When History Repeats Itself

Chapter Three

** Alexa - Rashida Jones**

"Are you sure you want to wear that?"

I didn't mean to sound rude. Okay, maybe I did. But that olive green dress was offensive to the eyes.

My mum turned in front of the mirror, the fabric catching the light as she swayed. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's the colour," I said, honest as ever. "That shade with that kind of fabric? It's a no."

She raised an eyebrow, arms akimbo like she was about to scold me. "For your information, this dress was a gift. Jonathan brought it from Italy."

"Mum, the man is colour-blind and has the fashion sense of a traffic cone. Who goes to Italy and comes back with that?"

She blinked, then burst out laughing. "You might have a point. He once complimented me on a yellow dress. I was wearing pink."

"Exactly. He probably thinks he got you something purple and trendy. Please. I love you, but I'm not stepping out in public with you dressed like a military throw pillow."

Without another word, she turned and marched back into her room. When she returned, she was wearing one of my dresses—a white number I hadn't seen in months.

"Better?" she asked with a sugary smile.

I groaned. "That's mine."

"Oh, is it? I must've... borrowed it while you were away."

Half my wardrobe had mysteriously disappeared the last time I stayed over. According to her, everything went to charity. Apparently, Charity sleeps in the room next to mine and wears Zara.

As usual, I drove. The moment I got my license, my mum retired from driving me anywhere. "I was your chauffeur for most of your life," she liked to say. "It's time for you to return the favour."

We arrived at Haven, the seaside restaurant Alexa had booked. I grabbed the cake from the back seat and handed our name to the waiter, who beamed like I was royalty. Being associated with certain surnames had its perks. Alexa had pulled strings—her dad hosted half his business lunches here, so when a Sampson called, red carpet treatment followed.

We were early, which gave me time to brief the waiter about how brunch would run. The food, the order, the cake surprise.

Nii and the boys arrived exactly on time. Punctuality was Nii's love language, and Mum ate it up every time.

"Well, hello, ladies," Nii said, kissing Mum on the cheek before giving me a warm hug. His sons followed with their greetings.

"Happy birthday, Kevin!" I sing-songed as he took his seat.

"Thirty is ancient," he laughed.

"This view is stunning," Mum said, glancing around. "Kerry picked the place."

I shook my head. "It was mostly Alexa. I just showed up."

The waiters brought out our pre-ordered meals—brunch classics dressed up to look fancier than they really were. As Alexa would say, "Just slap a French name on it and voilà—gentrified breakfast."

I settled on fruit salad, cheese croissants, and a dish that looked like the lovechild of an English breakfast and a vegan cleanse. The veggie omelets, baked in cupcake trays and shaped like little egg muffins, were calling my name.

"These taste like quiche with commitment issues," William said, popping one into his mouth.

That broke the ice. Within thirty minutes, I had a full update on everyone: Kevin was learning the ropes at his dad's construction firm, Eric was debating law school after studying Business Admin, and William had secured a scholarship to study engineering in Japan.