by Noe Dearden
*****
On any ordinary morning, Emi would have rushed downstairs in her nightgown, whipped up a breakfast, and retired to her bedroom so she could eat in peace while flipping through dance magazines. This morning was different. The days of walking about the house in her pajamas and uncombed hair were past. She had to actually look presentable for Charlotte.
Emi pulled on a sundress and tugged a brush through her tangled mess of brown hair before flouncing downstairs. She was greeted in the breakfast room by a table spread with food: pineapple sticky buns, smoked salmon frittata, pancetta potatoes and a huge bowl of fruit salad.
“Whoa, going overboard with the food, are we?” Emi asked her father, who had donned an apron and was brandishing a spatula.
“It’s not everyday we have a long-estranged family member over for breakfast,” he said. He poked his head into the refrigerator and emerged with the milk jug.
“Does that mean we’ll be dining like kings for the rest of the year? Because I don’t think Charlotte’s going anywhere,” Emi said. “Whoa, banana pancakes? Dad, we have enough food for about twenty people on the table already.”
“You’ll need all the nourishment you can get.” There was a mischievous glimmer in his eye, the one he always got when he was about to say something particularly annoying.
“Why? What do I need nourishment for?” Emi asked suspiciously.
“Your mother’s requested that you to take Charlotte to the mall. You can help her buy some new clothes.” He poured pancake batter into the skittle with a sizzle.
Emi frowned. “Why can’t mom take her? I’m busy.”
“Oh really? Busy doing what? Moping around your bedroom and mooning over your ex-boyfriend? Because, if I’m not mistaken, that’s all you’ve done this entire summer vacation.”
“Dad! -- wha –pff,” she sputtered. “That’s so not even true! I was planning to spend today doing my exercises. Madame gets back from holiday soon. I want to be ready for when ballet starts again. Why can’t mom babysit Charlotte?”
“Your mom has a faculty meeting, or else she would,” he said. “Pass me that plate, will you? This is a great opportunity for you and your cousin to get to know each other.”
Emi handed him a platter. “Fine, but you have to give me your charge card. The one with unlimited credit. And you drop us off at Ala Moana, not Windward Mall. I’m so over that place.”
There came the sound of feet padding behind them and they both turned to find Charlotte lingering in the kitchen doorway. She was wearing jean cut-offs and a vey sheer white shirt that left little to the imagination. This girl definitely needed a better wardrobe.
“Hey, sleepy-head. You get a good night’s rest?” Mr. Kapono asked.
Charlotte nodded and flopped into one of the kitchen chairs. Emi watched in awe as her cousin grabbed a sticky bun and, without compunction, placed the entire roll in her mouth at once.
“Hungry, I see,” Emi remarked. She took a bowl from the cupboard and filled it with her homemade granola.
Emi always had the same thing for breakfast; it was gluten-free and vegan. She mixed buckwheat groats, coconut nectar, goji berries and almonds in a parfait glass with soy yogurt. She called it Granola à la Kapono. Emi was obsessive about her diet. As a dancer, she had to be careful what she ate.
“That’s all you’re having?” Emi’s dad said in disappointment, watching as his daughter dolloped soy yogurt into a measuring cup. “I thought you loved my pancetta potatoes.”
“I do, but I also love not getting fat.”
Charlotte took another sticky bun and stuffed it in her mouth. Emi watched dubiously. There were probably about three hundred and fifty calories in each of those buns. They were pure carbs. No nutritional value at all.
“Do you play sports?” she asked Charlotte.
“No.” There was a trail of cinnamon sugar around her mouth. Charlotte dragged a finger across her lips and licked it clean.
“Then you must have a metabolism like a nuclear reactor,” Emi said enviously. She spooned up a mouthful of granola. Normally it tasted pretty good, but today it was like cardboard on her tongue. Stupid dad and his sudden culinary outburst.
Emi was in a constant war against her body. She wasn’t fat – she knew that – but she lacked the classical, willowy physique of a dancer. And this was a crucial time for Emi. She had to prove to her teacher that she was ready to apply for the summer intensive at the School of American ballet. All summer Emi had been fretting over this application, knowing it had to be absolutely perfect.
“Banana pancakes, girls?” Mr. Kapono asked, dumping a teetering tower of perfectly golden pancakes on the table before them.
Charlotte speared two with a fork and drowned them in maple syrup. Emi’s inner calorie-counter couldn’t even compute. This was too much.
“Okay, well, we’re going to the mall today,” Emi said, trying to refocus her attention away from the food. She forced down another spoonful of soy yogurt. “To get clothes and whatever you need for your room. School’s starting in a couple days, and it’s against the dress code policy for students to have unnatural hair styles and colors. We have to do something about that hair situation you have going on.”
Charlotte swung her ponytail over one shoulder self-consciously. “Blonde is natural.”
“Yes, but that kind of blonde only comes from a bottle. Besides, your roots are showing, so…”
Mr. Kapono frowned. “Emi,” he said warningly.
“What, dad? You don’t want Charlotte getting a reprimand from the deans on her first day, do you?” She turned back to Charlotte. “I’m just looking out for you. It’s nothing personal.”
Charlotte smiled tightly and swallowed her forkful of pancake. “Thanks, Emi. I really appreciate it.”
