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Chapter Eighteen: Yankee


Almost exactly an hour later to the minute - at 9:15 - Bradley stood up, turned off the TV, and announced, "It's time for breakfast!" and left the room. I blinked at the abruptness of the move, the exactness of the time, and the certainty he'd said it with. I looked over at Bruce.

Bruce was struggling out of his chair. When he got to his feet he said, "We've had breakfast at exactly 9:15 AM for the last thirty-one years," and he started out of the room, following after the direction Bradley went. "C'mon Bill," he said, "Let's eat."

I got up and followed after him. I thought about what he'd said. "Are they twins?" I asked, "Becky and Bradley?"

"Of course," Bruce answered, as though it should've been obvious.

I could think of nothing that was less obvious.

He led the way into a small dining room. I could just see a kitchen off to the left with swinging saloon-style doors. Light poked through the shutter-like slats in the doors. Bradley came pushing out of them carrying a cereal bowl full of cut up fruit in his hands, cradling it like one might cradle a baby bird, and put it on the table, his excitement electrifying the air. Bruce sat down in the chair at the head of the table. "Sit-sit there," Bradley said, waving at the chair beside him. I went over and sat.

Becky came out of the kitchen next with a bowl of yogurt, which she put in front of Bradley and a plate of blueberry pancakes that she put in front of me. Then she disappeared into the kitchen again. I stared down at the pancakes. "My Becky makes the best pancakes there ever was, Bill," Bruce bragged. Becky came back a moment later with two more plates and a stein of syrup.

"This - this one's a kiwi," Bradley informed me, holding up a piece of gooey green fruit. "And a ba-ba-banana." He held up a couple banana slices. "Here." He grabbed my hand and shoved one of the banana slices into it. "Have - have a - a banana."

"Thanks," I said.

"Bradley, Nate doesn't want your fruit," Becky said. She got up and returned a moment later with some paper towels. "Eat your fruit, Bradley."

"I am," he said, and he dipped the banana into the yogurt and shoved it into his mouth.

Bruce was pouring copious amounts of syrup over his pancakes. "Best pancakes there are," he annouced again, handing the syrup off to Becky, who handed it to me first. I poured some on, then gave it back to her so she could put some on hers, too.

And Bruce was right. Becky's pancakes were amazing.

As we sat around the table eating breakfast, it occured to me that Becky was the glue holding this little family together and that she was doing it alone. I looked over at her, and she smiled, her slightly uneven teeth pressing against her lower lip ever so slightly, a small dimple I hadn't noticed at the corner of her mouth. Her wide eyes were reflecting the light of the overhead lamp, making them glow all warm and friendly. As Bradley smacked his mouth and ate the fruit and yogurt and Bruce launched into a conversation about a biography on Lincoln he'd watched on the History Channel, I realized that, as completely out of my element this was, it was kinda nice.

"Where's the dog anyway?" Bruce asked suddenly, looking around, holding up a piece of blueberry pancake.

"I put him in the laundry room so he wouldn't bother Nate again," Becky answered.

"That's right. He was sniffing your yankee last night, wasn't he?" Bruce asked.

"Yankee!" Bradley hooted. He covered his mouth and laughed uproariously into it, his eyes squinting.

Becky made a face, "Seriously?"

"Well what do you want me to call it?" Bruce demanded, glaring over at her. "What do you call it?"

"I don't call it anything," Becky said, her face turning fuschia.

I smirked. "I call it Carter Junior," I said. And as soon as the words came out of my mouth I felt my heart stop for just a moment.

Fuck.

"Carter Junior?" Becky said, raising an eyebrow. "Why the hell would you call it that?" She laughed.

"I don't know," I answered, my neck felt exceedingly hot. How the fuck was I gonna explain my way out of this one?

"Junior! Well," Bruce snorted. "My wife used to call mine --"

"DAD!" Becky yelled, cutting him off. "GROSS! No! I don't want to know that!"

"Gr-grosss!" Bradley yelled, imitating Becky.

Bruce puffed up. "I don't know why it's so gross, if she hadn't called it something, you two wouldn't exist."

"I don't need to know the details," Becky whined.

"Sex is a natural thing, and you're damn lucky you get old enough and your pantoola still works," Bruce went off on a tangent just like that about youth being wasted on the young. Becky was scarlet and her eyes showed exasperation at her father.

And I'd never been so damn thankful for an old man talking about his penis in my entire life. In one fell swoop, Bruce had managed to call the attention away from my slip. That was an exceedingly close call, I thought to myself, and I focused on my pancakes trying to get the flush in my neck to fade off.

Carter Junior was always getting me in trouble... a lot of trouble these days.

That was when I remembered Chris had tied me again last night.

I antsed around in my seat. It was frustrating that he kept catching up and tying with me because I wanted to just get ahead of him and be done with it so I didn't have to be sleeping with anymore random women. I picked at my pancakes, thinking about how later I'd have to go to the gym and find some chick that wanted to have sex with me. I sighed down at my pancakes.

Becky looked over. "You okay, Nate?" she asked, her eyes softening with concern at me.

I looked up. "Yeah I'm okay," I replied.

"You sure? You got quiet. We're just kidding around. I'm sorry if we're making you uncomfy."

I shook my head, "No it's cool. I just -- I have a little bit of a headache," I lied.

Becky got up, "Let me get you some Advil," she said, and she disappeared from the room.

"I used to get headaches when I got back from the war," Bruce announced.

"Don't - don't tell all the - the war stories again," Bradley begged. "They're b-boring."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah..." Bruce muttered, sitting back.

Becky came back with a bottle of Advil and shook two into my hand. "Here, Nate." I downed them. She smiled, "That'll make you feel better." Becky sat down and screwed the cap back onto the bottle.

"I want some to feel better too," Bradley requested, holding out his palm.

"You have your own meds to take sir," Becky replied, and she pointed to Bradley's breast pocket on his shirt. He pulled out a small pill box and snapped it open and tipped out three pills into the palm of his hand. "Bottoms up," Becky cheers him as he knocked them into his mouth and took a big swig of juice. "Atta boy," she said, smiling.

And I realized the reason I felt so anxious about going ot the gym and finding a girl was because I didn't wanna be with anyone but Becky.