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Chapter IV - Meeting the Natives

Chapter IV

Meeting the Natives

The next morning I woke up to the smell of bacon and eggs. It would be an understatement to say I was confused.

            The confusion was mostly strong because when I sat up in my plain bed, there weren’t any signs of food in my room. Now, I wasn’t expecting breakfast in bed, far from it, I was expecting nothing in fact so my first thought was that the food was probably not meant for me.

            However, when I put on my Carine Gilson Thème Ceres silk-satin kimono—courtesy of my ex-boyfriend because as much as I loved the sky blue with white pattern robe, I’d never spent one thousand four hundred and twenty five dollars on it, even I had my limits—and sneakily made my way downstairs, I realized that the food was all on the table and everyone—meaning my grandparents, mother and brother—were all sitting there, eating. And I was supposed to sit with them and eat.

            The concept of having someone cook for me was completely foreign. With dad, I used to cook for myself and he for himself, or we’d order Chinese or Thai or sushi or Italian. So as far as breakfast went, I’d pick up some fruit from the bowl on the counter or a croissant on my way to school. But as foreign as having someone cook for me was, sitting down in the morning to eat breakfast together was simply alien.

            I never did that, unless Dad and I were going out brunching or something. Even the excessive buyer ex-boyfriend never made me breakfast, or made me sit with him to eat some. Especially not on a Sunday morning if I could sleep in.

            “Good morning Naomi,” my mother greeted me. She looked so friggin’ happy, like a kid on Christmas day and I was the shiny presents. Honestly, if I had to endure myself I wouldn’t be smiling like she was. Parents were odd, especially mothers.

            I slowly made my way to the table, taking in the feast covering it. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, toasts, bacon, ham, peanut butter, sausages, fruits, jam, stuff I couldn’t even name…

            Was it their goal to fatten me up? Because getting fat was not in my year plans. It wasn’t that I had problems with fat people; I just had a problem with gaining weight, or losing weight for that matter, any kind of physical changes that could make me unable to fit in my clothes anymore. I shied away or hated any kind of situation that would put me in this predicament. For instance, a lot of women got fat when they got older. I really don’t want that to happen to me. Also, sometimes pregnant woman’s feet grew and they stayed bigger. Just for that reason I wouldn’t want kids. I couldn’t bear the thought of not fitting in my shoes. The clothes and shoes I was acquiring right now were part of my lifelong wardrobe. I wanted to fit in those clothes and shoes till the day I die.

            “Do you guys always make that much to eat every morning,” I inquired, trying to guess which choice would be the wisest, calories related. My body wasn’t used to big breakfast and the last thing I wanted was to freak it out and make him start doing fat reserves or something…

            “On Sunday’s yes,” my grandfather informed me, looking at me over his newspaper.

            I nodded, staring at my plate. “Nice.”

            What to eat, what to eat…

            “Did you sleep well in your new bed,” my mother asked, breaking my incoherent train of thought.

            I looked up from the table and at her. “Yes I did actually,” I answered truthfully. One thing I couldn’t complain about living in Moose Jaw. “The mattress is surprisingly comfortable, like really comfortable. I have a good mattress back home but this one is just in another league…”