Skurdulka's House (a LGBTQ chosen-family thriller)

Part 4: Breakfast

Looking over a spoonful of raisin brand, Chris eyed the gangly, red-haired teenager sitting at the other side of the dining room table. The kid appeared in the middle of the night, though that wasn't really that strange, not at Skurdulka's House. Chris watched the tired, bruised teen cast their own furtive glances around the table, trying to figure everyone out. Chris knew that look. Trying to figure out the pecking order.

"Can you pass the orange juice?" Heather, sitting at Chris's left, asked the new kid. It was nine in the morning—Ari's wake-up-and-greet-the-day time, even if it was summer—and she already looked gorgeous. While Chris stick picked dirt out of their eyes, yawning, short, sandy hair standing up at all angles, Heather's eyes were done with impeccable wings, foundation smoothed her light brown complexion, and her black hair fell down in luxuriant curls. Chris didn't know how she did it every morning.

The kid with the long, bright red hair wordlessly slid the Tropicana across the table.

"Thanks." Heather poured. "I'm Heather, by the way. This is Chris." She pointed to one side of the table, then at the other, to the girl with short, black hair also picking sand out of her eyes. "That's Lee. What's your name?"

Chris was glad Heather broke the ice. It was too weird sitting at the table with this silent new kid.

"I'm Storm," the kid intoned.

"That's a cool name. Real quick—what are your pronouns?"

Storm's face scrunched. "The fuck is with you guys? I'm a fucking guy. And, newsflash, 'Heather,' so are you."

Chris jabbed their spoon towards the new kid. "Right now you're a fucking dick. You think—"

"Chris." Heather passed them a patient smile. "It's okay." She looked back at Storm. "I know you had a long night. I get it." Somehow, she managed to smile at him too. "It's gonna get better. You'll like it here. Everyone does."

Grinding their teeth, Chris threw a dark look at Storm. Heather acted like that shit didn't get to her, but Chris knew it did. She tried so hard and looked so awesome all the time. Most of the time, because she wanted to, because she loved looking beautiful. But keeping up a look all the time was exhausting. Chris knew it was well as anyone.

"Bonjour, mes chéris!" Ari swept into the room from the kitchen in the back, holding a full coffee pot in one hand, and a coffee mug bearing a grinning Bob Ross in mid-paint in the other. Heart-shaped glasses covered Ari's eyes, and their long black hair was tied up in a samurai bun. A grinning yellow-purple-white skull covered their gray t-shirt, the phrase be they, do crimes eking out in smoke between the skull's teeth. "I see you've all met our midnight arrival."

"Where've you been?" Heather asked.

Pushing their glasses up to their head, Ari smiled slyly. "Just taking a morning run. Getting breakfast."

Chris met Heather's knowing look, and they each looked across the table at Lee.

"Bets," Lee said from the corner of his mouth.

"Wolf," Heather whispered.

"Hawk." Lee didn't bother to whisper.

"Guys!" Chris said through their teeth, and looked pointedly at Storm.

Ari waved a hand as they sat down. "No, no. No bets this morning."

Storm scanned the table, then looked at Ari. "What's that about? You hunt wolves or something?"

"Not exactly." The sly smile remained. "Who wants coffee?" Ari held up the pot.

Everyone extended their mugs.