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“It was quarter to twelve, Seb.”
“Yesterday was… Yeah. I needed it.”
Sophia’s brow wrinkles. “Is everything okay? Jason said something happened.” Concern for both me and her husband is obvious on her face.
“Yeah, everything’s good. Nothing to worry about.”
I smile at her before returning my attention to Phoebe, but I know she doesn’t buy a word of it.
“So have Mummy and Aunt Zoe managed to decimate dinner yet?” I ask her.
“Shut up. We’re more than capable,” Zoe mutters.
“He’s got a point,” Sophia adds. She might now be a housewife and mother, but I would never use the word domesticated to describe my sister in any way. Thankfully, she’s a kick-arse mother to Phoebe, so it totally makes up for her lack of culinary skills.
As kids, we pretty much lived on takeout until we all discovered that I could cook without almost burning the house down. It was a relief to have something other than pizza, burgers, and fried chicken.
“Shall we show them how it’s done?” I ask my niece, walking over to the fridge to pull out the eggs and milk for my Yorkshire puddings. They might have done the rest, but I’m not letting them anywhere near those.
“Where’s Mum?” I finally ask as I beat my batter with Phoebe attached to my hip.
“Getting showered and dressed,” Sophia announces, much to my surprise.
“Oh?”
“She was already awake when we got here.”
“Huh.” I don’t want to say anything positive, something like it’s a good sign, because past experience tells me that it’s not. She’ll have days, weeks, sometimes even months where we all start to believe that life could return to some kind of normal, but then it all crashes down around our feet.
Only three minutes later, the woman herself appears. I actually have to give her a double take because she looks almost alive.
“Hey, Mum,” I say.
“My boy. How are the Yorkies coming?”
“Perfect as ever, I hope.”
She takes a seat at the table after getting herself a glass of water, and we all stand a little awkwardly, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
Our bi-weekly Sunday lunches are always a surprise. We can have something akin to a normal family meal like we could be heading toward today, or it could be a complete disaster. I’m grateful that today could be along the normal lines, because I’m not sure I’ve got it in me for any more drama. I’ve just about had my fill these last few days.
As the seconds draw out, we find ourselves falling into an everyday conversation about our lives as I lower Phoebe to the floor and sit with her, playing with her toys.
“So, are we going to talk about the mess some poor girl’s made of your neck, or what?” Zoe asks, her voice full of teasing and mischief.
“Nope. I already said yesterday was interesting.”
“Work-wise, yeah. That doesn’t look much like work to me,” Sophia joins in.
“You haven’t met her,” I mutter, mostly to myself, but they both hear it.
“Well, we can’t wait to.”
“Un-fucking-likely.”
Sophia drops the spatula and glares at me.
“How many times? No F’s in front of the baby.”
