Almost Stepbrothers

Chapter Eight: Good Enough To Eat

Robyn

I worked until the alarm on my phone beeped, letting me know it was time for dinner. I carefully put my drawing materials away and headed down the stairs. My nose was immediately assaulted by Italian spices, and I groaned inwardly. Mom had made her “famous” spaghetti and meatballs. I stepped into the kitchen, eyeballed the sauce pot, and went to the sink to wash my hands.

“Hey honey!” My mom greeted me with forced cheerfulness. “Are you hungry? I’m making my famous spaghetti.”

I sighed and went to the fridge. “You know I can’t eat that, mom.”

Her smile flatlined. “Can’t? Or won’t?”

“Mom, I’m allergic to gluten.” I said with exaggerated patience. How many times did we have to have this conversation? After dad died, I started getting really sick. Everything I ate gave me stomach pain and diarrhea. My mom thought it was just some kind of attention-seeking behavior. It wasn’t until I started seeing a naturopath last year that I discovered I had developed a bunch of food allergies.

“You are allergic to everything,” mom replied with an eye roll. Despite the fact that I had actual lab results to prove my claims, she still thought my eating habits were some sort of weird fad diet at best, or a serious eating disorder at worst.

There was no point arguing with her, or trying to convince her, so I shrugged and leaned into the fridge. I was too hungry to skip another meal. I pulled out a carton of eggs and started fishing around in the cupboard for a clean frying pan. Just as my fingers circled around the handle, Andrew and Jack entered the kitchen. Jack’s hair was wet, and he had that fresh from the shower scent. I could smell him, even over mom’s marinara sauce.

He smelled good enough to eat.

I shook my head at my own thoughts. Phoenix came in a moment later, his eyes running over my body before they rested on my face. I thought to myself, I need to develop an allergy to men. Or at least a severe intolerance to Jack and Phoenix Williams.

Andrew moved around the kitchen island and slipped his arms around my mother, kissing the side of her neck. I tried not to cringe at the PDA and turned my attention back to scrambling my eggs, while mom started plating spaghetti for the rest of them. This same scene has played out half a dozen different times, with different men in the lead. It was sad, really. And kind of depressing. I recognized it for exactly what it was: Mom's attempt at recreating the life we had with dad. The life where she got to be the adored little housewife with a happy little family.

I carried my plate and a glass of ice water to the table and sat in the empty seat across from Jack. He quirked an eyebrow at my mountain of eggs but said nothing. I stared back at him defiantly.

What, haven't you ever seen a girl eat eight eggs in one sitting?

Andrew was still determined to win me over. “So, Robyn, how did you spend your day? I hope you weren’t too bored, staying here by yourself.”

I swallowed my mouthful of eggs and shook my head. “No, it was fine. I worked on some projects, and Phoenix showed me the pool when he got home.”

“Oh?” His bushy grey eyebrows climbed his forehead, and he gave Phoenix a funny look, as though he suspected his son was up to no good. Phoenix pasted on an innocent look that was almost comical. I had to hide my snicker behind my napkin. The professor must have been well aware that his son was a terrible flirt. Andrew returned his attention to me, still trying to maintain a kind smile. "I'm glad that pool is getting some use."

I glanced at Jack and saw that his face was set in its usual resting b.itch scowl, and if anything, he looked even angrier than normal. “You cut out early to go swimming?” he huffed under his breath. Phoenix just flashed him an easy smile and shoved a big forkful of spaghetti into his mouth. When he had chewed and swallowed, he complimented my mother. “Great spaghetti, Denise, the sauce is delicious.”

Mom flushed warmly. She seemed completely oblivious to the meaningful looks darting around the table. “Oh, the pool? That’s wonderful honey! Robyn just loves to swim!” She twirled the pasta around her fork and gave me an approving look. She was always worried that I didn’t get out and socialize enough.

Thankfully, she quickly directed the conversation back to herself, telling stories of what had happened at her job that day. I concentrated on filling the gnawing hole in my stomach before my eggs got cold. I felt the twins’ eyes on me from time to time, but I ignored both of them. I cleaned my plate before the others were even half-done.

“Oh, by the way, mom, can I borrow the car tomorrow night?” I remembered to ask my mother before I left the table.

“Oh, do you have class?” She asked, even though she knew I did.

It's like she just wanted to make sure that everyone at the table knew my business. I gritted my teeth in annoyance but willed myself to keep my face relaxed and pleasant. “Yeah.” I stood up and picked up my plate and glass to take them back to the sink.

“Class?” Andrew looked at mom, confused, “I thought you said she wasn’t going to school?”

“Oh no, dear,” mom patted his hand. “It’s a karate class. Isn’t that right, Robbi?”

Actually, on Thursday nights it was Mixed Martial Arts, but trying to explain the difference would only confuse my mother, so I simply nodded. I usually went to the dojo four nights a week, but with all the disruptions of moving, I’d missed the last three classes. I needed to get back on schedule.

Desperately.

"No problem, Robbi. I should be home by five-thirty."

"Thanks, mom," I nodded and headed back to the kitchen. The truth is, I could have bought my own car. Maybe not a brand new one, but I had enough saved to buy a decent used car. But then I would have had to explain to my mom where the money came from, and that was not a conversation I was ready to have. It wasn't a big deal though. On the nights that mom needed her car, I simply called an Uber. Problem solved.

I started to work on cleaning up the kitchen, even though I hadn't eaten any of the food my mother prepared. It was a habit, and part of the routine, dating back to when dad was alive. Mom would cook, Dad and I would do the dishes. That's just how it was. I started scrubbing the pots and pans while I waited for everyone else to finish eating.

"Oh Robyn, you don't have to do that!" Andrew came into the kitchen carrying his plates. "You can just leave those; the housekeeper will take care of them in the morning."

I gaped at him like he had grown a second head. "You leave your dirty dishes overnight?"

My mother chuckled nervously behind the professor. "It's no big deal, Robyn." She put her hand on Andrew’s shoulder. "We're just not used to having hired help in the house." She was trying to explain away my behavior to her boyfriend as if I was completely irrational.

"We don't leave dirty dishes in the sink overnight," I said firmly. I turned my back on them as I continued to wash.

It was a rule. It was dad's rule. He was a scientist who specialized in food and nutrition. He would have lectured us on how much mold and bacteria grew on the dishes overnight, and how many cases of foodborne illness were reported in the state each year.

Mom tugged Andrew out of the room, and I expected Phoenix and Jack to follow them. I nearly jumped out of my skin when I saw Jack from the corner of my eye rolling up his sleeves, exposing his tanned, muscular forearms.

"What are you doing?"

He shrugged; his expression serious. "You wash, I'll rinse."

I frowned down at the soapy water as I continued. The William's had a dishwasher, but I was already half done with the work. Jack's strange gesture of kindness threw me off balance. He worked quietly beside me without saying anything until he had rinsed off the last plate, and I unplugged the sink to let the soapy water drain out. I swallowed down an uncomfortable knot as I turned to face him.

"Thanks... for helping me. You didn't have to."

Jack flashed me a rather dark look. "I know I didn't have to. I wanted to." And then he reached out and brushed a bit of soap suds off my cheek. His fingers made my skin tingle.

“Hey you two!” Phoenix had taken it upon himself to wipe down the table and counters while we finished the dishes. He wedged himself in between us and hung the dish rag on the hook over the sink. “Are you two finally finished? Because I owe Robyn a foot massage.”