"Good morning, Liz," the cheery Irish lilt announced as the teenager sleepily walked into the living room. "Up for school?"
"Unfortunately," Liz said. She rubbed her eyes and walked towards the Victorian couch, plopping down on it as if she were going back to sleep.
"I believe someone ordered breakfast," Andrew said, walking into the dining room. He set down a silver tray of oatmeal, pancakes, toast, and orange juice. Liz took one look at it and stuck her tongue out. "I know, I know, not the best meal to the teen's eye, but your grandmother gave me strict orders to feed you properly and this is one way of doing it."
"Oatmeal? What happened to the Frosted Flakes, Cheerios, and Kellogg's? Why can't I eat like any normal girl?" Liz complained, closing her eyes and rubbing her forehead with her fingers. Monica looked up from tending the flowers in the bay window.
"Because most "normal" teenage girls these days are having an eating disorder. Your grandmother is only trying to prevent that form happening to you," Monica explained. She walked over to the table and stood by Andrew, peering down at the food. "Look, it's not too bad." But right after saying that, the Irish angel turned her back towards Liz and made a face. "Andrew," she whispered, why don't you throw a wee bit of cinnamon and sugar into that hot cereal. It would make more appealing."
Andrew smiled at his friend and put an arm around her. His emerald eyes glimmered with delight.
"Let me guess, the next thing you're going to tell me it to give her some coffee. But guess what, Elizabeth…"
"Did you make coffee?" Monica asked eagerly. Before Andrew could answer, Monica was already making her way for the kitchen where she inhaled the fresh brewed smell. "I know that smell," she prompted. Her brown eyes filled with delight as she found the china that Andrew had set out ahead of time for her. He had predicted his friend would find her way to the coffee.
"I made it specially for you," the angel of death said. "It's a mocha latte. The regular is still on the burner. I think I could get to this cook thing."
"Me too," Monica added absentmindedly.
"Hey, now don't be getting ahead of yourself," Andrew joked. "I'm the cook and what I say cooks." Monica giggled.
"Well, Andy, you can say coffee any time you'd like to."
"Are you two already up?" an elderly voice asked. Monica and Andrew turned around in surprise to find Elizabeth walking into the kitchen. She wore a velour bathrobe that was printed with pink flowers. "I smelled something cooking and had to come down to see what it was. And to my surprise, I find two coffee addicts in here."
"She's the coffee addict," Andrew gestured. He lovingly put his arm around his friend and smiled. "When we're in human…What I'm trying to say is that she can never go a day without coffee. I drink it once in a while, but she is another story." Andrew gave a sigh of relief, grateful that he caught himself. Monica shot him a sudden glance and smiled.
"I do love coffee," the Irish angel explained. "But I wouldn't say that I'm addicted."
"No one would, dear. If you're addicted to something, like in this instance coffee, you never want to admit to it. If you said that I'm addicted to flowers, well?" Elizabeth looked all around herself. The room was full of daisies, and the backyard was blooming with rose bushes. The living room was filled with pots and vases of petunias and carnations. Then she glanced down at her pink flowered, covered bathrobe. "I might have to agree with you…" her voice trailed off as the three broke off into a laugh. Suddenly, a knock on the door cut the laughter off.
"I'll get it," Liz called. The three walked out of the kitchen to find the teenager swinging the heavy door open. There, in the doorway, stood a man who looked about in his forties or fifties.
"I told you I would come back for you, Elizabeth," a handsome voice said. He scooped up the teenager in his arms and hugged her tightly.
"Daddy," she whispered into his ear. Andrew and Monica exchanged glances and Andrew walked over to her.
"My assignment begins," he uttered.
