"We can just boil them," she suggested. "But then we have to peel them off," I said. "I know, right?" We looked at each other again. She bit her lip, her eyes shining with laughter. "We don't know what the hell we're doing," she said, wiping her eyes on my shirt. "And it's fine because it feels great to be here with you right now." She sniffed. "I'm still hungry though." "All right. Sit over there and be quiet." She gave me her serious face, not letting it pass that I was telling her what to do again, but she couldn't follow through and laughed again. "It better be good, Bigfoot." She hopped on the kitchen island. I washed the pan and wiped it. Put it on the stove. I threw out the egg mixture we both messed up and grabbed the other carton of eggs. I cracked them carefully this time. "How did you survive without cooking your meals?" she asked. "Take outs. Lean meat, sandwiches mostly. Fresh veggies, fruits." There weren't any cracked egg shells this time. I scrambled them with a fork and poured it in the pan. The satisfying crackle of it made me smile. I popped a couple of bread in the toaster. I noticed she hadn't said anything for a while. I looked over my shoulder and found her watching me. There was sadness in her eyes. "Kara?" "My mom," she started, her voice thick. "She left when I was just a kid. Dylan barely remembers her." She took in a deep breath, released it slowly. "But I do." This I wanted to know. Everything. About her. "What do you remember?" "That she was a bitch." She gave out a small laugh, but it was strained. "I remembered one thing. It was her birthday and my dad was going to take her out to a fancy dinner. I remembered he bought her a fur coat. She'd always been hinting at him to buy her one. You know hints like she'd leave pictures she'd cut out of magazines and leave them lying around the house for my dad to see. Or say something like, this coat would really look pretty on me. Stuff like that. She never said what she wanted straight out. I don't mind using the hint technique, but she was over the top. It was always a guessing game to her." She kinda did the same thing, I thought. Like her mother with her cut-out pictures, Kara did with her post-it note reminders in her home, except that instead of hints, Kara's messages were direct and told exactly what she wanted. And I adored that about her. "It probably drove your dad nuts." She lifted her long legs on the counter, crossed them in front of her. Her eyes blazed with anger. I stared. She gestured with her arm. "I think those eggs are done." I turned back to the stove. She was right. I reached for the spatula and plate, scooped eggs. "No," she said. "It didn't drive my dad nuts. My dad's a very patient man. He loved her." I didn't tell her I had no clue what that was like. I didn't think I'd even seen my parents hug each other. They couldn't even stand being in the same room. "But on her birthday, he got her this fur coat. She was really excited. She unwrapped it really, really slowly. Like tape by tape. Folding the paper meticulously. I wrapped that fur coat myself and I wished to God I only used three pieces of tape." I chuckled. "How many pieces of tape did you use?" I grabbed the toast and fixed her sandwich, brought the plate to her. "Thanks," she said, smiling up at me. She reached for it and took a huge bite. It was satisfying to watch her eat. Maybe I'd look up vegetarian recipes and cook her a couple of meals just to see her eat more. It shouldn't be too hard. Yeah, right. Probably burn the whole place down. I'd stick with sandwiches for now. "Lots of tape," she continued. "It took her a while. And when at last it was all unwrapped, she shook it out. And you know what she did?" I waited for her to continue while I grabbed her a bottled water in the fridge. I didn't have anything else. I should ask her what she liked to drink other than coffee and stock up. For next time when she visited. "What?" "She went outside and threw that fur coat—that f ucking expensive fur coat that my dad had been saving up for, on the ground. Right on the dirt. And stomped her feet on it. She broke my dad's heart. "You see, it wasn't the fur coat she wanted. I've been leaving hints every f ucking day to you, Mike," she continued, her voice sounding higher than normal, copying her mother's voice probably. "And you buy me this piece of shit coat? Did you get it for a bargain? Did you get it from a consignment shop? Someone had owned this piece of shit before and you dare give it to me as a present? "Like she's better than the royal queen and she levitates above everyone else because she's so f ucking special. "My dad and I loved to shop at second hand stores. I don't care. What you put out into the world is more important than what you wear. "I saw my dad's face. He was hurt and he got mad this time. Not because she didn't like the coat, although that's probably one of the reasons, but because Dylan and I were there in the living room. Watching all this happen. She left him eventually for this vacuum salesman. Her loss. "It was hard for my dad to raise two kids on his own. So he got a job, saved up, then went to business with his older brother Andrew." She looked like she wanted to spit. "Another leech, if you ask me. He and my dad both own the garage. Fifty-fifty. You want to know why I work so hard? So I can buy him off. I already talked to Andrew about it and we have a deal." "How much does he want for his share?" She narrowed her eyes at me. "Why?" I looked at her and I knew there was no way I could hide my intentions. Might as well tell her. She was too smart for her own good. "I can give you the money. Or." "Are you nuts? Hell no! Then all my hard work would've been for nothing. No. I'm so close. So close." "You didn't get mad when you found out about the job at The Yard." "That's different." "How's so?" "I know I'm qualified for that job and I'm a hard worker. You couldn't go wrong with someone like me."