Page 91 of The Stranger

“Hi,” I reply a little more sedately. “Morning.”

“And isn’t it a beautiful one!” she adds enthusiastically from the corner of the island, a paring knife in one hand and kiwi fruit in the other. Dressed in dark shorts and a white tee—to my dark shorts and white button down—her hair is post-shower curly and tied back in a messy bun. I seriously have no idea how she’s so perky given she’s up at sparrow fart every day to prep breakfast.

“Er, yeah. It’s lovely.” I almost crabwalk past her because I can’t look at her, and I certainly can’t look at the marble counter. I anti-bac’d the whole island top last night because I knew I wouldn’t have been able to sleep for the thoughts of the kids eating their breakfast this morning in the place their father ate…well, you know.

“You feelin’ okay?”

“I slept funny,” I say, still avoiding her gaze like she’s one of the Gorgon sisters. “Morning, squids,” I croak as I gently tug on Sylvie’s messy braid as I pass. “Someone forgot to brush her hair this morning.”

“I am not a squid,” she replies laughingly, looking up from what looks like, a bougie açaí bowl. No Cheerios in this household.

“Octopus, then?”

“I am Sylvie!”

“That’s what I said. Sylvie the squid. Good morning, Felix. How are you?”

He grunts his response, spoon-deep in a jar of fancy chocolate spread next to a piece of tostada. It would appear Felix is as reluctant to look me in the eye as I am his father. Not that the daddy Du Beaumont is here. Huzzah!

“Primrose, please may we go swimming this morning?” Sylvie decorously pats her mouth with a linen napkin.

I press my hand to my chest. “I am honored you want to hang out with me. I was beginning to think you didn’t like me anymore.”

“I like you very much, she says, her eyes wide and earnest. “And I enjoy to spend time with you, but I also enjoy to spend time with my Spanish friends.”

“You don’t have any friends,” Felix mutters.

“I have Sophia and Maria and Jose. Andiamo, and Bouton, and oso Lola,” she says, going on to list off the names of the other llamas.

“Also,” I gently correct as her brother grumbles,

“Animals don’t count.”

“Felix,” she says, tipping her cute little nose in the air. “Do you think you could stop being mean to me?”

“Do you think you could stop asking stupid questions?” comes his retort.

I slide onto the kitchen stool the farthest away from Zoe, thanking the stars I’m not supposed to understand them bickering in French. But the arguing continues and their volume increases, and that I can’t ignore.

“More eating, less talk,” I say over the din. Then slap my hand to my mouth.

“Something wrong?” A hawk-eyed Zoe asks from the other end of the island.

Oh, Zoe, yes. Something is very wrong. You see, I said something very similar to their father last night. And je regrette… a bunch of stuff. Like disregarding his no-condom warning. I practically begged the man to gimme a lil more than just the tip.

“Primrose?”

“Surprise yawn,” I offer in explanation before faking another for continuity.

“Trouble sleeping, huh?”

“You could say that,” I answer in an undertone as I reach for a carafe of orange juice from the lavish breakfast setup that includes a tiered pastry tower of freshly baked sweet and flaky artisanal offerings, tropical fruit platters that look so good, they look like they might just be for display. There’s smoked salmon, thinly sliced jambon, capers and pickles and dill-sprinkled cream cheese, and of course, every child’s favorite, caviar. Not.

“May I cook you something this morning? Maybe eggs Bene with a little shaved truffle? Pancakes with a candied bacon?”

“No thank you.”

This is becoming our morning exchange. Zoe sets out a lavish breakfast and then offers me a cooked option. Yesterday’s breakfast temptations included a Hong Kong-style breakfast sandwich or Turkish eggs. But there’s already so much food on offer.