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“So she just changed the gender of all the characters,” Skye says, buttering another piece of bread. “And there’s no book where he gets pregnant, because apparently an additional three books of this is just too much work.”
Maybe not the best brunch topic. Maybe not the best brunch topic when Christian has to deliver his annual holiday speech, right after the parade.
Skye’s never seen him do it in person. And she’s having a really hard time connecting the guy she’d seen on TV, once or twice, with the man sitting in front of her.
“But,” Christian says, with something like fear in his voice. “You said that the... Fifty Shades book. It’s a fan work-”
“Fanfiction,” Skye corrects.
He gives her a look. “Fanfiction of Twilight. And so if there’s a new Twilight, does that mean-”
“She’s gonna do another Fifty Shades!” Thomas says. “With girl-dominatrix Christian and boy-sub Ana. Finally, it will resemble your real-life relationship.”
Anna almost spits out her mimosa.
“My wife and I have a perfectly loving, healthy relationship that involves little to no flogging,” Christian says.
“And there it is,” Skye remarks. “Beautiful.”
“Honestly,” Grant says. “She just sets you up to throw a fit, Christian.”
“I’m not throwing a fit,” Christian says. “This is my normal speaking voice.”
“You’re a little fittish,” Thomas says. “You’re doing that thing where you set your jaw all funny.”
“I’m only doing that because you’re watching me so closely, Thomas,” Christian says. “You’re practically up my-”
“I mean is it wrong for the woman to be the dominant one in the relationship?” Anna asks. “I don’t see any issue with it.”
“I think it’s hot,” Grant says. He rubs Skye’s belly, to make a point. “Skye’s all dominant and pregnant and horny all the time. It’s amazing.”
“Aw, goober,” Skye says, touching his hand. “Stop.”
“Really, actually stop,” Thomas says. “You’re scaring the children.”
“Oh, and you know what else?” Christian asks, with the sort of smugness that always precedes something incredibly stupid. “Anna and I watched that damned 50 Shades movie.”
And there it is. “Wow,” Skye says.
“And,” Christian says, undeterred. “There’s a fault in your little-” He gestures. “Parallel between our relationship and theirs. When that drip in the movie gets mad, she calls him Christian. But when Anna is mad at me, she calls me Maynard.” He crosses his arms in victory.
Skye’s not sure there’s even a response for that. “We literally stopped talking about that like five minutes ago.”
Thomas opens and closes his mouth a few times. Like he’s trying.
“You’re a trainwreck,” Skye says. “Holy shit.”
“That’s the difference?” Thomas says. “Not that he’s like, a serial killer? Are you a serial killer, Christian? I fucking-”
“I just can’t believe that you’re bragging about being called ‘Maynard,’” Grant says. “That’s pretty tragic.”
“If I had to describe Christian in one word, I’d probably pick ‘tragic,’” Skye says. “If I got two words, I’d go with ‘fucking tragic.’”
“None of you are funny,” Christian says. “And the movie was terrible, by the way. It was just... weird.”
“Did you guys bang afterwards?” Skye asks. “Because that’s the cherry on top, if you did.”
“My sex life is none of your-” He sighs. “No, Skye,” he says. Rubs his temples “We didn’t have sex.”
“Boo,” Skye says. “Boring. This story sucks.”
“We banged before we got here,” Anna says, smirking. “Does that help?”
“No,” Skye says. “Now we all just feel unclean.”
“Good,” Christian and Anna say, at once.
“This family is an ordeal,” Skye says. “And also, when is our food going to get here? I’m so hungry.”
“Given that you ordered like, half the kitchen?” Thomas says. “Probably a little while longer.”
“I’m dying,” Skye says. “I’m so hungry and I can’t even drink or have caffeine.”
“You can have a little caffeine,” Anna says.
Christian and Grant stiffen their shoulders at the same time. Like they’re part of a unit. “Caffeine is bad for the baby,” Grant says.
“She absolutely cannot have any caffeine at all, Anna, what if something happens, I mean-”
“Not that I want to be controlling,” Grant continues. “But we really can’t risk it, it’s her first pregnancy and all and-”
“I mean, I don’t know how your mother had you, Anna-”
Anna turns her head towards Christian. “What about my mother, Christian?”
He goes wide-eyed. “Did I say something about your mother?”
She tilts her head. “No, dear. Must’ve misheard.”
“It’s like watching peacocks fight,” Skye whispers, so only Grant can hear.
He snickers. “Right?” he says.
“Just a cup of coffee,” Skye says, while she’s got his guard down. “C’mon.”
He glances sidelong at her. “Skye,” he says. “You know I’ll never tell you what to do. But I don’t think you should.”
“God,” she says. “You’re so good. It’s the worst.”
“Aw,” he says. “I try.”
“I’ll skip the coffee,” Skye says. “But I would really love a chocolate mi-”
“Two poached eggs,” the waiter announces, interrupting her thoughts. “With hollandaise.”
“The eggs were prepared properly?” Christian asks. He’s seemingly snapped out of whatever he was doing with Anna. Which had looked like some kind of weird, sexually tense staring contest. So. Glad that’s over.
“What’s wrong with the eggs?” Skye says.
“Nothing is wrong with the eggs,” Christian says. “So long as the middle was cooked well enough, and you won’t get sick.”
“Listen,” Skye says, cutting one of her eggs open. Showing off the wiggly yolk. “I’m going to eat this. And if you try to stop me, I will kill you.”
A plate of sausage is placed beside her eggs. Seven grain toast, and a side of butter. Hash.
“And two blueberry pancakes,” the waiter says. “All good?”
“Um,” Thomas says. “The rest of the food?”
“Coming.”
“I’m not waiting for you guys to get served,” Skye says, with half a link already in her mouth. “Just so we’re clear.”
“I have no idea how you’re going to eat all of that,” Christian says.
“She’s pregnant,” Grant says.
“Which is why I got the extra pancake,” Skye adds. “Plus, you’re paying, so...”
She catches Thomas reaching with his fork, and smacks his hand.
“No,” she says. “Mine.”
“God,” Thomas says. “Pushy.”
“It’s my cycle,” Skye says. “Hungry, having to pee, horny, sleepy.”
“Truly miraculous,” Thomas says. “The cycle of life.”
“Can’t respond,” Skye says. “Eating.”
Grant nudges her foot under the table.
She looks up.
“You’re cute,” he says. “Like, really, really cute.”
Skye can only laugh. Wrinkle her nose. And wholeheartedly go back to eating.
Christian seems to think it’s a good time to go through his notecards.
“Giving the same speech you give every year?” Skye asks, cutting into her pancake.
“More or less,” he says. “America is great, so glad to be founded, et cetera.”
“I mean doesn’t that bug you?” Skye continues. “It was already here. Columbus didn’t actually found anything.”
Christian glances from his cards and raises an eyebrow. “I know that.”
“Then why don’t you change it up this year?” Skye says. “Shift the focus from Columbus to-”
“I know what Indigenous Peoples Day day is,” Christian says.
It’s not funny. Anna asking “You do?” is.
He bristles. “Yes, darling. I do.” A sigh.
“You should do it,” Skye says. “Declare it! Change it up and do some good.” She jabs her fork into her hash for emphasis.
“It’s a good idea,” Grant says. “Skye actually works with this pseudo-leftist group, and-”
Skye nudges him in the ribs. “Babe,” she whispers. “I know I told you but maybe don’t tell everyone?”
Grant blinks. “Skye goes on the internet sometimes,” he says. “One time she told me about it.”
“I’m sorry,” Christian says. “Are you an anarchist?”
“If I was an anarchist, would I let you buy me brunch?” Skye asks.
“Fair point,” Christian says.
“I’m left leaning, sure,” Skye says. “But this isn’t about alignment or making yourself look good. It’s about history, Christian. And the right thing, and the people who deserve this.”
He drums his fingers on the table. “Skye,” he says. “Did you know that Mother’s family was on the Mayflower?”
“I mean, no,” Skye says. “But I could’ve assumed.”
He shakes his head. “We are Wards,” Christian says. “Literal pilgrims. If I go out against Columbus, against this day, then I’m going to call my entire family on this. All of them. And Mother-”
“You have got to stop being so afraid of your mother,” Anna says. The food is coming, and a waiter’s arm momentarily obscures what must be the best face Christian’s ever made.
Skye has to lean forward to get a better look.
It’s a mix of guilt and shame and a little bit of anger. Beautiful.
“I’m not afraid of my mother,” he says.
Grant laughs first, though Thomas is a close second.
“I’m not!” Christian says. “You know what? In pre-school, Grant wasn’t cast as the head pilgrim in the school play. And do you know what happened to his teacher?”
“She died?” Skye asks.
“She died?!” Grant asks, way too loudly. “Is that what happened to her? Mother had her killed?”
“No!” Christian says. “But I’ll never forget hearing her on the phone, saying ‘If she knew anything about history, this wouldn’t have happened,’ and ‘Well, I’m sure you’ll see that she’s dealt with’ in that voice of hers. You know the one.”
“It really sounds like Mother had this woman killed,” Thomas says.
“I know what it sounds like,” Christian says.
“It sounds to me like you’re all afraid of Mother, actually,” Anna says.
This time, there is no waiter to obscure Christian’s face. Skye wants to savor it forever.
“You should do it,” Anna says. “You should do this, Christian.”
“What?” he says. “Deny everything my family stands for?”
“Your family stands for killing?” Skye says. “Rape? Theft?”
“Syphilis?” Anna asks. “Smallpox?”
“I’m not going to say no,” Thomas says.
“She’ll kill us,” Christian says. “If I do this, she’ll kill us.”
“It’s not about us,” Skye says. “Not even a little.” She rubs her extremely prominent stomach. “And besides. Don’t you want little Briar to be proud of you?”
A stillness. A moment.
“Briar,” Christian says, slowly. Testing it.
“Briar May Ward,” Grant says. “Do you like it?”
“I-” He folds his napkin under his plate. “I need to go fix my notecards. For the new speech. I’m sorry.”
He gets up and heads for the bathroom.
“I should go help,” Anna says. “Watch my purse.” She rises. “Congratulations on picking a name, by the way. It’s beautiful.”
“Thank you,” Skye says. “Am I putting to much pressure on him?”
“No, no,” Anna says. “That’s just how he feels about life. Excuse me.” And she follows. Quickly. Heels hitting marble.
Another moment.
“So can I have his eggs?” Thomas says. “Because there’s nothing worse than cold eggs.”
“Dibs on the bacon,” Skye says.
“Guys,” Grant says. “Christian is having a breakdown in the bathroom and you want his brunch? Really?”
“Ugh,” Thomas says. “Do you always have to be the voice of kindness and rationality?”
“I know, right?” Skye says. “He does that.”
Grant puffs out his chest. He’ll say later that he didn’t. But he did. “I’m sorry.” He isn’t.
“So what,” Skye says. “We just... wait for him to not crash and burn?”
“If there’s one thing Christian can do, it’s speak publicly,” Grant says. “He can convince a crowd.”
“Well it’s a shame people need convincing,” Skye says. “Also that he can’t apply those skills to his personal life.”
“Eh,” Thomas says. “If you know Christian is a shambling mess, it means he likes you enough to let his guard down.”
“Tragic,” Skye says.
“Fucking tragic,” Thomas corrects.
Skye reaches for a piece of bacon.
And she expects Grant to try to stop her. But he just eats it out of her hand.
“Jerk!” she says. “My bacon!”
He kisses her. “Do I taste like it?” he asks. “That could help.”
She grumbles against him.
--
“I’ve never had a seat of honor before,” Skye says, wiggling in the plastic chair. She’s got a pillow under her butt, of course. Grant always travels with one, so that she’s not uncomfortable.
At this point in her pregnancy, he’s pretty much carrying her everywhere, anyway.
“It’s not a seat of honor,” Thomas says. “It’s just a good seat.”
“Right,” Skye says. “You’d know.”
“Obviously,” Thomas says.
Grant leans into their conversation, hair falling slightly into his eyes. “What are you guys whispering? Is there something wrong with Skye’s chair?”
She brushes his hair back. “No, babe,” she says. “Thomas was just telling me what a privileged brat he is.”
“Unfair,” Thomas says. “You’ve met my brother.”
“Which one?” she teases.
Grant makes a noise of faux offense. “I’m not a brat!”
“You kind of are sometimes,” Skye says. Kisses his cheek. “It’s really cute. Too cute.”
“Gross,” Thomas says. “Ugh. Never settling down.”
“Stay golden,” Skye replies.
“Thanks,” he says. “That means a lot, coming from you.”
“Guys,” Grant says. “My brother.”
And he’d probably gotten a more official introduction, when they hadn’t been paying attention.
But Grant’s seems to be the most Christian. The one that makes the most sense.
Because Christian, the way he holds himself in public, makes no sense.
And it scares her sometimes. For no real reason. She worries about him. She worries about Anna, who has the actual seat of honor.
She worries about Grant. About what she’s told him and if... If this is what he wanted. If he doesn’t pity her, in some way.
If pity doesn’t run in the family.
She’s interrupted by Christian tapping the microphone.
Despite herself, she holds her breath.
Grant squeezes her hand.