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"She's very passionate about her chickens," Liv told me in an exaggeratedly slow and low voice, acting like Astrid couldn't hear her.
"I have heard about this obsession. I also heard a lot about some guy named L..."
That got me a smile from Liv.
Her approval meant a lot more than I could have anticipated.
"And," Astrid went on, acting like she didn't hear me, "that fire escape looks one strong wind away from falling down. Cam can afford better than this. I never understood why he stayed here. And now he has a reason to get something better."
"What reason?"
"You, duh," she said, rolling her eyes as she grabbed a pancake off her plate, pouring a small amount of syrup inside, then folding it to eat it like a sandwich.
"I don't want him to think he needs to move because of me. I mean, we haven't even discussed living situations after, you know, I don't need to be living with him for safety reasons anymore. What?" I asked as they shared a look.
"I am going to give you the benefit of the doubt and say you're not stupid," Astrid told me.
"I, ah, thanks?"
"So, what it must be is that false modesty bullshit that women get because of patriarchal crap and blah blah blah. Because anyone can see Cam has no plans on letting you go back across the hall. Or continue to live in this dump."
"This is a very nice apartment," I corrected. "It has been perfectly homey."
"Really? Because I am ready to blast my brains all over the wall thanks to all that freaking shrieking from those dogs. And I've only been here an hour."
"Alright, they are a little annoying." Actually, they were really annoying. Now that she drew even more attention to them, I was pretty sure the sound was going to start grating on my nerves constantly.
"Cam is going to want to get a nicer place for you guys eventually."
"I wasn't raised to let someone else take care of me," I piped in as I dug a fork into the eggs, feeling like Liv was oddly staring at me. Like she was waiting for me to try out her food or something.
"Well, that's a good thing. But also, yeah, no. Cam is going to take care of you. Accept that fact now or get ready for a lot of arguing in the future. That's just how Cam is. He takes care of his girls. Also, don't eat the eggs," Astrid warned, making me pause with my fork almost to my mouth.
"Let her try them," Liv grumbled, slapping Astrid's leg.
"I am saving her the misery."
"There's nothing wrong with the eggs."
"There is a fuckuva lot wrong with the eggs," Astrid contradicted her.
"I am going to need a reason these eggs can't be eaten," I demanded, looking down at them dubiously.
"Because Livvy here can't keep her legs closed."
My eyes must have bugged at that, all the more confused.
"Astrid thinks I start mixing weird flavors when I am pregnant."
"It is not me thinking. It is a fact. Even poor Roderick would agree with me that you can't serve chicken coated in fucking Frosted Flakes, Liv. Frosted Flakes."
"I didn't mean to do that. I was half-delirious from lack of sleep. I was out of breadcrumbs. And I thought they were regular corn flakes, not frosted ones."
"Now listen to her try to justify serving us pickle ice cream without warning," Astrid went on.
"I am really going to need to know what is wrong with the eggs," I reiterated with a wobbly smile.
"Nothing. They're fine. Roderick actually likes them this way."
"Roderick likes when you smile. But putting dill in eggs is practically sacrilegious. My girls didn't work hard producing those eggs for you to ruin them like this."
Dill didn't sound too bad.
And Liv was still looking at me all expectant.
I had to try them.
And even if I hated them, act like they were good.
"Don't do it," Astrid warned.
But I had too.
And, honestly, it wasn't bad.
I mean, I would never put dill in my eggs, but it wasn't anywhere near the gross level as I imagined Frosted Flakes baked chicken was.
"She's just trying to get on your good side," Astrid told Liv when she shot her a look that said See, I told you. You're just being a jerk for no reason.
"Anyway," Liv said, digging into her own food. "Yeah, I think I give it six months tops before he starts house hunting."
"Six? I am thinking more like three," Astrid decided.
"It's going to be six. No one wants to move in the dead of winter."
"So, are you going to make me an auntie?" Astrid asked, making me choke a bit on the fluffy pancake I was trying to eat.
"If you recall, I have already made you an auntie," Liv reminded her.
"This is true. But you know me, I am always on the lookout for more kids to corrupt with my radical ideas of self-sustainability, equal rights, and compassionate little boys who don't grow up to think that whoever has the bigger gun is the better man. So, yeah, do you want kids?"
