From the corner of the room, Ma looked up from her magazine and chuckled. “Are you alright, Nathaniel? You’re looking a bit red, darling.” She was wrapped in blankets, lounging on soft chair he’d carried in from the dining room. Her narrow cheeks plumped up a little as she smiled, and the sight was precious enough to drag him out of his growing temper.
“You understand why, though,” he said. “I mean, you’re seeing this, right? You are witnessing my devil children. Correct?”
Shirley rolled her eyes. “Trust me, darling, you were far worse.”
“I don’t see how I could possibly—Beth! Please stop that.”
Beth paused, one hand filled by a rapidly-melting ball of butter. A butterball. Fan-fucking-tastic. She had the look of a child with far too much freedom and no lack of imagination. Beneath her, Josh had the look of a boy led astray by hero-worship, one who’d go along with anything his older sister claimed was cool.
Beth raised the butterball over her brother’s head with clearly threatening intent, and Nate gritted his teeth, pulling out his firmest Dad Voice. “I swear to God, kiddo, me and you are gonna fall out. No—put the butter dish down. It’s too heavy. Bethany—”
Sometimes, reality turned into a series of photographs. Not living, breathing, moving life, but snapshots flashing and frozen, too fast to process, already set in stone. This was one of those times. It felt like everything was moving through treacle, while Nate’s muscles were trapped by half-set concrete. He watched as the butter dish Beth had just picked up slid from her slippery fingers. Directly over little Josh’s head.
Fuck.
Nate dumped the box of saucepans, barely hearing its ominous clatter, and did his best to vault the mammoth kitchen island. He was too slow. Way too slow. His little boy was about to be whacked on the head with a ceramic butter dish. He’d have to pack his buttery kids and his sick mother into the car and drive through a city he hadn’t visited in over a decade to take Josh to the hospital.
Or rather, that’s what would’ve happened—if Zach hadn’t casually reached over and plucked the falling dish out of the air a moment before it smacked Josh on the head.
For about half a second, Nate was full of relief. Then he realised that he was still flying over the kitchen island, that he had way too much momentum, and that disaster was imminent. A moment later, he hit the tiled floor with a bruising thud.
This really wasn’t his day. And it was barely 10:30.
Nate sighed, staring up at the kitchen ceiling. It was a lovely view, nice and plain and white. Until his brother ruined it by shoving his smug fucking face in the way.
“Everything okay?” Zach asked, his lips twitching.
“Go f—fork yourself,” Nate muttered, standing up. He snatched the butter dish from Zach’s hand and added, “Thanks.”
“You look tired, man.”
“I am tired.” Nate dumped the dish in the sink, then went to crouch down in front of his children, who were merrily slathering each other in butter liked nothing had happened. “Guys,” he said, spearing each of them with a look. Josh’s deep blue gaze met Nate’s without issue, open and bright. He looked just like his mother.
Whereas Beth looked just like Nate. She scowled like Nate too, her paler eyes narrowed, wild hair hanging over her face. It had been a week since they’d arrived, and he still wasn’t sure which box her hair clips were in. But then, hair didn’t really matter when both kids were, A. running around in their underwear, and, B. covered in fucking butter.
“Bethany,” Nate said firmly, “you almost hurt your brother. If that dish hit him on the head, he would’ve been really sick. You get that, right?”
Beth had inherited, amongst other things, Nate’s childhood reluctance to respond to criticism, so she didn’t answer verbally. But he didn’t need her to speak to know that she got the message. Her eyes widened and she bit her lip for a second, her gaze flitting to her beloved little brother.
“Yeah,” Nate said. “That’s why we have to do as we’re told. Because sometimes things are dangerous, and you don’t understand why, but grown-ups do. So, you listen to your grown-ups.” He grasped his buttery son under the armpits and straightened up, holding the kid at arms’ length. Josh giggled as his bare feet dangled in the air. “Now it’s time to get cleaned up, okay? You two are gonna help me unpack today.”