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He’s her father. He deserves to know. You’ll have to tell him, and then this will all be over. Again.
I swallowed. “The only thing I can look forward to right now is ramen. Come on, the shop is two more blocks that way. And I’m guessing if you don’t eat something other than rabbit food, that big body of yours is going to combust.”
* * *
Ten minutes later,Xavier and I sat at a bar looking toward the Museum of Natural History Museum across Columbus Avenue, two steaming bowls of noodles and broth in front of us as onlookers passed, looking somewhat envious.
“I don’t know if it was the four glasses of champagne or the pint of horrible ale, but I’ll admit—this is damn good,” he said as he used his chopsticks to shove a large bite of noodles into his mouth, then slurped them loudly.
I stifled a laugh. “Has anyone ever said you have terrible table manners?”
He offered me his sharkish grin again, this time with a trail of noodles cascading toward the bowl. He slurped up the rest even more loudly, then smacked his lips. “I’ll have you know that it’s considered rude in Japan not to slurp noodles. If you don’t, your host will think you hate the food.”
“I thought that was just a stereotype. Something they made up for the movies.”
But he shook his head while he slurped even louder, mouth too full to answer.
“Ew,” I said. “That’s revolting.”
Before I knew it, his bowl was half empty. “Maybe. But it’s still good manners.”
We sat companionably. I even slurped audibly, just to try to make him smile again. I got a few twitches, but nothing more. Still, there was a sparkle in those eyes I recognized from years past. I couldn’t help it. I wanted more.
“I used to come to this place after class,” I said when our bowls were nearly empty. Well, his was. I couldn’t eat more than half, myself. “It was the only place within walking distance of Columbia I could afford. A bowl of ramen would keep me for the day, and they were open late. I’d get some tea and study until I couldn’t keep my eyes open.”
“Why didn’t you just go home?”
I shrugged. “I couldn’t study there. I don’t know if you remember, but I lived at my grandmother’s house when I was in school. It was nice not having to pay rent, but two of my sisters were still there. And they are…well, if you met them, you’d understand why I needed space.”
“How many sisters do you have again?” he wondered, picking up a piece of soft-boiled egg with his chopsticks.
“Four, plus a brother.”
“Six in all, then?”
I nodded.
“Let me guess—you’re the baby.”
I looked up to find Xavier peering at me with knowing eyes. It was infuriating.
“I am not,” I said. “Middle child, actually. Kate and I share that. She’s the youngest of the first bunch. I’m the oldest of the second.” I held out my hands to count us off. “It goes Matthew, Lea, Kate. Then our parents split up for a bit. But when they got back together, it was me, Marie, and Joni. Marie and Joni are less than a year apart, and I’m almost eighteen months older than Marie. Both of them are still living with Nonna, freaking leeches. And they are such pains in the ass.”
Xavier chuckled.
“What?” I asked. “That makes you smile, of all things?”
“It’s funny, is all. The way siblings talk like they love and hate each other at the same time.”
I nodded. “Sounds about right.”
“I always wondered what it was like to have brothers and sisters. It was just me and my mum growing up, you know? Sharing a one-bedroom flat.”
“I doubt our family squabbles were very idyllic,” I replied. “Or any less crowded. There were six of us stuffed into that house with our grandparents. For a while, Marie, Joni, and I were all in the attic.”
“Why were you there?” Xavier asked. “After your dad died, you didn’t live with your mum?”
I shook my head. “No. Mom was…is…a bit of a mess.”
