francis ends up on my left, Anthony on Andrea’s right.

When Andrea sits, she rubs Anthony’s thigh. He gives her a smile and pours her some coffee without being asked.

Andrea smiles and winks at Francis. He smiles back looking doe-eyed—I guess she taught him a thing or two last night.

Then the smile on her face drops away when she locks eyes with my father…who has been watching all the exchanges at the table so far—I know, becauseI’vebeen watchinghim.

He’s not smiling, but it’s not anger on his face, not frustration either…no…he’s wearing sadness.

I ignore it. I haven’t forgiven him yet.

I don’t know if I can.

I take Andrea’s plate and hand it to Francis. He puts on some fruit, cheese and half a croissant. He passes it back and I add some scrambled eggs, grilled mushrooms and a couple rashers of bacon. Anthony takes the plate adds half a blueberry muffin and some jam.

It’s less about feeding Andrea than showing my father whose side we’re on—not that he doesn’t already know—but I felt like we should rub it in. When I make a play, my brothers always back me up.

The rest of us fill our plates in silence, munching along the way, the only sounds being those of cutlery meeting crockery.

I have a big appetite because of my workout regimen so I always have a big breakfast.

We enjoy our food and Andrea exchanges smiles with us every so often when something takes her fancy—like a blueberry—but I don’t take my eyes off my father.

He’s watching everything.

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