CHAD

I woke up that next morning in an abnormally chipper mood. Considering the stupid-as-hell argument I had last night with Allison, this was especially weird. I even woke up before my alarm clock went off—an hour before, actually—so I had to do something with my spare time. I decided to get up and make breakfast. Since I'd gotten up earlier than normal, my dad was still home before heading off to work. I mostly just wanted to make a little something for him, since the man was not blessed with the gift of cooking. I always hoped when he tasted my food that he might realize something was wrong with his, but I was never so lucky.

I sleepily reached into the fridge and pulled out four eggs. I got out four pieces of white bread and cut a small hole in the middle. I evenly spread butter over the surface and plopped it into the skillet. It sizzled and a delicious smell that woke me up drifted to my nose. I broke an egg into the center of the hole in the bread. I was suddenly reminded that it's a good idea to wear a shirt when you cook, because a few drops of hot grease splashed onto my stomach and made me jump in pain. I murmured a curse, but was too lazy to go put on a shirt.

I've made these enough to be able to listen to the sizzling sounds and know when it was time to flip the bread. I carefully slipped my spatula underneath the bread, lifted it into the air, and quickly flipped it over, careful not to break the yolk. I love when the yolk is runny and ran all over the bread when you broke into it. Once it was done, I slipped it onto a plate. It was beautiful and golden. Thank you, Momma, for teaching me how to cook! If only she'd taught Dad...

As if on cue, Dad came walking out of his bedroom, rubbing his eyes and yawning. His eyes struggled to adjust to the light, but I doubt his nose struggled to adjust to the smell.

"Hey! You makin' eggs in a nest?"

"Sure am," I replied shortly, placing another piece of buttered bread into the skillet.

"What would I do without you?" he chuckled, slapping me on the back and taking his plate. "Now I don't have to get anythin' vacuum-packed outa those stupid machines at work."

Dad hated snack machines. He thinks they're the reason why he's overweight. That didn't stop him from getting stuff out of them, though.

"How'd you sleep?" I asked him, for the sake of conversation. He just shrugged.

"Eh," he grunted. "As usual."

I'd started worrying about him a little lately. He didn't ever really seem to sleep anymore. And it could just be a trick of the light, but I suspect he's maybe gained a few pounds as well.

"Have you thought about going to the doctor any?" I asked a little feebly.

A look came across my dad's face that was all too familiar. It wasn't exactly a pleasant look either.

"Now, Chad, you know how I feel about doctors..."

I sighed in exasperation. Ever since my mom died, my dad has never really trusted doctors. She went to the doctor when she'd started losing a lot of weight, and started losing her appetite. They said that she had breast cancer, and that we were lucky, they think they'd "caught it early enough". They put her through hell with chemo and all kinds of medicines.

Needless to say, it didn't work.

The doctors had assured my dad that they had it under control. Ever since, he's never trusted them. They didn't keep his soul mate alive, and that's all he knew. That's all he cared about.

"I know, I know," I said under my breath. "But Dad—"

"No 'buts', Chad," he cut me off sternly. "I ain't goin' to no doctor. They don't know what the hell they're doin'."

"I'm worried about you, though," I shook my head. "You ain't sleeping, you've been gaining weight, you're getting bags under your eyes and you always complain about your back hurting after you eat."

"I don't care," he shooed away my concerns. "I'm fine! It's just work is all... it's just stress. I think I just need a vacation."

I didn't deny that. It was true. He was a workaholic, but I honestly had a feeling that there was more to it than just stress. I didn't keep pushing the subject, though. He was as stubborn as a mule. He didn't want to do something, so he wasn't gonna do it. That was always the "end of it".

He grabbed another eggs in a nest and walked out the door with a short wave to me. He was upset I'd brought it up. I knew he would be.

I disdainfully spread butter on another piece of bread and threw it into the skillet a little harder than necessary. Who could blame me? I'm worried about my dad's health, and he just blows it off! I've already lost one parent, I'm not ready to lose another.

I looked at the clock on the microwave. The bright green numbers reminded me with a shock that it was five o'clock. Allison and I needed to be at work in about an hour! And considering how long she takes to get ready, she needed to get up now. I flipped the last of breakfast on a plate and poured a glass of orange juice, carrying it back towards her room with me. Maybe at the smell of food, she would get up. I don't want to resort to the water bucket again, since that went so well the first time.

Don't get me wrong, though, I'll do it if I have to. More fun for me.

I knocked on her door. No response came.

"Allison!" I said, wracking my knuckles against the door again. "Get up! Gotta go to work!"

An irritated groan met my ears as a reply. I struggled with the doorknob. She'd locked it this time, apparently learning from the ice water thrown on her last time. She was kidding herself if she didn't think I knew how to pick a lock in my own house, though.

"I can pick this lock, you know that right?" I called smugly. No response. I sighed. "Allison, look. That fight we had last night was stupid, and even though I shouldn't be apologizing, I made you breakfast as a peace offering. We can do this the easy way, where you open the door and get some breakfast, or we can do this the hard way... where I pick the lock, and the eggs end up in your hair instead of in your stomach. Your choice."

It was only a matter of seconds before I heard the bed squeak and footsteps across the room. Her voice was suddenly directly by the door.

Her voice was crackly from sleep. "You swear that you have food?"

She obviously thought that I was trying to trick her to dump the ice water on her again.

I sighed. "Yes, Allison, I promise I have food."

I heard a click and her face appeared between the crack of the door frame and the door. She peered down at the plate of food in my hands. I smiled fakely and rose my eyebrows, lifting the plate suggestively. She returned my fake smile, opening the door and all of the way and taking the plate of food. She looked down at it, and the smile faded from her face. Oh, boy, here we go.

"No, my dad didn't make it," I said immediately.

"I don't care who made it," she said. "What is this?"

"It's eggs in the middle of toasted bread with butter. My mom used to make it. It's really good."

Her turned her lip up at it.

"Oh."

"Look," I said a little angrily, "if you don't want it, I'll take it and I'll eat it, and you won't get to eat until 1:30. Your choice." I reached out for the plate, but she drew it back.

"Fine! Fine! I'll eat it," she gave in, turning around and sitting on the edge of her bed with the plate in her lap. I crossed my arms and leaned against the door frame, watching. Just as the first bite was heading towards her mouth, she looked up at me and put the fork back down. I frowned. "You know, it's rude to stare. Don't you have something better to do? Like getting dressed?"

"What?" I feigned innocence, spreading out my arms. I looked down at my body in gym shorts and no shirt. "I'm wearing clothes!"

"Get fully dressed."

I flexed my arms for fun. I enjoyed the small blush that rose at the bottom of her face. "I figured you liked the view."

She rolled her eyes and looked back down at her plate, picking her fork back up. Hey, she didn't deny it! I take solace in that.

I watched her take her first bite, and she chewed it slowly. I couldn't read her face. I'm guessing that she couldn't hate it, because if it was gross, she would say so. And she definitely would do all she could not to compliment me, so I'm guessing that she likes it, but she refuses to acknowledge that I'm a decent cook. No compliments for me.

"How is it?" I urged. She still didn't look at me, just staring at the food. She took a second bite, and that was enough to answer for me. "Well, you aren't grimacing. And you took a second bite, so it can't be that bad."

"Or I'm just trying to see if it's really as gross as I think it is," she shot back, but it was weak.

"You like it!" I grinned.

"It's O.K.," she said slowly, taking another bite, but I could see what she really thought. She loved it. Or at least didn't hate it, and that was good enough for me. Maybe this could be the start of a raising white flag between us. Life would be a lot easier if she would be less of a bitch.

Pffft! Who am I kidding? She'll be a decent person when pigs fly.

ALLISON

Oh my gosh. I love this. So much.

But Chad will never know that. He can't. Or he'll find some way to hold it over my head. Sure, it might sound stupid and immature of me, but it's true. He'll find some way to hold eggs over my head.

He surprised me by sitting down beside me on the small bed. With his shirt off, I felt a little uncomfortable. He sighed and put his hands together, resting his elbows on his knees.

"My mom used to make those, so... I'm just hoping mine aren't awful," he laughed lightly, but there was a heaviness to it. I suddenly felt really awkward.

"Oh." That was all I could get to come out. I felt awful for my lack of conversation. This is the first real trace of guilt I've felt around him. "Did your parents get divorced or something?" I laughed. "I wish my parents would get divorced."

"No, no, she passed away a few years back," he said quietly. My heart dropped in my chest. Now I felt really guilty.

"Oh," I said again, but this time my tone was completely different. Some eggs fell out of my mouth and onto my plate. I mumbled an apology and covered up my mouth. But to my surprise, he was smiling.

"Relax," he smiled at me. "You know what you need? To loosen up. I'm not gonna bite."

I suddenly realized what he meant. I'd subconsciously scooted away from him without realizing it, leaning away slightly with my head down. Maybe he had a point.

I was silent, unsure of what to say. This is the first time he and I had really had a civil conversation. I felt guilty that the only time I knew what to say was when I was being a bitch and trying to take a shot at him.

"Yeah," I said pitifully, just trying not to be awkwardly silent. He caught my drift and stood up, walking out of my room. He turned at my door and looked back at me, smirking. I looked down at my plate and noticed that it was empty. I mustered up a smile and held out the plate to him. "Done."

He took it and gave me a small grin, walking out to the kitchen. I shut my door and smiled to myself. Maybe he wasn't always so bad.

My smile faded when I looked at the old t-shirt and shorts laid out for me to wear, reminding me of the awful things I would have to do—to touch—today. Here we go.

I. AM. SO. SORRY. I know it's been forever. I am just so so busy. I'm NOT giving up on this story, I promise. Review and tell me any ideas that you have for this story, because I'm running a little short. I have a main plot idea for this, but I still need help! Thanks, guys. And again, I'm really sorry. Have a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, etc. Love you guys!