Page 5 of Sunday Morning
He chuckled. “When?”
“When what?”
“When will it kill me?”
I shrugged. “Someday.”
“Sunday Morning, something will kill all of ussomeday.”
“Well,” I nudged him aside to retrieve a spoon from the drawer for the mayonnaise, “God’s not taking you to Heaven. I’m pretty sure there’s no smoking in Heaven.”
“What if smokingisHeaven? Have you tried it?” He took a swig of his drink.
“It’s disgusting,” I said, removing the lid from the mayonnaise jar.
“So you’ve tried it?”
He was so annoying.
“No. I haven’t tried it.” I scooped the mayonnaise into the measuring cup. “I also haven’t licked a cow’s butthole, but I bet it’s a universally shared sentiment that doing so isdisgusting.”
He barked a laugh. “You can’t speak for the universe. Ass-licking may be considered a sacred ritual in certain cultures.”
“Do you think Mom would care if I had a Coke?” Eve asked, strolling into the kitchen. “Since it’s Easter?”
My parents never let us have pop with a meal, just as a “special treat,” which meant we snuck it whenever possible.
“Why don’t you wait and ask her,” I said.
“Here. Take mine. I won’t tell anyone.” Isaac held out his nearly full glass of Coke and whatever was in that flask.
Eve’s brown eyes widened. “Thanks?—”
“That’s mine.” I dropped the spoon and snatched the glass before Eve could blink. I didn’t wait for the taste to register. It burned the entire way down, all eleven gulps.
I counted.
Eve frowned. “Fine. I’ll ask Mom.” She spun on her heels and stomped out of the kitchen.
I shoved the empty glass into Isaac’s chest. “Don’t be a butt nugget.”
Isaac wrapped his fingers around the glass, lifting both eyebrows. His smile immediately curled into something more satanic than the stuffed eggs I was supposed to finish.
Instead of acknowledging that look on his face, I threw the rest of the ingredients into the bowl without measuring.
“Do you think that’s enough salt?” Isaac asked before tipping the glass at his lips and sucking a piece of ice into his mouth.
“How’s everything coming along?” Violet’s melodic voice announced her and my mom’s descent down the stairs.
I replied with a tight, “Fine,” while stirring the ingredients.
“Well, look at you.” Violet patted Isaac’s back. “My boy became a man. A good man who helps in the kitchen.” She gushed as her son screwed the lids onto the ingredients I haphazardly threw into the bowl.
Isaac was a man. All man. I had no dispute with that. But agoodman?
No.
He was not a good man. Not even close.