Still, that soft side of me relished in having Clay be the one to do it, in having him stay the night after, like he actually cared about me.
It was better than what most of my friends experienced in high school with their first times, that I was sure of.
A loud buzzing on my windowsill in the bedroom sounded over the sizzle of the omelet, and Clay groaned, his gargantuan arm reaching out blindly until he swiped his phone off the ledge. He glanced at the screen, then peeled himself up to sit, frowning at it.
He looked up at me next, but I turned back before his eyes met mine, trying to give him privacy.
I wondered if it was Maliyah.
I also wondered why my stomach did a violent high dive to the floor when I considered if it was.
“Hey, Dad,” he answered gruffly, and I peeked over my shoulder again just in time to watch him tug on the last of his shirt. He gave me a tight smile, disappearing into the bathroom.
Something in me relaxed a bit, and I plated the first omelet before starting on the next.
The conversation was a bit muted when he was in the bathroom, especially when he ran the faucet, too. He clearly didn’t want me hearing him, so I did my best to ignore it, to focus on cooking and not on the little glimpses I could make out.
Yeah, I miss them, too.
You know, you could all come here for a game.
Right. Busy. I understand.
The faucet and light both clicked off at once before he emerged with a heavy sigh, scrubbing a hand over his face as he rounded the corner into the kitchen. His sweatpants hung low on his hips, his t-shirt wrinkled from being thrown to the floor mid-sleep.
“Mornin’,” he said.
“Good morning,” I echoed back. “Here. Breakfast,” I said, sliding the still-steaming omelet onto the kitchen bar. “Coffee’s over there.”
He yawned, brushing past me and reaching up for a coffee cup in the cabinet above the maker. It was like he lived here, like he already knew where everything was.
“Do you always make such a lavish breakfast feast?”
I barked out a laugh. “A feast? It’s an omelet.”
“Better than what I can do in my dorm, I assure you.”
I smiled, shrugging as I finished cooking my omelet and plated it. “I don’t always cook, but I enjoy it sometimes. My dad used to make omelets every Sunday. I guess the tradition carried over.”
Clay’s brows folded down, though he still wore somewhat of a smile. “That’s cool. You two close?”
“I’m not really close with anyone in my family,” I admitted, sitting at the kitchen bar. Clay joined me, sitting in front of his omelet as I added pepper to mine. “But out of all of them, I’d say I’m closest with my dad. He’s the only one who really understands me.”
“How so?”
I considered the question. “He doesn’t push me to be something I’m not. He loves me just how I am, just how I want to be.”
Clay nodded. “So what do you mean by ‘out of all of them’?”
“Mom and Dad, and then all four of my siblings.”
His eyes bulged. “Four?”
“Yep.” The word popped off my lips. “Two older sisters and two younger brothers, with me right smack dab in the middle. It doesn’t help that all of them are geniuses and talented in some super specific area. One day, we’ll have…” I held up my fingers to count them all off. “A professional athlete, a bio engineer, and two entrepreneurs selling their first business for millions of dollars.” I let my fingers drop, reaching for my fork and shoveling a bite of egg into my mouth. “And me.”
“You say that like you’re not just as amazing.”
I snorted. “Uh-huh. The quiet book nerd trying to make it in public relations. Freaking awesome.”
I gave him a wry smile, but he just frowned at me.
“You’re damn good at what you do,” he said, all serious. “It takes someone really strong and confident to boss around a bunch of student athletes — especially the bonehead ones on our team. You run the show and you know it.”
Pride swelled in my chest, but I swallowed it down along with another bite of my omelet. “Well… thank you. My mom would argue otherwise. She always wanted me to be like my older sisters — smart, athletic, modest. She hates that I don’t go to church anymore.” I paused. “But Dad gets it. He’s quiet like me, and he was always content to leave me alone when I’d retreat to my room and get lost in my books. Anytime Mom would start to berate me, he’d steer her toward one of my siblings, refocusing her.” I smiled. “We don’t really talk much, but it’s like an unspoken understanding of one another.”
“Sometimes those are more powerful than words, anyway.”
I nodded my agreement, picking up a rogue piece of avocado and popping it between my lips. “Speaking of family, everything okay with your dad?”
All emotion wiped from Clay’s face.
“I just… I heard you a little on the phone. Not much, just that it was him.”
He cracked his neck, digging into his omelet. “He’s fine.”
“Are you two close?”
He stilled, fork frozen in the air.
“Come on,” I said. “I spilled. Your turn.”
He let out a sigh, then took his first bite of the omelet. His face shifted then, and he groaned, turning to me with an incredulous look. “Thish ish delishush.”
I laughed. “English, please?”
He swallowed. “This is delicious. What’s in it?”
“Egg, basil, mozzarella, avocado, and turkey bacon.”
Clay blinked. “You’re like a fucking chef.”
“Hardly,” I said with a laugh. “And stop deflecting. Tell me all your deep, dark daddy issues.” I playfully leaned toward him like a reporter, speaking into my fork like a microphone before I angled it toward him.
He rolled his eyes. “Nothing original about them, I promise. He and my mom divorced when I was young. According to him, she was manipulative and jealous. According to her, he was stepping out on her. Who knows the truth. All I know is he had a new wife less than a year later, and a new family shortly after that.”
“New family?”
“I have two half-brothers,” he explained. “Both of whom I’ve spent only a handful of holidays with. They get all Dad’s attention, though — save for when I’m playing a football game.”
I frowned, pushing the egg around on my plate. “I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “It is what it is. Mom and I are pretty close, though she has her issues, too. One second she’s flying high with a new guy in her life, and the next she’s…” He paused. “Well, she’s not herself.”
“What do you mean?”
A shadow of something passed over his face, his eyes on his plate. “She struggles mentally. When things get hard, when she’s alone… she turns to things she shouldn’t.”
He left it at that, letting me put together the missing pieces.
“Seems like you had a lot on your shoulders growing up,” I mused.
His eyes met mine, brows unfurling. “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I did.” He searched my gaze. “Sounds like you learned to make it on your own pretty young, too.”