I'm Crossing The Ocean || Mullette

Chapter Thirty-One: Everything's Just Real Peachy

Lafayette|First Person

I don't get much sleep after Hercules leaves. I stay up and help Mrs. Morel clean up the kitchen and do the dishes, and after that I volunteer to put Alice to bed after she's done with her bath. 

I sit in her room for a while, in the rocking chair beside her crib long after she's fallen asleep. I start to think about how I'm going to miss her when I leave, as odd as it sounds. In a couple years she probably won't even remember me unless I come back to visit. I think that I will try to come back. Some day when I'm done with school and I'm over all the bad stuff that happened here. Then, maybe I'll come back. 

But, then again, that's assuming that I'll end up somewhere in New York again. Hercules and I will have to work something out if I move back there. It would be too awkward if we broke up for real and I went to live with John's family. 

Thinking about John, I finally go back to my room and find my phone to send him a text. 

To: John

Can I talk to you about something?

===

"Morning," Mr. Morel is smiling from his place at the dining table, newspaper in hand. I didn't think that people actually still read the paper- let alone get it delivered to their house- until I met Mr. Morel. He loves the paper. There's always some section in his hand, whether he's drinking his morning coffee or waiting for the game he's watching that night to come on. 

"Morning," I nod back at him, bypassing the table to head to the kitchen. Mrs. Morel has Alice there in her highchair next to the counter where she's stirring up some batter in a big bowl. The little girl is tiredly picking at the cheerios on her tray and shoving them into her mouth. 

I smile down at her and pat her head. She looks up momentarily and then goes back to her cereal. 

"I'm making pancakes, Laf," Mrs. Morel tells me, smiling over her shoulder. "Do you want me to put some chocolate chips in yours?" She asks, in a sort of quiet voice like it's a secret that she's putting something so unhealthy in my food. For a split second I feel at home in the kitchen, with a mom sneaking me chocolate in my pancakes and a dad reading the paper who'll just end up asking for chocolate chips in his pancakes as well. 

I smile at her and nod, backing away from the bundle of bananas I was going to eat for breakfast instead. I lean against the counter and look down at Alice dosing off in her seat, not particularly bothered by the events of last night for a while. 

Mrs. Morel must notice my good mood because she says, "So, did you and Hercules work things out? I thought I heard you on the phone last night." 

I shrug when she looks back at me again, and tell her that she's got batter smudged on her cheek. I wasn't on the phone with Hercules last night. John had called me after I texted him and demanded I tell him what was going on. The conversation actually made me feel better after we hung up. It gave me hope. 

"Not yet, but he said he'd call me this morning," I tell her. "I think that you're right. Things will work themselves out." 

"Well," she says, back to her batter again. "I usually am right, just ask my husband."  

We both laugh and I turn my face toward the window above the sink to let the sun warm my face. 

After a while I offer to help, and am put to work slicing up strawberries and a banana. Mrs. Morel pulls her old-school boombox radio out from a shelf in the pantry and puts on a oldies station for us to listen to. Mr. Morel comes into the kitchen when he hears it playing and picks Alice out of her chair to dance with him. They twirl around the island, narrowly dodging Mrs. Morel's spatula coated with batter that she tries to smear across his face. 

Alice is wide awake and giggling now. She squeals with delight when her father hands her off to me to blow a handful of powdered sugar into his wife's face. Mrs. Morel scoffs and aims a can of whipped cream at his face in response. 

"You wouldn't," he challenges, his mouth agape, waiting for the attack. 

"I'll stop at nothing for revenge," she retorts. 

Mr. Morel tries to dart back out of the kitchen, but he ends up with a streak of whipped cream down the side of his face and across his bathrobe anyway. 

"Daddy!" Alice shrieks, her arms reaching for her father who is wiping at his face with a disgusted look on his face. Mrs. Morel has turned back to her pancakes, humming innocently once again. 

Mr. Morel sighs as he takes his daughter into his arms again. "Let's go get cleaned up, shall we?" He says, already on his way out of the kitchen. 

I'm still laughing quietly as I go back to finish with the last of the strawberries. 

Mrs. Morel is setting her plate of pancakes on the table and I'm stacking a collection of plates and cutlery to bring out when the doorbell rings. 

"Lafayette, can you get that, I still have sugar on my face," she asks, coming back into the kitchen and taking the plates from me. 

"Sure," I step past her to the front door. 

I look out the window next to the door before opening it, smiling at what I see. 

"Hey," I greet as I open the door. Hercules looks up at me, a shy smile on his face and a bouquet of  roses in his hands. 

"Hey," he echos. "I, uh, got these for you," he tells me, holding out the flowers. I take them from him and hold them to my chest, smiling all the while. 

"They're beautiful," I tell him and he blushes. 

"I was being kind of an ass last night," he tells me. "I don't care what happened with Erica, all I care is that I'm here with you, and I don't want to waste the week being upset about something dumb like last night." 

"I love you," I say, matter-of-factly. "And you had every right to take the night to think things over. I'm glad you came back, though," I admit. 

"I love you too, Lafayette," he sighs, stepping forward to place a hand on my cheek. I lean into the touch and grin wider. He shakes his head briefly, his eyes shining as he kisses me through my smile, momentarily squishing my flowers between us. 

I hold on when he pulls back, one hand clutching the roses to my rib cage, the other around the back of his neck. He lets his hands rest on my hips and waits for me to open my eyes and look at him again before speaking. 

"You know I actually came here to ask you something," he says.

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Would you do me the honor of going on a date with me?" He asks, sounding nervous for some reason, but still smiling softly. 

"I thought you'd never ask," I answer. 

I feel like my titles are getting just a little too sarcastic. Oops.