Page 43 of Our Broken Pieces
I look down at her. “Ms. Ethel, where have your manners gone? You need to be nice to Marcus!”
“We don’t have to get along, G. As long as we stay out of each other’s way, that’s fine with me.”
“No, it’s not fine. We’re sort of going to be a little family for a while. I want you two to get along.”
Marcus turns to check the potatoes boiling on the stove. “It’s really not that big of a deal.”
“We’ll work on it.” I walk out of the room, Ethel still in my arms, purring. “I’m going to clean up for dinner.”
I walk down the hall to my room, setting Ethel down on the bed. I shuck off my shoes and grab some comfy shorts and a t-shirt. Moving to the bathroom, I wash off my makeup and wrangle my curls into a bun on the top of my head. Ethel sits in the doorway, meowing at me as I ask her about her day. She’s a talkative cat, so we have discussions sometimes. I love that about her.
I shut off the light, Ethel saunters to my bedroom, and I return to the kitchen to see two plates on the island, portions of chicken, potatoes, and carrots organized neatly.
“Points for presentation, prince.” His eyes rise to mine, and I smile.
“It’s nice to have a good meal every once in a while. Where do you want to eat?”
“Right here is fine with me.”
He nods and pushes the plates closer to the stools as I sit down. Before he takes his seat, he grabs two beers from the fridge.
I take a bite of the chicken and it’s delicious. “I’m excited that I’ll have a husband who can cook.” I shove his arm.
He pushes his chicken around his plate. “About that. We’re going to have dinner with my parents this weekend.”
“Like, to introduce me?”
“Yeah. Though my father does remember you from Jax and Audrey’s wedding.”
“How did the conversation go?”
He lifts a shoulder. “My dad was happy to meet for dinner.” He puts his fork down and picks up his beer. “He said he was proud of me for doing what I needed to do.”
“How did that make you feel?”
“Like shit. He’s proud of me over a lie.”
I shift in my seat to face him. “Marcus, you are doing nothing wrong here. Like he said, you are doing what needs to be done. He said get married, he never said fall in love, right?”
“I guess. If you want to get technical.”
“Then screw it. You’re completing the task.”
He goes quiet and begins to eat again. We both make our way through our food in silence. I’ve never been comfortable with silence, but with him, I have to go out of my comfort zone. I know not to press the subject. When I finish, his plate is already empty. I rise from my chair and grab our dishes.
“I can get that, G.”
I shake my head, giving him a soft smile. “You cook, I clean.”
“Alright.”
I move to the sink and turn on the water. The sound of it fills the quiet room. As I begin washing, he rises from his chair and grabs a towel from the drawer. After I rinse a plate, he silently extends his hand to take it from me, drying it carefully before placing it in the cabinet. There’s something surprisingly peaceful about how domestic this moment feels, how easy it is to fall into a rhythm, even with something as simple as doing dishes together.
He takes the last fork from my hands just as I let the water drain from the sink. Handing me the towel to dry my hands, our fingers brush against each other briefly. His immediate reaction of pulling his hand back makes me pause. It reminds me of how stiff and careful he can be, especially when it comes to physical contact. He always seems to notice when I touch him, and he hardly ever makes the first move to touch me. I can’t help but think about how we’ll act around his parents at dinner. This stiffness won’t work. We’ll have to be more natural, or his father will see right through our plan.
“We should practice a couple things before this weekend.”
He looks up, obviously confused. “What do we need to practice? We know our story.”
