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“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.”
