“What happened?” I ask, replacing the lid on the pitchers and carrying them to the table. Going to school every morning smelling like a restaurant is one of the worst things about my life right now, but I could have childcare duty. I’d much rather smell like bacon and eggs than spend all morning wiping snotty noses and getting the kids dressed.
“We don’t know, and it’s none of our concern,” Mom interjects. Her voice is hushed, which is her way of telling us to stop talking about it. Summer—my dad’s second wife—and her three kids shuffle in from the family room and take their places at the table. One more year and our half-sister, Justice, will be old enough to help out with meal prep. For now she gets the easy chores like emptying trash cans and dusting blinds.
Those were the days.
“You’re going to burn those,” I tell Bellamy. “You know how Dad gets about his eggs not being fluffy.”
Bellamy sighs and clicks off the burner. Ever since she took a job working at some financial corporation in Salt Lake City, she’s been zoned out on autopilot. If I had to guess, I’d say she’s met someone, but she won’t tell anyone anything. She’s secretive like that. She scrapes the eggs into a ceramic serving bowl. There must be a dozen scrambled eggs in there, all mixed in with her secret spice, which we all know is really just dill.
We set the table and bring the food over. Dad sits at the head of the table, reading the paper and squinting hard. Mom tries to tell him to get his eyes checked out, but he refuses. Everything has to be his idea or it’s not worth entertaining.
Four empty chairs take up the space across from Bellamy and me. We had to make room for the fourth one. It’s a tight squeeze, but we made it work. It just means the twins will have to sit closer together, which should be fine because they’re pretty much inseparable.
“Sorry we’re late.” We all glance up to the doorway where Kath ushers in her kids like a mother goose and her goslings, only one of the goslings is dark and huge and stands out like a sore thumb against the bland Americana we have going on in the Miller household. “Everyone, this is Jensen.”
Summer’s kids, Justice, Honor, and True, stare at him with blank faces. Mark folds his paper, Summer offers a distracted “good morning,” and Mom welcomes him into the main house.
He doesn’t say anything, only nods. His eyes are mildly swollen with dark purple rings underneath them. There’s a gash on his cheek that’s begun to scab over. Even with his face all mangled, it’s plain to see he’s attractive. I forget to breathe for a second and snap myself out of it with a giant gulp of orange juice.
He takes a seat across from me, his eyes traveling across the table and rising until they lock with mine. My heart beats so hard I can’t think straight for a second. I don’t understand what just happened or why my palms are suddenly sweaty.
I rub them against my jeans and reach for my orange juice cup a second time. It’s empty. I look like an idiot.
Jensen reaches for a pitcher of juice and pours some into my cup without saying a word. His lips are full and arched, the corners seemingly drawn into a permanent smirk.
“Thank you.” I brush the sandy-blonde hair from my face and take a sip.
He says nothing, releasing me from his gaze as Kath begins to go around the table and introduce everyone. I’m dying to know what’s going through his head right now. This would be a lot for anyone to take in, but I’m hopeful I’ll get a chance to explain to him that we’re a family just like any other, only we have a few more layers. I’m sure, as time goes on, he’ll fit right in.
Though judging by the way he wears his ripped up jeans and those faded t-shirts that cling to his body, I don’t think he’s someone who cares too much about fitting in. Everything about him says he’s comfortable being in a league of his own.
“Jensen, good to have you with us.” Dad lifts his juice glass as if he’s making a toast. “You’re a part of the family now. I plan to sit down with you after dinner tonight so we can lay down some of the house rules.”
I’m rolling my eyes on the inside. Jensen’s going to hate Dad’s house rules. Eight o’clock curfews. No loud music after dinner. Mandatory, bi-weekly family meetings and Family Home Nights. He’s going to swear him to secrecy about our lifestyle, too. We’ve managed to blend in in this little Utah town, but if we were ever publicly outed, it would destroy my dad’s pharmacy business—our only means of survival—in two seconds flat.
Jensen still hasn’t said a single word.
“We won’t send you to school until the bruising on your face goes away,” Dad says. “I know it’s hard enough being the new kid.”
He shrugs. He doesn’t care.
“As soon as you’re ready, Waverly here will take you under her wing.” Dad sips his juice and smiles at me. I was the first baby of the family until he married Summer. I was six years old. I hardly remember what life was like when it was just us four. “You two are both seniors. How about that? Got any big plans for this fall? Got your sights set on any particular colleges?”
I glance at Kath, who’s cutting up pancakes for the twins. Something about her is a bit more radiant today. Her shoulders are more relaxed. She’s less twitchy.
“Jensen, care to tell us a little about yourself?” Dad stares down his nose at Jensen, saying his words in a huff. I can tell he’s growing tired of Jensen’s quietude. It’s a sign of disrespect, and my father does not tolerate that kind of behavior in his house. My fingers cross under the table. I hope he’ll give Jensen a break, especially since he’s been through a lot.