A/N: Sorry for the long wait, I intended to post once a week, but got sick and distracted haha
I am terrified about having both Steve and Elaine in this chapter, because characterisation scares me even with Gail and Holly, and Dov. So if you have any pointers, feel free to sure. But I really hope you guys like where this is headed so far!
Thank you so much to anyone who has commented, review, favourited, or reblogged the first chapter. You guys are all so super sweet :):)
And especially thank you so much to Maryaun / Weedyart for giving me her opinions and advice and very kindly reading what I have so far!
...
I have made the very rational decision not to actually tell my parents that I am moving out until it's too late and I have already done so. I somehow figure that even though they will be furious, there's less chance they'll suffer the embarrassment of making me move back out. Plus it will be kind of fun to see how long it takes my mother to notice that I'm not living with them anymore. The only issue however is how to get all of my crap from one place to another. I am more than happy to move it, but the larger issues is finding transportation.
I usually see my older brother about once a month when he comes over for dinner, so he was surprised when he got my call out of nowhere, but happy to help me out. Thank god, because Dov's piece of crap car would take about four trips. He agreed, but insisted that instead of lending me his car, he would come over and help. He comes over about 11am as per my instructions, while our parents are at work. I have everything stuffed into boxes and waiting in the foyer when he arrives. He opens the door just as I come running, and skidding, down the hall towards him, and grins as I semi crash into his large chest in an awkward half hug.
"Hey," I offer cooly as I step back.
"Hey," he replies, nodding his head in greeting. He reaches his hand out to ruffle my hair and I quickly duck out of the way, glaring at him for even attempting. I motion my hand towards the boxes of things we are standing in the middle of, and peer past him to check that, yes he has brought his ute, cleared out and ready. He picks up the first box, taken aback by how heavy it is, and heaves it up to start taking it to the car.
"I have to say I am kinda surprised this is all of it," he admits gladly as he steps back out of the front door. I take another, much lighter, box and start after him, walking down the front steps. Steve's bright red hair catches the sun as he walks. I have told him repeatedly that being a carrot top means he'll have to work ten times as hard to have anyone at work respect him, but somehow they all do. We share so many qualities, but one we certainly do not is that he seems to make friends better than I do. How is that? I frown as I reached the car and dump my box into the back.
"So I take it from our timing, and the fact that I'm here helping, you haven't told mum and dad you're moving out?" he asks as we walk back up to the house. Oh, we're actually going to talk about this. I let out a heavy sigh as we trek back up the path to the front door.
"Well, no," I admit, staring up at the huge house before me. It should probably feel weirder than it does to leave the place I have lived for over eleven years of my life. Somehow though, despite the many memories I have here, this place doesn't feel all that much like home. Maybe due to the size. How can anything so big ever feel homey? Especially when only four people lived there. Maybe it had something to do with how much I loved the house we lived in before. It was still nice, it just wasn't over the top. Me and Steve had rooms next to each other, which Steve hated, because he was hitting puberty about the time we moved, but me at the young age of seven loved. I would never admit this to him now, but back then I worshipped him a little. I was only seven after all, I didn't know better yet. We reach the front door and I let him enter first.
"They'll notice after a week or so when the food isnt dispearing as quickly," I scoff, rolling my eyes. If that. I take a wheel-y suitcase full of clothes, while carefully instructing Steve to carry the very heavy box containing my computer. He is giving me a look that says I'm being ridiculous. As much as our mother drives him a bit up the wall as well, he doesn't have the same relationship with her that I do. Probably because he is the prodigal first son, already well on his way to everything they expect of us. It's not as though I don't have high expectations of myself as well, but these aren't entirely self imposed, I reason that I expect so much of myself mostly because they have always expected so much of me. I pause for a second to survey the entrance of the house, the large staircase leading up to the long hallway where my bedroom lies. I take it all in, somewhat nostalgically, just for a moment.
"Coming pipsqueak?" I hear Steve call over his shoulder to me, halfway back to the car.
...
We actually manage to get all my stuff into the one truck load, mostly because it's a single bedroom worth of junk, but also because I left a load of crap behind that I decided I didn't really need anymore. When we pull up out the front of the townhouse I turn automatically to gauge Steve's response as he takes it in for the first time, analysing his expression carefully to see if he approves or not. His bushy red eyebrows raise, and his mouth puckers slightly as he nods his head. This is Steve for I casually approve of this, a kind of stoic guarded expression that I am reasonably certain I copied from him. I quickly look away and push the passenger door open, stepping onto the nature strip. The browning grass crunches under my feet as I look up and find Dov waving at me excitedly from the patio. I guess maybe this is a small part of why I keep him around, that child like look on his face at my arrival. I roll my eyes dramatically at him as I shut the door behind me.
"Hey Steve!" he bellows at my brother, grinning, and I turn my head to see Steve's obliging polite smile and wave as he walks around to the back of the ute. Steve isn't overly fond of Dov. Not for any particular reason I suppose other than that he is the dweeby best friend of his little sister who is always a little too energetic in greeting him. I stifle a laugh as I lean against the side of the car, metal hot against my skin, and watch my brother heave a large box into my arms. He pauses with the weight leant against the edge of the ute and gives me a pointed look until I sigh and move to take one as well. When we reach the top step Dov is holding the door open for us.
"I thought you were never going to get here!" Is his greeting to me as I enter. Steve has stopped awkwardly in the middle of the living room, gazing back at me questioningly until I indicate with a nod of my head to go up the stairs. Dov follows us up, chatting away happily and being of absolutely no use. It takes ten more of these trips to get all of my junk stacked inside my new bedroom. It still doesn't feel like mine, it feels like I am an awkward guest in somebody else's house. Steve is carefully inspecting my room, checking the power sockets and knocking his knuckles against the wall in an over protective way, as though the sound will give him some indication of any possible defects. I roll my eyes at him and punch him firmly in the upper arm, eliciting a small squeal that doesn't seem fitting of a detective.
"You owe me a drink," he tells me in his most commanding voice as we walk back down the stairs, my hand trailing light over the wooden railing, trying to get accustomed to the fact that for the next 12 months from last tuesday, these are temporarily my (joint) stair railings. How odd. Steve's demand pulls me from the thought as I jump down from the bottom step.
"What if we don't have anything to drink? I haven't done any shopping yet. You know, cos I don't have a car," I give him a pointed look, rocking back on my heels with my hands behind my back, fingers slipped into the back pockets of my jeans. Steve sighs, shaking his head at me.
"You want me to take you to the supermarket?" he asks begrudgingly. I grin broadly as I lead the way into the kitchen to check the fridge.
"Well how kind of you to offer." Dov has apparently taken it upon himself to make coffee, however i note that there are only two mugs out on the bench. He looks up as we enter, sweeping his fringe back into the thick mess of his hair.
"Steve, coffee?" he asks. Steve gives me a look as he walks around to take a seat at the breakfast bar, smiling and accepting Dov's offer.
"Where's Holly?" I ask as I sit down next to my brother begrudgingly. I can smell the strong, bitter aroma of the coffee wafting up from the fresh pot Dov is now pouring, and glare at his back for not bothering to offer me any. He turns around and offers a cup out to Steve, keeping the other firmly in his own hands.
"Uni," he informs me, "water Gail?" I try to give him my best death glare, but he doesn't seem to pay much notice, taking a glass over to the tap to pour me one anyway. When he returns with it, placing it on the bench in front of me, I push it away sullenly.
"You're key is on the hook by the door, by the way," he tells me, picking up his coffee and taking a sip.
"So when do you kids start college?" Steve asks me, incredibly amused by this whole exchange, as he cradles his hot drink between his hands. I kick at his shin where his legs hand down from his stool, but can't quite reach, my foot just falling short, the tip of my shoe barely grazing his skin, and throwing me slightly off balance. Steve withholds a laugh as Dov replies.
"Three days." He is grinning, getting excited again. Who get's excited about more school? A whole extra year of having to apply myself, after high school has now finally finished. I groan at the thought and slump down in my seat to rest my chin on top of my folded arms.
…
Steve, in a rare moment of sibling kindness, takes me and Dov out to dinner, to celebrate our first night out of home. His treat, he says, but then mysteriously can't find his wallet when it comes time to pay, and I end up forking out for all three of us. Luckily I still have a copy of our parents credit card, 'for emergencies', and decide that tonight is on them, as a leaving home present. When he drops us back 'home' the sun has set. We stand in the pooled light of a street lamp as he drives off, before turning back towards the house. The lights are still all off inside, and I raise an eyebrow at Dov as we walk up the path to the front door. Are we supposed to get worried if Holly doesn't come home? How does the whole roommate thing work exactly? We haven't really set any ground rules yet. I jump extra hard on the second step from the top and it creaks especially loud beneath my weight, bowing in the middle to an extent that makes me mildly concerned. I quickly step up onto the next, and then up onto the small patio, loitering behind Dov as I wait for him to open the door. He steps to the side and leans against the wall, looking at me expectantly. There is a small pause, and then I roll my eyes at him.
"Are you going to let us into the house, weirdo?" I ask him, unamused by this little charade. His expression turns from one of confusion, to concern, to irritation rather quickly.
"Well, no, because you have the key," he tells me. But I can tell from the way he is saying it that he has realised I very clearly do not. I cross my arms over my chest, pushing my tongue against the inside of my cheek in annoyance.
"Dov," I say sternly, "why would I have my key with me? You brought yours." He lets out a heavy breath, hand reaching up to rub against his forehead in what is a classic Dov move. When he drops it back to his side his features are void of any clear expression, but I can tell that he's mad.
"Of course you don't. Why would Gail Peck ever have to bother bringing her own key?" he says mockingly. I bite back any words that are tempted to slip from my lips, and lean back against the wooden railing next to the stairs. This is why I shouldn't have made the rash decision to move in with Dov. I swallow back the anger at the back of my throat, a hot lump that settles in the bottom of my stomach, before I hear footsteps on the path behind us, and turn to find Holly walking up to the front of the house, completely oblivious to the fight she has just walked in on. Her glasses are falling down her nose as she fumbles to pull her keys from the bottom of a tote bag filled with heavy books and her laptop. I can tell from the way the strap forms a crevice in the puffy material of her jacket just how heavy it is, pushing the light fabric right down against her shoulder, her whole frame angled slightly to that side with the weight of it. She looks up, a little bewildered, as she reaches the steps and finds us staring down at her.
"Oh, hi," she squeaks, surprised, and hurries up, "Sorry, have you been waiting for long?" she asks as she shoves the key into the lock. I instinctively reach out and pull the bag from her shoulder as she fiddles to get the door open, and she blinks at me, I can tell still thrown off by our presence, as she lets me take it. I was right, it is extremely heavy. I'm not sure how she hasn't done her back in. She pushes the front door open, absentmindedly leaving the keys still in it, before I quickly pull them out and close it behind us all.
"Nah, only about five minutes. Gail forgot her keys," Dov tells her as he turns on the light, suddenly flooding the living room. I glare at him as I dump her bag on the floor by the foot of the lounge, leaving her keys sitting on top, and make my way directly up stairs to my bedroom, closing the door firmly behind me. The room is pitch black, and although I would like to leave it that way, not only do I not have any sheets on my bed to sleep on yet, but I would probably break my neck tripping on boxes trying to get there. I sigh and flick it on at the switch by the door. Cardboard boxes stacked in piles through out, and a bare mattress on a base greet my eyes. I let out a heavy breath. I will tackle unpacking tomorrow, for now I rummage through a few boxes until I find sheets and a pillow. I know Holly said there was a spare doona I could have somewhere, but I'm not sure where to look, and on a to summer night like tonight I think I can go without it. I can imagine Dov's snide comment as to whether or not I have ever even made my own bed before, and this makes me even madder as i pull the bottom sheet on around the corners. When i finish it is messy but sufficient for now, and I turn off the light and crawl underneath. If there is one thing I can do, and do well, it is sleep.
...
I have managed to avoid having too many run-ins with either Holly or Dov for the past day and a half, either by staying locked in my room unpacking, or walking all the way across the University of Toronto campus to what I seem to have made my local Starbucks, located in the Medical Building. It's a bit of a trek, but in all honesty the exercise is probably good for me and helps counteract my grande white chocolate mocha. I am vaguely aware that I am possibly increasing my chances of running into Holly outside of the house, seeing as, well, Medical Building, duh. But it's the closest Starbucks, so what is a girl to do?
It's Sunday morning, and I start my first day of college tomorrow, so I slept in till eleven and took the long way meandering through the large campus buildings and pathways to Starbucks to start my day off with a walk and a large coffee. I know I will have to talk to Dov today because otherwise I am walking and catching the train tomorrow, and it doesn't really help trying to make friends when you arrive at class late, decaffeinated and sweaty.
I am almost back home, and my coffee is now a small, cold mouthful in the very bottom of my cup as I walk up our street. Our street, it still feels funny to say that, but I am slowly getting used to this place being my temporary home. Without thinking I raise the large cardboard cup to my lips, the last few drops rolling out of the plastic lid onto my tongue, and sliding into my mouth. Coffee is so much worse cold. I swallow it, cringing as it slips down my throat, and glare at the empty cup still left in my hands. I glance around the empty street before casually letting it slip out of my grip as it swings by my side, and pretend not to notice as I keep walking, the hollow item cluttering softly against the cement. The neighbour hood is quiet and so suburban, all the noise on our street that kind of dull background sound echoing in-between the buildings in a soothingly normal kind of way. A child crying somewhere, the soft beat of music, car engines, the thumping of someone dribbling a ball on the basketball court a few houses down. I reach the townhouse and stroll straight up the front lawn, jogging up the wooden steps to the door. I know they're both home, so the door is unlocked, and I stroll in casually, the feel of the cool conditioned air soft against my skin as I close it behind me. I yank off my sneakers and leave them lying in the vague vicinity of the shoe rack. I am deciding whether to risk a detour to the kitchen for food, when a laugh catches my ear and I feel my blood go as cold as that last mouthful of coffee.
I would know that crisp, polite laugh anywhere. I brace myself as I stroll casually into the kitchen, where I find her seated at the dining table. This is the first time I have seen anyone use the dining table, go figure. My mother is wearing her uniform, the neatly iron white shirt commanding attention, and she sits upright and unrelaxed at the head of the table while Holly sits near her. Her strawberry hair is perfectly straightened and styled to sit in a severe way just above her shoulders. They both have half empty cups of coffee in front of them.
"Mother," I greet her, in what isn't quite a surprised tone, because as surprised as I am at the same time I'm just not surprised at all, "What are you doing here?" I ask bluntly. Even though I am not expecting it, because not only should she not know by now that I have moved out, but she certainly should not have figured out to exactly where, it kind of makes total sense that she has somehow managed to figure it all out. No doubt Steve caved quite easily, so I am certain he is my weak link. She sits up, if possible, a little straighter, her head turned towards me and a warning look on her face not to embarrass her or myself in front of my housemate. I plaster a fake look of pleasant surprise onto my face as I walk over, placing my hands on the wooden back of a chair.
"Well, I needed to see your new place, didn't I?" she says warmly, looking around the room for show, and then giving Holly a smile, "It really is as lovely as Abigail said." I cringe visibly at the use of my full name, never mind the sickening lie it accompanies, my hands tightening around the wood beneath them till my knuckles are starting to go white.
"Thank you so much, Superintendent Peck," Holly replies, both hands resting delicately around the white china of her cup as she raises it to her mouth. I can see she has gotten out her nice crockery, and am thankful. One less thing for my mother to pick at later. Part of me would love to leave my mother here and just walk out again, but part of me feels bad for imposing her company on poor Holly for who knows how long already.
"Wanna see my room?" I ask my mother, with minimum enthusiasm. She gives me an almost genuine smile as she rises to her feet, the wooden chair scraping back behind her, leaving her half drunk cup on the table. I make a mental note that I may need to buy Holly chocolates or something later as an apology, as I lead the way through the living room and up the stairs to the second floor. My mother takes her time surveying the small study area at the front of the second level, walking up to the old wooden desk in front of the large glass window, while I stand impatiently at the back wall, waiting for the other shoe to drop. She walks over to what I had stupidly assumed was an almost floor to ceiling window, and places her hand on what I now realise is a small handle. That kind of explains how you get onto the balcony.
"May I?" my mother asks in faux politeness, so I give a stiff nod of my head and reluctantly follow her out. Her foot steps clunk on the light, old wood, that same washed out grey colour as the terrace upstairs. This space is more open though, the bars of the railing spaced out so as to let the bright green of the now eye level shrubbery in. The larger tree in the front yard leans up towards us, one long branch resting along part of the railing in such a way that the two woods almost look as though they are one. My mother turns back to see that I have closed the door behind us, and then crosses her arms firmly. And then she does what Eleanor Peck does best - not fierce anger, but that look of I am so hurt and disappointed, you've let us down. How does all that fit into one expression, those few simple lines of her tight lipped mouth and the crease between her eyes, the one that my father always says mirrors mine when he wants to tease me. I fold my arms in retaliation.
"Were you ever planning to tell us?" she asks me sarcastically, in a tone that says don't even bother answering, "I can't believe I had to hear it from that friend of yours, that, Pigeon boy."
"Dov," I correct instinctually, although the name comes out more of a growl on my tongue, "Why were you talking to Dov?".
"Well I called him asking where on earth you were, and he said at your new place of course. Well how surprised I was, to find out that my daughter had moved out," there is a modicum of hurt in her voice, but I ignore it, and roll my eyes as though she is being dramatic. I guess maybe I am the one who was being a tad on the dramatic side, leaving without a word or a note. It seemed so logical at the time. I push up on to the tips of my bare feet, the soles pushing into the rough grain of the wood, sliding my tongue along the inside of my mouth, any words I may have struck behind my teeth. When I am silent for too long my mother frowns impatiently, turning to face away from me, her hands coming to rest on the wooden railing as she looks down at the street.
"I have to say that I appreciate the fact that are finally doing something, for the first time this summer," she confesses, and I blink, slightly surprised. A compliment from my mother, that was certainly unexpected.
"I am glad you are actually bothering to go to college," the complimentary nature is quickly fading out, "I am not sure how you are paying for all this though," she comments, indicating with her head at the townhouse behind us.
"I've had a savings account since I was four," I remind her, running a bare toe along a groove in the woodwork as I avoid making eye contact with her, "And I am going to get a job. Just like Steve did when he moved out." When I look back up, just for a second, I think she almost looks just a little impressed. And then that quickly disappears.
"Well. I must admit, I rather like Holly. And it's not so bad a place to rent. There is a reasonably low crime rate here," she seems to be contemplating, and then when she looks up, face stern, she gives a small nod, "Okay. You will come over for dinner once a fortnight and tell us how school is going of course." I give a small shake of my head, feeling both guilty and triumphant. My plan worked out quite well really.
My mother doesn't stay for long. She surveys my half unpacked room, makes a disapproving face at my choice of decoration thus far, offers a piece of sharply worded advice " Always remember who you are, work harder than anyone else, and don't screw up." She tells me she knows a man who works at the college, 'keep an ear out for Robert Barns', I am to tell him the Pecks send their regards if we cross paths. I walk her to the front door, and she pushes an out of place bit of hair back into position behind my ear, tells me I should wear it out more, and possible get a trim, before she says goodbye, and comments that I am to keep my eye on Doug. I shake my head, but keep my mouth shut. When she leaves I push the heavy wooden door closed thankfully behind her, and finally relax again. Not the Sunday afternoon I had had in mind, that is certain. I pad back across the smoothed wooden flooring of the living room, into the kitchen, where Holly is cleaning up. As I enter she leaves the dish sitting in the sink, semi submerged in soap suds, and pours a fresh cup of coffee, pushing it towards me awkwardly down the bench. Steam rises up from the top, bringing the aroma with it to grace my nostrils. It's a fresh pot. I take it thankfully, and lean against the bench top, watching as she moves back to the sink, sleeves bunched up around her elbows as her hands sink into the hot, soapy water again. For a moment I think she is going to say something, but then she doesn't.
"I'm really sorry about my mother," I tell her, dragging my gaze down to the coffee in my hands just before she glances back towards me. Out of the corner of my eye I can see her give a small smile, and a shrug.
"No biggie, really," she replies quickly, pauses and then adds, "She was nice." I suppress a laugh at this, though I think Holly notices. I wouldn't say that the words nice and my mother really go hand in hand. And I am reasonably certain that the very friends friends I've ever had, whom I chose myself, would agree.
"Not really. But, you know how mothers are," I comment, but then realise the words I have said, and bite the inside of my cheek, feeling so incredibly stupid. Do i have foot in mouth disease? I always seem to say the worst things around this woman. I hear the squeak of a cloth against crockery, and realise I am just standing here creepily behind her as she washes up, drinking my coffee, in dead silence. I feel awkward, shifting my weight from one foot to the other, but now feel as though I have stood here too long to just suddenly leave. What do I say? My mouth is semi open, as though I am about to speak, but nothing is coming out. I blow on the surface of my coffee, breath pushing the steam to curl at an angle around the air moving out of my lips. I glance again towards Holly where she stands, soft light coming through the window behind her and creating a warm glow around the outline of her hair as it falls over her shoulders. I let my gaze fall back to coffee.
"Well, I should-"
"If you want-"
I stop as I realise she is talking too, both of our words forming a jumbled mess of temporary sound that stops again so fast I almost feel that neither of us has spoken at all. My cheeks feel warm, and I look up to find she is still facing the sink. She stands still, water up to the top of her thin wrists, the sponge clutched in one hand below the surface.
"Um, I should, go get my stuff ready, for tomorrow. Thanks again for the coffee," I tell her, before awkwardly shuffling out of the kitchen, hands clasped tightly around the warm sides of the mug. If this was a trial run of tomorrow, I would have to say, I am genuinely concerned about my chances of making any friends.
...
When dinner time rolls around I jog downstairs to find the living room and kitchen empty. I know everyone is home, and therefore no doubt each confined to their rooms. Holly at least has reason for this I am sure, Dov however not so much. I survey the kitchen for a moment, considering cooking as a kind of truce to settle our feud. I then remember the last time I actually tried to cook, and quickly change my mind. When you struggle to produce edible packet macaroni cheese, cooking is probably not something to venture into lightly. I walk back up the stairs, pausing at my level, before tentatively walking up the next flight. As I get past half way and Holly's bedroom starts to come into view, I peer up to find the woman at her desk. it occurs to me that after living here for all of a weekend, we have barely interacted at all. Yes, okay, this is in large part due to my avoidance of her, and everyone (Dov) since the other night. Even as I approach the top step I can tell that she is tense from her body language as she sits hunched over her laptop, typing fast, taking notes out of a thick textbook that is propped awkwardly next to her on a pile of others. She keeps craning her neck, eyes squinting through her glasses as she reads each new line, and then turns back to type it out furiously before she forgets the wording. I am considering how to gently brake her trance, without giving her a heart attack, when the wood of the stairs creaks loudly beneath my step, giving me away, and she blinks in surprise, looking back towards me. Wisps of dark hair fall around her face in gentle waves as she twists in her chair.
"Hi," I squeak, far more timidly than I meant to, clear my throat and harden my expression a little, leaning casually against the banister, "How does Chinese food sound?" This was meant to be a casual, nonchalant offering to buy dinner, but somehow comes out a little different. In fact, a little creepy. Holly blinks again, big brown eyes still taking me in where I stand, arms crossed defensively over my chest as I wait for her answer.
"Is it dinner time already?" she asks, sounding somewhat stressed by this idea, and I give a small nod to affirm, "Oh. - Sorry, yes, Chinese, fine." She nods, one delicate hand reaching up too slide the thick frame of her glasses back up her nose, before continuing up to rub her forehead. I am left to assume that what ever I order will be fine, as she turns back to her work, now slightly flustered, and tries to find her place again. I allow my eyes to scan over her room quickly again before I begin descending the stairs, the room seemingly different somehow in the mute evening light.
I walk all the way up the road to the Chinese takeout place up on the street that intersects with ours, just around the corner, and come back with two large bags filled with enough takeout to sustain three college students for three days. This includes, although I will later feign being unaware as such, Dov's favourite. When i get home i dump the lot on the table, grab out some heavy crockery plates and glasses onto the counter, and jog downstairs to the bottom level, to Dov's closed bedroom door. I knock loudly, and suddenly the music behind dulls in volume, before the door swings open. Dov looks back at me nonchalantly.
"Food?" I ask him. He raises his eyebrows at me in a condescending way which says, please tell me you didn't cook. I roll my eyes and hit him in the upper arm, causing him to flinch.
"Wimp," I tell him, turning to ascend the stairs, "I got take out." I hear him walking up behind me, and I smile to myself. As we reach the landing of the first floor though he pauses, hand on the railing, and his gaze cast up the next flight thoughtfully.
"I should tell Holly we have food," he says, already jogging up the stairs before I can stop him from going up and trying to steal the credit. At least I asked her before, or I am sure he would have somehow managed to have her thinking it was him who had gotten it for us all. I walk back into the kitchen and start loading up my plate with food, which is soon piled high, grabbing myself a pair of cheap wooden chopsticks, and break them apart, inevitably in a rough manner that leaves both sides splintery. I hover awkwardly at the end of the counter, deciding whether to go dining table or breakfast bar, when I hear footsteps descending the stairs, and somehow against my better less social judgment, I choose dining table.
I am sliding into a seat when Dov and Holly enter. Dov is chatting away to her, as she distractedly nods her head at even intervals and makes a path straight for the food. I watch her tentatively place a bit of this and that on her plate, a small portion of rice and a large helping of the vegetable heavy dish that I ordered just in case. I got a sense from the way her fridge had been previously stocked that that might be up her alley. Dov is halfway through saying something when she picks up her chopsticks, heavy plate carefully balanced in one arm, and looks up, catching my gaze to smile at me.
"Thank you," she tells me, before taking the plate and walking back up stairs, leaving Dov mid sentence, rambling to himself, me and the now otherwise empty kitchen. His mouth is open when he realises she has left, and hangs like that momentarily, catching flies, before he firmly shuts it, and loads his plate with food similarly to mine, eyes lighting up a little when he spots his favourite dish, but doesn't thank me for it. When he sits down opposite me I am grinning in amusement.
"Shut it Gail," he tells me, shoving food into his mouth awkwardly with the chopsticks he can barely use. I burst out laughing as I sit, with my chopsticks still poised in my hand.
"You are such a loser," I tell him, grinning as I shove a large portion into my mouth hungrily.
...
A/N: Much more Gail x Holly interaction next chapter I promise ;)