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As if more sugar is the answer to this diabetes-inducing breakfast.
Mary pauses, a fork full of dripping pancakes halfway to her mouth, frowning at me. ‘You’re not having any?’
Alice responds before I can. ‘He has his breakfast.’
Mary looks at the green liquid in my glass and shakes her head at me as if I’m the child making poor dietary choices first thing in the morning. ‘That’s not right.’
Mary moves her fork closer to her mouth, then pauses again. ‘Here.’ She holds it up to me. ‘You can have some of mine.’
Three drops of syrup fall on the counter between us before I react. ‘No thank you.’
Undeterred, she leans closer, touching the fork to my lips. ‘It’s good. I promise.’
Over Mary’s head I see Alice’s eyes widen in tandem with her mouth.
‘I—’ A mouthful of sugar and carbs is force-fed to me and it takes all my concentration not to choke.
‘See?’ Looking quite satisfied with herself, Mary stabs a bite off her plate for herself. ‘Told ya.’
Alice’s face is near purple from containing laughter.
With a drink from my water bottle, I manage to swallow the mouthful down. ‘Thank you.’
Mary flashes me a pancake-stuffed grin.
I stand. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me.’
Alice’s amusement wanes to a frown and I take it as my overdue cue to retreat down the hall with my protein shake in hand.
A few minutes later, settled in my den chair, I can still hear them. Chattering about their day, pancakes and Mary’s lament that Disney has yet to create an astronaut princess, because ‘princesses can be astronauts too’.
And… I don’t hate it.
My usual quiet morning of solitude has exploded with an abundance of noise and confectionary and yet I find myself nodding along when I should be reading the newspaper or checking my email before heading into work on a day I already marked off for vacation, thinking, they really should make an astronaut princess.
* * *
It’s quiet.
Brian picked me up minutes ago and I noticed the absence of sound as soon as I slid into the back seat and he closed the door.
My knee bounces. Probably a reaction from my insulin levels spiking after just one mouthful of syrup with a side of pancake.
I replay the conversation between Mary and Alice that I couldn’t help but overhear. Besides astronaut princesses, they had discussed taking the subway to retrieve Alice’s belongings from her apartment.
It’ll take three subway changes to get to High Bridge. Alice may have a few clothes with her from the Vegas trip, but even cleaned, Mary’s pajamas have blood stains and the only footwear she had at the hospital were worn slippers.
It bothers me. Probably because, at least on paper, Alice is my wife and Mary my niece. Or ward. Or foster child. Well, whatever she is, I’m in charge of her. Responsible for her well-being. How would it look if a child under Moore supervision was sent outside in stained pajamas and threadbare slippers?
‘Brian?’
My long-standing chauffeur flicks his eyes to mine in the rear-view mirror. ‘Sir?’
‘When you drop me off, circle back to the house.’
‘The house?’
‘Yes, I believe Al—uh…’ I turn my gaze out the window ‘… my wife, will be in need of a car today.’ Brian is one of the few people who know, and hopefully it stays that way as he’s signed an iron-clad NDA upon his hiring. Something I need Alice to sign – stat.
