Page 12 of The Chef

“Good afternoon, Bay,” she replies in her singsong voice, an adorable little list sprinkled in.

“Hi, Bay.” Davy, my nephew suddenly appears by our side. He’s older than Pearl at ten years old. He acts like her big brother as well, very protective of her.

He has to be after what they’ve experienced the last year.

“Hi, Davy,” I reply, leaning over to rub his hair. He pokes his tongue out at me and I reply in turn. “Let’s get in the car and get outta here.”

I open the car door as Pearl and Davy fight to see who gets to go in the front.

“My turn!”

“No, it’s my turn, Pearl.”

“Let your sister sit up front,” I say to my nephew, breaking up the fight before it inevitably ends in tears. Davy glares back at me with a scrunched-up face but I nod back at him with a serious look. “You’re the big brother, so that means you have to treat your sister like a princess.”

He rolls his eyes, but I know he understands. He throws his bag in the back and sits in, doing up his seatbelt and then leaning forward to help Pearl with hers. He’s a good boy.

“Yeah, I’m a princess,” Pearl reaffirms to all of us as I turn on the car and pull it away from the curb, mindful of running over any tiny children on my way out. We reach the main road and start heading home, toward their dad’s place. My brother. My new home.

“Why don’t we go to the other school?” Davy asks.

“What other school? Poseidon’s?”

“Yeah. They have really nice uniforms there. My best friend from primary school goes there, he says it’s great and they have a really good soccer team.”

Might as well be straight with him. Davy’s a smart boy.

“Your dad and I just don’t have the money,” I reply. “It’s very expensive there.”

“Oh.” It seems like my answer, however blunt it is, is enough for Davy. He nods and leans back into the car seat, satisfied with what I’ve said.

“Had a good day at school, guys?” I ask as I spin the steering wheel between my hands. The two schools disappear behind us.

“Alright,” Davy grunts, reminding me how he’s going to be a proper teenager in a few years with that monosyllabic response. He’s definitely going to turn into a looker. I bet he’s gonna break a lot of girls’ hearts by the time he’s in his twenties. He’s charismatic and sporty, inheriting the physicality of his dad and the good looks of his mom.

Yeah, he’s gonna be a real charmer.

“And you?” I ask Pearl.

“I’ve made a picture,” she announces proudly, lifting up the piece of paper she’s been holding in her hand. I squint at it, mindful of not taking my eyes off the road for too long. She’s applied a lot of color to her artwork and mixed a lot of styles. Watercolor and pens and crayons. A real Picasso in the making.

“What is it, sweetie?”

Pearl takes in a deep breath, readying herself for a little spiel. “It’s a picture of me and daddy and you and Davy.”

“Aw, that’s nice.”

“And mommy’s there too. She’s in the clouds because she is in heaven because she died.”

Oh.

Hearing her say that makes my chest jump. Hearing Pearl describe her mother’s death so nonchalantly and so matter-of-factly makes me want to start crying right here and now. No child should ever have to say something like that, especially not one as sweet, young, and innocent as Pearl Dover.

I glimpse Davy through the rearview mirror. His face is expressionless, but I see him gripping the car seat so tightly that his knuckles are white. He’s old enough to know. He’s old enough to understand.

Poor boy.

He won’t say anything about what his little sister has just said, but I know it affects him. Of course, it would. He’s wise beyond his years, he knows the pain of losing his mother. He’s feeling it more than I am.