She has many faults, but she didn’t bring me up like that.
“Hi, Tatum,” I say, as if we’ve been introduced. I stand in the light of the open fridge door, unapologetic. “Do you remember me?” I say. “From the airport.”
“I remember.”
“I remember you, too. Rude as hell.”
He shrugs.
“Did you know where I was going this morning?” I ask. “Did Kingsley tell you I was coming and you figured you’d just mess with me and leave me half a mile from this place?”
“No,” he says. “I didn’t. And he didn’t.”
I stare at him for a beat. “Meer didn’t tell you I was coming, either?”
“No.”
“That’s hard to believe. He was waiting for me.”
“Think what you want. He didn’t tell me.”
“Well,” I say, “you’ve got a nice racket going, charging extra when people are confused about directions.”
“That’s not—” He takes a step forward. “Why are you opening our packets?”
“I’m curious. This white powder. Is it cocaine? Adderall?”
“Very funny. This isn’t your fridge, Matilda.”
“So you know my name.”
“Meer told me you were here.Afteryou arrived.”
“Wonderful. Then we’re sure to be the best of friends,” I say sardonically. “And yeah, it’s not my fridge, but I came to meet my father and he turns out to be off-island, so hunting around in his fridge is the next best thing. It’s hardly a crime.”
“Hold up,” Tatum says. He grabs a sponge from the sink and comes toward me. His hands are large and have writing on them in Sharpie.Remember my name,it reads on one hand. And on the other:’Cause we made history.
That’s a lyric in a song I absolutely love, but seeing it written on Tatum’s mean, unfriendly hands just makes me mad. He shouldn’t likemymusic. It’s annoying.
For a second I think he’s going to grab my wrist. He looms over me. But Tatum just uses the sponge to wipe the herb powder from the shelves and the ledge of the fridge. He takes the crisper bin out.
Meticulous, he removes each packet from the bin, keeping them sorted by name. He rinses the bin in the sink.
I watch him in silence. Finally, he replaces the bin in the fridge. Everything looks as it did before I opened the packet.
“I could help,” I say belligerently when he is done. “Since I made the mess.”
“You’ve done enough already.”
He is staking out his territory. Telling me,you may be Kingsley’s daughter, but you don’t belong here.
Doesn’t matter if I belong. I need to meet my father. For some people, family has nothing to do with biology, but I feel the pull of kinship. I’ve felt it since the moment I got that first email. Kingsley’s blood runs in my veins, and I am not leaving because some rude emo taxi boy doesn’t like the tiny mess I made in his kitchen.
“What’s in the packets?” I ask accusingly.
“Chia.”
Chia seeds are something people get in their smoothies in California. “What else?”
