Cobalt

1:1

Cobalt

1:1

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(I made a new playlist of the songs Marshall listens to in the car, link is in the external.)

        I wake up Saturday morning feeling refreshed. Dad's totally impressed with how I volunteered to drive home some drunk kids and how I finally gave in to attending detention. Overall, he's back to a cheerful dad; making banana pancakes and whistling.

        Which is exactly how I woke up this morning; with the smell of tasty pastries filling my nostrils. After exchanging a few texts with Dallas, I pull myself out of bed reluctantly. It's half past eleven, and Dallas has already made back all of the money he spent on me a few days ago.

        The perks of being a drug dealer.

        Still wearing my black pyjama shorts and band shirt, I trudge down the stairs and into the kitchen. Seems like I'm interrupting something, as Frances instantly pulls away from my dad the second she hears me coming close.

        Frances pulls up a seat at the bar stool attached to the counter and begins pulling out bobby pins out of her low bun. It's about time she does so, because the amount of bumps and fly-always coming out of her blonde hair is unbelievable.

        "Morning hon," Dad says as he slides a slice of pure heaven onto my plate and pushes it towards me.

        I smile back at my dad before draping maple syrup all over the home-cooked breakfast. Both of my parents are the best cooks out there - and  Brett and I miraculously inherited that from them. Dad scratches at his chin and resumes to his pancake cooking.

        "Where's Brett?" I ask, before placing a piece of pancake in my mouth, the sugary sweetness of it dancing on my taste buds. It isn't like Brett to ditch family breakfasts like this - usually that's my department..

        "He's with Robyn," Frances calls over her shoulder as she heads to the bathroom to deposit her bobby pins.

        Of course he is. I don't know how he does it, I mean, the two share the same everything; interests, taste in music, opinions, et cetera, et cetera. Plus, they never leave each other's sides. They probably share a clingy-ness trait, even. 

        I, on the other hand, can't do that. I could never spend more than a few hours with the same person because, well, it gets boring and second, there's no one likable enough for me to spend more than a few hours with.

        "Hey, Dad?" I say as soon as Frances closes the door behind her. He raises his head, waiting for me to continue. "Why didn't you tell me you called Mom?"

        With that, Dad drops the spatula and turns off the stove, not bothering to finish cooking the other side of the crepe. He walks over to me, and places both hands on the counter, pressing his weight on it. He lets out a big sigh and looks me straight in the eyes.

        "I told her about you," he speaks sternly.

        "You didn't tell me," I reply in the same tone. The thought of it angers me - had my mother not called me, I would've never known that they were still in contact. I pull my hair out of my face and slick it back into a ponytail using the one hairband on my wrist.

        My dad, Bryce, seems to be in deep thought, then gives out another sigh, his features softening. "Brooke, you told us to not talk to you about Brenda," he says softly as he reaches for my hand, which I pull to my side before he can touch it.

        I bite my lip - he's right. I did tell him to avoid the Mom and Cody topic.

        Had Mom not told me about her conversation with Dad, I think I would've been happier. Hearing a sentence like : "your dad called me." sure does get my hopes up for a possible reunion. Mom sure is better than power-hungry Frances. In all ways possible, she beats her.