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“We brought this in from the living room,” Easton says as I sit in the chair. “We thought it’d be more comfortable than the chairs at the table.”
“Hey,” a girl mumbles as she goes behind Easton to the table. That must be Jenna. I remember her from Thanksgiving.
“Jenna, what did I say?” Penelope gives her a stern look.
“What? I said hi.” She glances at me, then back at her mom. “Why does she get to sit in a good chair and I have to sit here?”
“Because she’s our guest and she doesn’t feel well.”
“Thanks for letting me borrow the clothes,” I say to Jenna.
She makes a face as she looks at what I’m wearing. “You can have them. I don’t wear stuff like that. They were a gift from my grandma.”
How could she not want them? They’re nicer than anything I own.
“Yes, go ahead and keep them,” Penelope says. “Jenna will never wear them.”
“I have more just like it in my drawer if you want them,” Jenna says. “If you don’t, I’ll just throw them out.”
“Jenna, those should be donated,” her mom says. “They haven’t even been worn.”
“Who would want them? Nobody wears stuff like that, not even to bed.”
“I would,” I say. “If you don’t want them, I’ll take them.”
Penelope sets a platter of scrambled eggs, sausage, and bacon on the center island. “Jenna, why don’t you go through your things after breakfast and see if there’s anything you don’t want that you could give to Nova for while she’s here?”
“Maybe,” Jenna mutters. “If I have time.”
“Yeah, like you’re so busy,” Easton says.
“You don’t have to,” I tell her. “I can just keep wearing this.”
Penelope takes a giant stack of pancakes from the oven, along with a platter of French toast, and adds them to the island. There’s a bowl of fruit there as well, and a tray of muffins. How can they eat this much for breakfast? Even if I wasn’t sick, I wouldn’t be able to eat all this.
“I think I have everything,” Penelope says. “I’ll just grab the butter.”
Jenna gets up from the table, sighing like it’s an inconvenience to have to get up and get her own breakfast. She’s really spoiled. I thought Easton was exaggerating when he said that about her, but she’s even worse than he described.
“I’ll get yours,” Easton says to me. “What would you like?”
“I can get it.”
“Just stay there. I got this.” He takes a plate from the stack his mom left out, along with silverware and a napkin.
“Ugh, blueberry?” Jenna says, holding up a muffin. “Why didn’t you make chocolate?”
“We had those last week,” her mom says.
“I’ll take one,” I say, realizing that’s what I smelled coming up the stairs.
Easton puts one on my plate. “What else?”
“Just start with that. I don’t know if I can eat much.”
He brings me the plate, then goes back to make his own.
Penelope, Easton, and Jenna sit at the table while I sit a little farther back in the chair. I feel weird not sitting at the table with them, but it is a really comfortable chair, especially when my body is still aching.
