Love in the Time of Cynicism

by Jani Berghuis

  “More than you would expect from someone who doesn’t wear any.” I pause, grab some wipes from the counter. “Pro tip: the less, the better. Blush is for middle aged women with self confidence problems and lipstick is for the elderly who won’t get yelled at for wearing it.”

  She laughs quickly and swats at her tears. I lean forward awkwardly and wipe off the foundation, blush, lipstick, and running mascara until the cloth is thick with makeup.

  “Try again, Tannis.” I give her a reassuring smile. “This time with brown eyeliner and pink lip gloss. And never draw on your eyebrows again. It’s tacky. I also recommend taking the tissues out of your bra and putting on a sweater, but that’s just my sensible side talking.”

  “You’re wearing a tank top,” she argues.

  “I’m also three and a half years older than you. And my shirt contains about four inches more fabric than yours. How about you change, wash and reapply your face, and then come out to eat breakfast with the rest of us?”

  “Can you help me with my contacts first?”

  “Why don’t you wear your glasses? They’d look great on you. Plus, guys dig girls with glasses.”

  “How would you know?”

  “For your information, I wear glasses and am currently in the process of reeling in my next boyfriend.”

  She giggles conspiratorially, “You want to date Rhett? He’s so guh-ross!”

  “He’s alright, but I’m only saying that because there’s a two hundred percent chance he’s listening outside the door right now.”

  Rhett’s deep, not at all remorseful voice leaks under the door. “Caught me.”

  “Go away, big brother.” Tannis rolls her eyes. “We’re having girl talk.”

  “Very important stuff,” I add with a smile glued on my lips. Rhett’s family, though loud beyond measure, is great. I’ve never seen any families around here love each other and interact as freely as they do. My entire family is made up of repressed, spiteful people dying to get away from one another. Thinking of my family makes me want to spend time around theirs.

  Once we hear Rhett leave and start to help his mom out in the kitchen, Tannis pulls out her contact and puts on a pair of large glasses.

  “You change and I’ll meet you out there, alright?”

  She nods and I stand up, meet Rhett in the kitchen.

  “Handled it like an expert.”

  He holds up his hand for a high five. “Nice job.”

  I slap his hand, not sure why, and ask, “Any other crises I need to take care of for you?”

  “Not as of right now, but I must admit I find a woman who knows how to handle extremely volatile situations exceedingly attractive.”

  “Preteen hormones aren’t exactly new territory for someone who has them.” I pause, cringe. “There I go, saying strange things that are vaguely inappropriate to you. Oh well.”

  Rhett smiles the grin I’ve yet to see on anyone else and helps his dad set the table while his mom finishes cooking.

  Susie the Mother stacks chocolate chip pancakes, bacon, biscuits, and sausage on a bunch of platters and sets them on the table. Next come cartons of juice and milk which I help to facilitate. Butter, syrup, anything else you could possible need for a successful breakfast.

  Joel the Father dashes out of the kitchen to get the one child I haven’t seen yet while Rhett guides me to a seat and plops down next to me. “Guess I should’ve mentioned that breakfast was at my house and not, like, out somewhere. And I’m really sorry about my family.”

  “Why?” I look around at them – Sawyer the middle brother emerging with sleep in his eyes, Tannis popping her newly-freshened head out the bathroom door, the twins with their disgusting amount of early morning energy, and, most importantly, Rhett’s parents, with their arms around each other peering back and forth with love like I’ve never seen in their eyes. “They’re great. By far the best apology I’ve ever been given.”

  “You’re welcome, Cordelia Kane.” He watches briefly as his family takes seats around the table. “And I am sorry, by the way. Though I’m not completely sure what I did was wrong, I didn’t want to irritate you or hurt you or anything like that.”

  “It’s fine. I overreacted anyway,” I answer honestly. “You’re a good guy and the only interesting person within a hundred mile radius. Might as well make the most out of this relationship.”

  He smirks and bumps my knee with his under the table. “Looking forward to the opportunity.”

  Susie – it’s still weird to call her by her first name, even in my head, but oh well – sits at the table next to her husband and instructs, “Dig in.”

  The silence breaks with hands grabbing at biscuits and bacon and pancakes. The ruckus is deafening and slaps an instantaneous smile across my face. It’s refreshing, sitting down to a family meal. Even one this crazy. Rhett helps me get a plate of pancakes and bacon as the lawless, food-induced pandemonium unfolds. Juice is poured and plates are passed until everyone is eating calmly.

  “Mother?” It’s Sawyer, the around seven year old boy who is a clone of his father minus the blue eyes. He looks over the spread of food disdainfully and Susie pays dutiful attention to him.

  “Yes, dear?”

  “I had asked to devour the unborn last night.”

  My head shoots up as I look to someone – anyone – for clarification.

  Rhett sympathetically explains, “Eggs. He asked for eggs. That’s just how he talks.”

  “Ah.” I take another bite of my syrupy pancakes, relishing the taste of a home-cooked meal, the likes of which I haven’t had since very early childhood. Before we left my dad and before Michael.

  “Sorry, baby,” Susie answers. “We’ll have eggs tomorrow, I promise.”

  He nods sadly and shovels in a mouthful of biscuit. “Itinerary for the day?”

  Mr. Tressler, who I can’t bring myself to call Joel, jumps in here. “School for Rhett and his lovely female guest is in forty minutes, so don’t dilly dally. Tannis, you’ve got an hour. Sawyer, I’ll drive you in at eight thirty and pick you up three fifteen. Rhett, you’ve got an appointment at-”

  “Dad, I know,” Rhett cuts him off with a concerned glance in my direction.

  I return with a questioning one.

  “That reminds me!” Susie stands up and runs over to a cabinet. I follow her with my eyes and Rhett slinks further and further into his chair.

  Worried, I glance at him and ask, “You okay?”

  “Yeah, it’s just-”

  At that moment Susie drops a small yellow and green pill in front of Rhett and ruffles his hair. 20 mg Prozac. This only makes me wonder about him more. The antidepressant plus the constant long sleeves forces me to some grisly, most likely incorrect assumptions about his past. Maybe someday we’ll be close enough I’ll have the lady balls to ask.

  The subject is changed almost instantly after Rhett swallows the pill.

  “So, Cordelia,” it’s Mr. Tressler, turning toward me, “Rhett told me your parents belong to the Country Club? And your dad works for the school?”

  “Step dad,” Rhett and I correct at the same time. We lock eyes for a moment and I smile.

  “Sorry, I didn’t know.”

  I stop Rhett from talking again by responding, “It’s fine. Michael’s the superintendent at the high school and mom’s what could only be described a professional housewife. Except she doesn’t fulfill any maternal duties on a regular basis.”

  “I see.” He nods modestly.

  Attempting to fill the suddenly awkward gap, I ask, “What do you guys do?”

  God, Cordelia, that is such a weird gold-digger thing to ask.

  Luckily they don’t see my internal monologue as Susie tells me, “Joel runs a radio show in the evenings and I work as a chef down in Dallas when I’m not at home caring for these rascals.” She affectionately runs her hair through either Evan or Ethan’s hair. Can’t remember which.

  Joel squeezes her hand and adds, “We’re both doing
what we love, and that’s what matters.”

  Like an idiot, I reply, “I completely agree. I’d hate wasting my life on a job I can’t stand.”

  “That’s what we’re always telling Rhett. He thinks he’s got to get a practical job and make loads of money, but we think he should just do what he’s passionate about.”

  My eyes trail over Rhett’s inflamed face. Under his caramel skin, there’s a rosy tone of embarrassment and it’s making me smile all over. I keep my eyes on his as I ask, “And what exactly is that?”

  Mr. Tressler laughs heartily as Rhett’s obvious discomfort. “I don’t think he’d appreciate me telling-”

  “Poetry!” Tannis erupts in laughter. “Rhett writes super sappy poetry about his raw teen emotions.”

  “Really?” I laugh as everyone else does, caught up in an honest moment. Something wells inside me at the thought of spending evenings or mornings or any time with these people who actually have fun and care about one another. With parents who are in love and siblings who tease. Sitting alone in my kitchen tonight for dinner is going to pale in comparison. “Your raw teen emotions?”

  “Doubtlessly,” Rhett chuckles and runs a hand through his still messy hair. “I’m a very emotional person, Cordelia Kane, as I’m sure you’ll soon figure out.”

  Jesus Christ on a cracker, he winks at me. With those fantastic golden eyes aglow with flirtation. I bite my lip, unsure of how to respond as my stomach flutters, until he breaks into an open grin.

  Tannis pretends to gag and the other siblings groan.

  Susie chides, “No mushy talk at the table, youngsters.”

  Her husband cracks up and nudges her on the shoulder like they’re two teenagers in love. I’d like to fall so hard for someone we’re still teasing each other after five kids and twenty years. Rhett’s gaze shifts to me as he gives me another apologetic look. How could he possibly be ashamed of his family when he’s met at least part of mine?

  Somewhere a timer rings and everyone jumps at the tinny sound.

  “That’s me,” Rhett sighs, stands up, takes my empty plate then his own.

  Tannis explains with her braces-marred voice full of laughter, “We’re on shower schedules so the water doesn’t get cold for anyone. Rhett goes last because he needs the most time to do his hair.”

  For the first time in what feels like forever, I laugh honestly when the rest of the family busts out. Wrapped up in that, I understand what family’s supposed to feel like.

  “Do not,” Rhett argues on his way out of the kitchen as well all attempt to suppress our chuckles.

  “Do too!” Tannis hollers back. Then he’s gone into the bathroom and the shower starts. Tannis springs from her chair and grabs my hand. “Mom, can I take Cordelia here on a house tour?”

  Susie looks to me for permission. I shrug. “Don’t let her ask you for bra advice.”

  “We’ve actually made it past that milestone in our relationship.”

  “I’d consider you initiated into the family, then.” She beams at me like I’m one of her own. “Any chance you babysit?”

  It’s sarcastic, but I still answer. “I’d consider it.”

  “I don’t need a babysitter, mom.” Tannis rolls her eyes.

  And with that, I’m dragged around the small house by an overly peppy pre teen. As we fly through each room, she shouts out the names until we’re upstairs, having gone through every public space in the house. We’ve found ourselves standing in the upstairs hall, the walls covered in family photos and drawings, staring at the four bedroom doors. Each is coated in a layer of signs showing who lives inside. Apparently, the three youngest boys share a room while Tannis and Rhett have their own. It’s obvious which door belongs to Rhett (there’s a sign on it that reads ‘Keep out. Or enter. I’m a sign, not a cop. Make your own choices.’) and suddenly I’m itching to see the inside. Wondering what his life’s like behind that closed door.

  “So,” Tannis demands, all business now, “what do you want to know about Rhett?”

  “I don’t really think this is a conversation we should be having.”

  “If you’re going to date my brother, you’ve got to know a few things about him. Since I know everything about him, I figure you’d better hear those things from me.”

  I let out a laugh at how precocious she sounds. “And what are those things?”

  “First: he will do anything to impress someone he’s interested in. That’s how you know. Doesn’t matter how extreme, he’ll do it. Be warned. Second: the two most important things in his life are his notebook, which he’s never left the house without, and, well, me. He thinks I can’t see how protective he is of me but it’s pretty obvious. He’ll act like he doesn’t care about us but if anyone ever tried to hurt me, he’d probably kill them. Third and finally: if you mess with Rhett, I will break your face.”

  “I don’t even think you could reach my face if you tried.”

  She stretches on to her tip-toes and thumps me in the forehead. “The threat stands. He’s my favorite person and I will beat you to a pulp if you hurt him.”

  This is almost as funny as Sky threatening me, if not more so. Similar to the protective-older-brother speech Trent gave to my first and only boyfriend three years ago, but now delivered from the mouth of a thirteen year old who can’t be more than five feet tall. It’s adorable.

  “I promise I won’t hurt your brother, kid.” I rest my hand awkwardly on her shoulder. This is new territory for me. “But don’t worry; right now we’re just friends. I’ve known the guy for three days.”

  “Mm-hm.” She nods her head like she’s some wise old sage and then tugs on my arm again. “You want to see his room, don’t you?”

  “I like to show girls my room on my own terms, if you don’t mind.”

  I whip around to see Rhett, wrapped in a towel, leaning against the walls on the steps behind me. His arms are locked behind his back since he clearly doesn’t want me to see, but what I’m thinking is don’t stare at his chest don’t stare at his chest don’t stare at his chest because, let’s face it, he isn’t exactly lacking in the abdominals department and his chest is tan, warm, and inviting as the rest of him.

  “You’re staring,” Rhett jokes casually. “Don’t objectify me.”

  “I wasn’t-”

  “That was sarcastic,” he laughs as he walks past me and to his room, arms shifts to the front of his body so I can’t get a good look. “Objectify me all you want, Cordelia Kane.”

  My cheeks blush. I can’t help it. Despite living in the South my whole life, I’ve remained pale as the day I was born and have never bought into fake or real tans, so blood rushes to my face with the slightest provocation. Thank god he doesn’t see.

  But Tannis, in her wise ways, does. She prods one index finger into my ribs and teases, “You like like him, don’t you? There’s no denying it now. I should give you some fashion advice for when you go out on your first date.”

  I soak it in while I can. Being joked at like this is refreshing in a way I can’t describe unless you’ve felt it for yourself. “You have so much experience?”

  “Not really,” she admits with a shrug. “But I’ve noticed a little something about what boys like. One word and one word only: boobs.”

  “She makes a valid point.” That’s Rhett again, once more half-sarcastic, opening the door to his room and stepping out in record time. I’ve never changed that fast in my life; he’s got on a black blazer over a Wolverine shirt, which may or may not be identical to mine, and dark jeans. His shoes are torn red Chucks and the whole outfit is very him. True to Tannis’s word, there’s a small notebook sticking out of his back pocket and a pen stuck behind his ear, right under still-damp wavy black hair. “Ready to go?”

  “You mean to have my soul forcibly sucked out of my body by teachers who are having their own souls sucked out by us? Most definitely.”

  Chapter Five – The Daily Grind

  “Twenty questions?” Rhett suggests suddenly
as we’re walking down the street. They live so close to the school I can already see its brownstone front and the sight bums me out. There’s nobody there yet, so we’re going slowly.

  “Shoot.”

  “Favorite color?”

  I shrug. “I don’t really have one.”

  Rhett stares at me like I’ve just murdered a puppy in cold blood. “How can you not have a favorite color? That’s like not knowing what your favorite food is.”

  “I don’t know that either, I guess. Yours?”

  “Black and mint ice cream,” he answers automatically, like there are a few facts you should always have on hand to tell others. “And I’m going to help you find yours one way or another.”

  “Is that a personal quest?”

  He shoves his hands into his pockets and steals a glance my way. “You can count on it.”

  My footsteps slow. The school is closing in on us but I don’t want to split up. Eight hours of mindless, brain-numbing work (besides my Anthro class, which I actually enjoy) sit ahead of me and then a few hours at Ebony’s and then homework. Rinse. Wash. Repeat until soul is crushed.

  Then I remember Rhett, watching me expectantly, and the possibility of having classes with him or seeing him at work, and the idea doesn’t suck so much. I think of a mundane question and ask, “Favorite movie of all time and why?”

  “The Breakfast Club for being the only movie to honestly portray the lives of troubled youths. Also because Molly Ringwald. Enough said.”

  “Never seen it,” I lie for the pure unadulterated joy of getting a rise out of him.

  And he delivers. “Oh my God, Cordelia Kane, we are going to watch that movie together at your earliest convenience. Which I hope is Friday night, for your sake.”

  I turn to him, twirl my bluish ponytail and bat my eyelashes. “Are you, like, asking me on a date?”

  “Only if you’re saying yes.”

  My eyes flit over him and I can tell he’s completely serious. “I’ll go on a date with you, to watch The Breakfast Club and be introduced to the world of having favorites if, and only if, you let me read one of your poems. Or better yet,” I giggle – a proper giggle as if I’ve transported into a three year old girl with two fistfuls of cake – and start walking backwards to gauge his reaction, “come to our bi-weekly poetry slam at Ebony’s Friday and read one for the whole crowd.”