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“Compared to what your personal chef makes.”
“I don’t have a personal chef.” My cheeks flush. “Or any chef. I microwave my oatmeal myself.”
“You eat oatmeal?”
“What’s wrong with oatmeal?”
“It’s plain for you,” he says.
“I add raisins and cinnamon.”
He laughs.
“Am I that funny?”
“Yeah.” He slips English muffins into the toaster. “You’re determined not to be the person people think you are. But you’re not sure who that is, so you change tracks all the time.”
“I do not.”
“And if I said you seem like a girl who loves a simple breakfast?”
It’s true. I shouldn’t care what other people think of me, but I do. I hate when people assume I’ve never worked hard, or done anything for myself, because of my last name. I didn’t ask for it. I understand I grew up with privileges other people never experienced: great schools, a beautiful, safe neighborhood, access to anything I want to do. But I don’t like when people erase my effort. My loss. It’s not like it hurt less, losing Mom, because we had plenty of money. I spent more than half my life without her. “I’d say you’re right. I’ve fixed my own oatmeal since I was thirteen.”
“Do you cook anything else?”
“Do sandwiches count?” I ask.
“If you heat them.”
“Grilled cheese?”
He laughs. “The Huntington family sitting down to grilled cheese. I don’t see it.”
“Why do you think we’re so different than you? We live next door.”
“You’re right.” He nods as he flips the ham. “I was in awe the first time I saw my grandma’s house. I didn’t want to fit in there. I didn’t want to be a part of this world. My mom and I lived in an apartment in Riverside. We didn’t have any of Grandma’s money. She’d— How much do you know about my family?”
“Only what you and Ida have told me,” I say.
“What does she say about my mom?” he asks.
“She’s not in the picture.”
“Anything else?”
I shake my head.
“Really? No.” He nods with understanding. “Grandma never answers a question she doesn’t want to answer. She’s good at turning things around.”
“What do you mean?”
“Ask me something inappropriate,” he says.
“Uh…” I say the first thing that comes to mind. “Have you ever put anything in your ass?”
He laughs. “That’s your first question?”
“Are you doing it now? Or is that a legitimate response?” It’s a good strategy, actually. Smart. But it’s not his style, really. He’s not a strategic communicator. He’s earnest and in the moment, trying to tap into real emotions.
