Michael

I amble into the kitchen to the mixed smells of toast, peppermint and coffee. Mitch, Beth and Charlotte are gathered around the breakfast table. Plastering a smile on my face, I try to sound cheerful. “Morning all.”

“Morning, Michael,” smiles Beth. She still looks tired, but like Charlotte, is still going through the stage of not wanting to let go of Adam. He coos in her arms and she keeps her attention on him.

Charlotte speaks quickly, then looks away. “Hi.”

Mitch nods, then sips from her teacup, looking down.

Have I said something I shouldn’t?

Offended one of them?

Snagging a couple of oranges, I head for the squeezer and slice the first one in half. “Juice, anyone?”

“I’ll have some,” says Charlotte. “And squeeze some for Mom too, please.”

“Sure thing.” I grab another couple of oranges, running a quick mental inventory of what I’ve said and done this morning and the evening before…

Beth was tired… Hardly surprising. But certainly not upset. Triumphant would be nearer the mark.

Did I say something to offend her?

Nah…

What then?

down on half an orange. The squeezer hums and spins, shooting a thin jet of juice

Fuck!

dribbling down my

grab for the paper towels I swipe down

but it makes a convenient excuse for me to surreptitiously eye the

of

orange juice would have at least drawn a snark from Charlotte. But

Beth lean in, heads close, talking quietly. This

I’m inching towards conspiracy…

hell’s going

see it. On the tabletop, lying between

that a

way. Three sets of copper hair sway,

lines stare up at

emerald eyes rise to mine and her mouth opens to speak, but I’m still talking… “It’s pretty soon after the first, I know, but did you

shaking her head… “Michael,

“Charlotte… It’s marvellous…”

“Michael, it’s not mine.”

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