Page 77 of Feral
“Getting me? Yannis, you can’t do that. He’s doing… okay. He’s working on it.”
“He’s always working on it. Has he raised his voice to you again?”
“No. He really is doing better. He’s back in counseling and he’s in a prayer group that really seems to be helping, but I think your brother coming home might trigger an episode.”
Closing my eyes, I twist my neck back and forth. “Fine. If this is how you want it, this is what we’ll do, but you need to know that both of your kids are gonna remember you chose Rich over us.”
“Yannis, that’s not fair. It’s not an either-or situation.”
“No? We aren’t welcome there right now so that Rich doesn’t get upset. Sounds like a choice to me.”
She falls silent again, clearly not able to defend herself.
“Cool. Okay, well I’ll take care of my brother. Don’t worry about us, Mom.” I end the call before she can say anything else.
Hale appears in the doorway, his brow creased with concern. “I’m sorry, love.”
“It’s fine. It’s always been like this. I moved out as soon as I could to get away from his overbearing presence, but I stayed close to be there for Dimi. Once he went off to college, I started thinking about moving away. None of this shocks me, but it pisses me off.”
“Understandably. I have food and coffee for you.”
“You do?”
He nods. “I went out to get it.”
“Thanks. That’s really nice.”
“I don’t know much about the proper care and feeding of mortals, but I can learn.”
I laugh at that. “You’re doing great.”
We walk out to the kitchen together, but I stop when I see the island covered in food. Pancakes, eggs, waffles, elaborate dishes with sauces, fruit, muffins, bagels, bacon, and sausage.
“Hale. This is enough food for an army.”
“I didn’t know what you liked.”
Seconds later, a sleepy looking Dimi appears. He looks like one of those cartoon characters being led by his nose as he sniffs the air. “Bacon?”
I scoff a laugh. “Yeah, buddy, we have bacon.”
“I’m starving.”
“Sit here,” Hale says, patting a barstool. “I have plates and forks. Do you drink coffee?”
“No. Do you have orange juice?”
“Yes.” He opens the fridge and pulls out a carafe, then opens several cabinets until he finds glasses. “Here we go.”
Dimi watches him with his head tilted like a confused puppy. Hale seems to notice and smiles as he sets the glass down.
“I don’t eat here much.”
Not a lie.
That seems to satisfy Dimi, who starts scooping food onto his plate. My stomach growls loudly, reminding me to feed myself too. I load up a plate and take a seat next to my brother. Hale leans against the kitchen counter, smiling as he sips from a mug. I have a feeling that isn’t coffee.
“You’re not eating?” Dimi asks between bites.