“Ha.” Kit laughs into his coffee, and Wendy frowns.
“What?”
“Oh, uh, nothing,” he says quickly. “Just appreciate your candor.”
“What’scandor?” Wendy asks, taking another bite.
“It’s like…honesty, I guess?”
Silence, for a moment. Except the crunching of Fox on the cereal andmroooonof the dog stretching and rolling over under Wendy’s feet.
God, how is this my Saturday?
“Did he eat already?” Fox asks suddenly, nodding at the dog. “Or?—”
“She,” Wendy corrects pointedly. “Nana’s a girl. And yes, I gave her some kibble. If that’s okay,” she adds hurriedly.
“I guess. Dog’s gotta eat, right?” Fox shrugs and looks at me, and—andwhy is everything always up to me?, I think.
Probably because I’m the only one who takes care of anything around here, I answer myself. To Fox, I just lift a shoulder, and then look for the minifridge. Whatever the hell is going on today, I need caffeine for it. Maybe double my usual.
“Right,” I hear Wendy say. “And you’ve gotta make sure she doesn’t eat too fast or else she can get bloat. Which is when air is trapped in her stomach. At home I have this slow feeder bowl for her that makes it harder for her to get the food pieces, but…”
She trails off, suddenly preoccupied with her Toaster Treat, as I stand back up, my drink obtained.
Home.Right. I rub my temples and crack open my can of fizzy life-giving corn syrup.
“Do they make those for humans?” Kit asks. “I know someone who could use one.”
“Hey!” Fox says, through a full mouth.
Crack.
Behind us, by the door, a cabinet door snaps open. Blue, like a fucking ninja, has slipped into the kitchen, his giant tub of creatine/protein/whatever-the-fuck powder on the counter and his giant headphones clamped on his ears. He dumps three scoops into a shaker bottle, rattles it exactly four times, and sweeps out.
“Good morning to you too,” Kit grumbles.
Wendy, though, seems hardly rattled at all. “What’s his damage?” she asks nonchalantly, swallowing another bite.
“Blue?” Fox laughs softly, shaking his head. “No one knows.”
“Just…not a morning person, I guess.” I drain the rest of my drink and crumple the can on the counter.Not that any one of usis, really.I can’t even remember the last time most of us were awake before 11 a.m. on a Saturday.
And yet…here we all are.
Almost.
If I’m going to be the one to figure out what to do with Wendy, I’m at least making Pan help. Even if I have to rip him out of bed to do it.
Happy Saturday to me.
Kit goes about making another espresso as Wendy starts telling Fox something else about skincare—“like, youreallyshould wear SPF. That’s why you’ve got so many age spots on your arms.” “I thought those were freckles! Don’t the tattoos undo it?” “Um, they probably just make it worse”—and I’m literally turning around to go kick at Pan’s door when I walk straight into him.
“Good morning,” he rumbles, his voice rusty with sleep, and my pulse does a little jump—startled me, I guess. His hair’s an absolute mess, but he’s at least got some clothes on—tank top and boxers—and he’s close enough that I can smell the warmth of sleep on him.
I jump back. Chest bumps are no good. Even with the binder.
“Hey,” I say. “Sorry.”
