Imperfectly Perfect

Chapter 15

fifteen

Fallon stood in the small kitchen, staring at the coffee maker and trying to pace through where the hell Savannah might keep the coffee. Because thus far, Fallon hadn’t managed to find it. Sighing one more time, she flipped open the cabinet.

“It’s in the fridge.”

Fallon jumped, her entire body lifting off the floor so she barely came back down on her toes before spinning around to find Brinley standing in the entryway to the kitchen, staring Fallon down like she was the enemy of the state that everyone had been looking for.

“Oh, thanks.” Fallon’s heart raced, but she tried not to let it show as she reached for the refrigerator door and found the bag of coffee grounds shoved into the door. “Oh thank God.”

“Mom usually sets it to run in the morning on a timer.”

“She must have forgotten,” Fallon responded absent-mindedly as she scooped the grounds and started the machine. She needed that first dose of caffeine before she could even think about what exactly she was supposed to say to Brinley. She’d asked Savannah, and she hadn’t really gotten much of an answer. And the fact they’d done this with Brinley in the apartment was all that much more obvious now, and Fallon’s discomfort increased.

When the coffee poured into the carafe, Fallon relaxed. She turned around to find Brinley still watching her, although this time curiously rather than angrily. Now was as good a time as any, since it didn’t really happen the first time they’d met.

“I’m Fallon.” She stretched her hand out, waiting for Brinley to take it.

She was the spitting image of her mother, short with a rounded face, blonde hair that was messy and thrown up into a ponytail that probably needed the help of a brush. Fallon tried to remember how old she was, but she couldn’t bring the number to her brain. Definitely not without the aid of caffeine this early in the morning.

Brinley stepped forward and put her hand in Fallon’s. “I’m Brinley.”

“Good to meet you, formally this time.” Fallon leaned against the kitchen counter. “I didn’t realize you’d be awake so early.”

Brinley shrugged slightly and turned to the living room. “I was watching cartoons.”

“Don’t you have school today?”

“No. It’s a day off.” Brinley went to the fridge and opened the door. She stared longingly inside of it before shutting it with a sigh of her own.

“Not hungry?”

Brinley pursed her lips, her gaze locking onto Fallon’s face before looking her over, no doubt taking in the silky camisole, the skirt and bare feet. Just what was she thinking? She probably knew, to an extent, why Fallon was there, but how much of it did she actually understand?

“I don’t know how to cook.”

“Cook what?”

“Eggs.” Brinley stayed right where she was, that look direct and still. “Do you know how to cook eggs?”

“Yes.” Fallon canted her head as she looked Brinley over. She must be eight or nine. Old enough to leave on her own for a slight amount of time but young enough to still be treated like a little kid when it came to independence. Fallon hadn’t ever had that opportunity, growing up far too quickly in her house. She’d been making Monti’s bottles as soon as she was born. “Do you want me to teach you?”

Brinley’s eyes widened. “You want to teach me?”

Fallon shrugged. “If you want to learn how to make eggs, then yeah, I’ll teach you.”

“Really?” Brinley’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah.” Fallon grinned brightly at her excitement.

“I’ll get the eggs.”

“You do that.” Fallon turned back toward the cabinets. “I’m getting coffee.”

Brinley pulled out everything to make the eggs while Fallon put together her first coffee of the morning. She’d have a second before she left for work that morning. If Fallon was going to teach Brinley how to make eggs, then she wasn’t going to do it for her.

“What kind of eggs do you like?”

“Over easy.”

“Really?” Fallon raised an eyebrow at her. There weren’t many kids out there that she knew of that liked over easy eggs. But she trusted that Brinley knew what she wanted. “Turn the stove on to medium-high heat, and then stick the pan on there.”

“Okay.” Brinley did exactly what she was told to do and then grabbed the butter she’d pulled from the fridge, putting a good dollop onto the pan.

“See, you already know what to do.” Fallon sipped her coffee and closed her eyes as the first waves of warmth hit her tongue and throat and belly.

“I’ve watched my mom make them a lot.”

“I bet. What grade are you in?” It was the easier way to ask how old she was without actually asking that question.

“Third.” Brinley grabbed a spatula and moved the melting butter around in the pan.

“Do you like school?”

Brinley shrugged slightly. “Mostly.”

“Well, that sounds about right.” Where had she been in third grade? She would have been nine. Fallon froze, her heart thudded hard. Her parents had died that next year, right at the beginning of fourth grade. She would have been watching the worst of everything unravel at home, and no one was doing anything to help.

“Do you like my mom?” Brinley continued to move the butter around the pan.

“Yes. I wouldn’t spend time with her if I didn’t.” Thankful for the distraction of the conversation and slight change in subject, Fallon focused on it and the coffee.

“My dad says that mom’s too crazy for anyone to like her.”

Fallon tensed sharply, jerking her hand. She hissed when a small amount of hot coffee spilled onto the edge of her thumb. Wincing, she grabbed a paper towel and cleaned up her mess.

“He says that her crazy is the kind that will take men down.”

“I really don’t think your dad should be talking about your mom that way.” Fallon dropped the paper towel into the trash and faced the stove again. “You need to crack the eggs into the pan. I like to add the salt and pepper now rather than later.”

“Okay.” Brinley snagged an egg from the carton and stood over the stove. She stared at it before smashing it on the top of the counter, over-cracking the side of it. Instead of faltering though, Brinley lifted her hand over the hot pan and dug her thumbs into the shell, opening it so that the egg fell through.

The yolk broke, but Fallon said nothing. Brinley would probably just be happy that she was finally doing this on her own and learning how to make her own breakfast. Stepping closer, Fallon supervised the egg breaking method for the second one.

“Only put in two or three, however many you think you’ll eat. You can always come back and make more later if you’re still hungry.” Fallon was halfway through her cup of coffee by the time Brinley had all three eggs salted and peppered.

“My dad says you’re a cunt.”

Fallon sucked in a sharp breath and closed her eyes. “I suppose he said that after we met.”

Brinley nodded her head. “What does cunt mean?”

What the hell had Savannah thrown her into? This kid never stopped talking, did she? But the fact that she was asking what it meant was probably a good sign. She hadn’t been so exposed to that kind of language and hatred that she understood things she shouldn’t at this age.

“It’s a mean word to tell someone else to make that person feel bad.”

“Oh.”

“I wouldn’t use that word ever, if I were you. It’s one of my least favorite words. Well, in this context anyway,” Fallon mumbled the last bit to herself and handed Brinley the spatula at the same time. “They’re probably ready to put on your plate.”

“Oh! Cool!” Brinley struggled to slide the spatula under the egg, so Fallon grasped her hand and wiggled it with her. Together, they smoothly moved the first egg onto the plate, and Fallon handed the spatula over so Brinley could do the other two.

Instead of taking her plate to the table or the living room, like Fallon expected she would, Brinley grabbed another egg.

“What are you doing?” Fallon asked.

“Making you eggs.”

Fallon’s heart melted. She was about to object—she didn’t eat breakfast often—but the look in Brinley’s brown eyes was something she couldn’t say no to. “Sure.” Fallon cleared her throat. “Just two though, I’m not very hungry.”

Brinley was about to crack the egg, when Fallon’s brain caught up with her mouth.

“You should probably add more butter to the pan.”

“Don’t want sticky eggs,” Brinley said as she scooped up another dollop of butter.

“No, we definitely don’t want that.”

Brinley worked in silence until the eggs were cooking away on the stovetop. Fallon poured herself a second cup of coffee and was just about to sip it when Brinley pinned her with another curious look.

“Yes?” Fallon asked, needing to know what was sliding through that brain of hers.

“Why would my dad want to hurt you?”

Fallon’s stomach dropped. She set her mug onto the counter and crossed her arms slowly. She never broke eye contact with Brinley, needing her to know that Fallon was taking the question very seriously. “That’s a really good question.”

“He doesn’t even know you.”

Fallon nodded slowly. “You’re right, he doesn’t.”

“I like you now. I didn’t like you before.”

“Before?” Fallon tightened her arms.

Brinley shrugged slightly. “I didn’t know you before. And you’re teaching me how to cook breakfast.”

Fallon’s lips twitched upward. “I didn’t realize that teaching you how to make eggs was going to win me so many points.”

Brinley grinned. “My mom loves eggs. We have them every Saturday morning. Do you think he wants to make you feel bad because you make my mom smile more?”

She made Savannah smile more? Fallon tucked that tidbit of knowledge away in the back of her mind. “You’d really have to ask your dad or your mom. I’m not sure I can answer that question. I’m not sure your mom can either.”

Deftly, as if she’d been doing this for months and not the first time, Brinley pulled the cooked eggs from the pan and put them onto a new plate for Fallon.

“What does dyke mean?”

Fallon tensed. She winced. “Is this because your dad called me that?”

Brinley nodded as she handed Fallon her plate along with a fork. They moved to the living room since there was no table and sat down. Fallon glanced at the cartoons that were still on the television before she paused.

“Is that because he doesn’t like you, too?”

“Probably.” Fallon cut into her first egg. “Dyke is a word, when used that way, that’s meant to be mean to women who fall in love with other women.”

Brinley tilted her head to the side, a small amount of yellow yolk on her lip as she chewed. “You love women?”

“Yes.” Fallon needed to tread very carefully now. “And sometimes men, and sometimes people who are transgender.”

“Trans—”

Fallon cut this one off before it could start. “People who don’t always feel like the way they were born. Like if someone who is born a boy doesn’t feel like they’re a boy but a girl or not either a boy or a girl… It’s complicated.”

“Like my friend Kate. Kate says she’s a boy, so we use boy pronouns for her.”

“Well, in this case, him, then.”

“Right. Him.” Brinley’s cheeks flushed. “It’s hard to remember sometimes.”

“It can be.” Fallon took her first bite of egg. She wasn’t a fan of over easy eggs. In fact, if given the choice, it was probably the last one she’d make, but Brinley had made them for her, so she would choke her way through them.

“So my dad called you a dyke and a cunt—”

“You really probably shouldn’t repeat those words.” Fallon sipped her coffee. “I’m not sure what your mom would say if she heard that.”

“Okay. So my dad called you mean things because he doesn’t like you.”

“Pretty much,” Fallon agreed. She glanced at the watch on her wrist. She needed to get going soon. She hadn’t expected to spend this much time with Brinley this morning.

“But why doesn’t he like you?”

“Again, that’s probably a question for him or your mom.” Fallon straightened her shoulders as she finished her plate. “I need to go to work.”

“Okay.” Brinley took another bite of her first egg. “Will you have a sleepover again?”

“I… don’t know.” Fallon pressed her lips into a thin line. Something about this morning was so wholesome but at the same time the warning bells were going off in her head, and she wasn’t sure which thread to follow.

Standing up with her plate, she returned it to the sink and rinsed it. Then she slipped into the bedroom with Savannah and pulled her jacket over her shoulders and buttoned and tied the fabric belt. When she looked up, Savannah was stretched out onto the bed, the blanket at her waist, revealing her gorgeous breasts.

Fallon’s entire body was ready to go again. That soreness between her legs was already easing, and she wanted it back again. She wanted to be used and spent and exhausted in that exact way. Sitting on the edge of the bed, Fallon bent down and pressed her mouth to Savannah’s, holding the kiss but not deepening it.

“I need to apologize before you go out there.”

“Why? What happened?” Savannah turned onto her side, curling her arm around Fallon’s.

“Brinley’s awake.” Fallon brushed her fingers over Savannah’s cheek, combing her hair behind her ear. “She’s very curious.”

“She’s nine, of course she’s curious.”

Fallon nodded slowly. “She had a lot of questions, and I tried to answer, but I’m going to bet you’re going to have a whole lot more questions to answer than I did.”

“Wonderful.” Savannah frowned before her eyes lit up again. “Do I taste coffee?”

“Yes. There’s still some in the pot for you.”

“I forgot to set it last night.”

Fallon nodded. “Brinley told me where to find the coffee. Then I helped her make some eggs.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” Savannah slid her hand down Fallon’s arm to her wrist. “She’s not your responsibility.”

“She’s not,” Fallon whispered, bending down for another kiss. “But I’m not going to let a kid starve because her mother hasn’t taught her how to use the stove yet.”

Savannah chuckled as she dove her fingers into Fallon’s hair and pulled her in tightly. Their lips moved against each other, the kiss deepening. Finally Fallon pulled away with one more peck before she sat up and moved off the mattress.

“Text me about what she says. I’m curious what she’ll ask you.”

“Do I get a heads up at all?”

Fallon shrugged and snagged her small bag from the floor. “She wants to know who I am and why Forrest doesn’t like me.”

“Oh crap.”

“Oh crap indeed. See you around, Savannah.”