The Matchmaker's Sister. Karen Whittenburg Toller
didn’t like her showing any skin, but Angie had warned him not to fuss about the way the kids dressed. She’d told him fashion was a subjective statement and he did not want to set himself up as the arbiter of what they wore. That, she’d told him, would result in endless, futile arguments over what was relatively unimportant. They were great kids, good students who had to wear school uniforms for the nine months they were in class, and should be allowed to dress the way they wanted during the summers. With, of course, a few nonnegotiable rules. No low-cut necklines. No see-through clothing unless something opaque was worn underneath. No piercings. No tattoos. No shorts or skirt lengths higher than midthigh. No more than three inches of midriff showing at any time. This morning, Cate met the three-inch rule and so Nate bit his tongue and gave her a smile. “Good morning, Sunshine,” he greeted her.
“Good morning, Dad.” She came straight over, looped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. A diversionary action, probably. But it worked.
“What got you up and going so early this morning?”
She moved to the refrigerator, sweeping the Popsicle twins with a glance, which changed her direction, sending her to the sink where she wet one corner of a towel and returned to the table to wipe identical Popsicle-streaked mouths. “Is that, like, all you could find for breakfast?” she asked, her tone suggesting someone should have been paying more attention. “Don’t you want, like, some cereal or something?”
Nate felt a sharp stab of guilt for her concern, knew Angie would never forgive him if he let Cate take on the maternal role in the family. The trouble was, he didn’t quite know how to stop her. Cate was a force unto herself, and despite her punk-rock style and the way she inserted like into practically every sentence, she was something of an old-fashioned girl. “I’ll get it, Dad,” she said when he made a move to rise. “You can finish your paper. They’re, like, old enough to fix their own breakfast.”
“Kali mentioned you had a date,” he said, rising to fetch the cereal despite her protest, hoping to save her from doing it. But she was, of course, a step ahead of him and already had the cereal box in her hand. Which meant he could, at least, get the bowls. “Funny thing is, I don’t remember your thirtieth birthday, and I’m pretty sure I said you weren’t allowed to date before then.”
She rolled her blue-green eyes, his mother’s eyes, a striking combination with her brightly colored hair. “I’m going with Ariel and her mom to the mall, Dad. I told you that, like, yesterday.”
He tried to remember, but a lot had happened since yesterday, and meeting Miranda seemed to have burned up a whole bunch of his memory cells. “You did?”
She lifted her eyebrows, resembling for a moment a badly colorized version of Angie. “Like, duh,” she said.
He set the cereal bowls on the table in front of the twins, who ignored both bowls and cereal box in favor of their frozen Sugar Pops, and resumed his seat. He was trying to phrase a courteous but firm objection to Cate’s attitude and her, like, plans, when Will came in, looking like something the cat had dragged out of the trash. If his twin sister’s style was punk, Will’s was grunge. His jeans were loose and baggy and Nate thought his son must have somehow outwitted gravity just to keep them from falling around his ankles. He had on a shirt that even a vagrant would have wanted to give away and his hair—although untouched by the wild witches of fruity colors—stuck up in odd peaks and valleys and appeared for all the world as if he’d stuck his finger into a light socket just before coming downstairs.
“Morning,” he mumbled, because lately his voice squeaked more often than not and he’d taken to covering the embarrassing unevenness by barely moving his lips.
“Want a Popsicle, Will?”
Kori and Kali adored their big brother, despite his appearance, and their affection spilled out in big smiles. Nate noted the orthodontic wax—Kali had some on her teeth, too—was now a brownish color, stained by the orange pops.
“Yeah.” Kori seconded Kali’s invitation. “Dad said we could eat Popsicles for breakfast.”
Will frowned and put a hand to his forehead, possibly shading his eyes from the wattage of their smiles. “What have you got on your teeth?” he wanted to know.
“Fake braces,” Kori announced proudly.
“Cate helped us put them on,” said Kali. “Don’t they look real? Just like yours and Cate’s.”
“That’s bogus,” Will replied. Which could have meant great or awful. Nate didn’t really care to know which.
Folding the paper into thirds, he laid it on the table and surveyed his children. Maybe he’d been too quick to wish away the morning quiet.
“Well,” he said cheerfully, “you’re all up remarkably early this morning. Guess you’re excited about our plans for today, huh?”
“Huh?” Will looked at Nate as if he were a talking frog.
“What plans?” Cate asked, obviously horrified at the idea of a family outing.
“Are we going somewhere?” Kori asked as she tried to catch several fast-moving drips of Popsicle.
“If you’ll recall,” Nate said, “I told you guys I’d take you downtown this afternoon and show you the building we’re going to renovate for our coffeehouse. Since you’re all up and dressed already, I’ll take you out for brunch on the way.”
Cate and Will exchanged a look. Kali and Kori ducked their heads and popped what remained of their Popsicles into their mouths. Not exactly the eager response Nate had imagined.
“Oh, come on, it’ll be fun. The coffeehouse is gonna be great. You’ll be able to bring your friends and listen to music and drink sodas and eat muffins…and…” Truth was, Nate wasn’t entirely sure himself what exactly went on in a coffeehouse, but he’d imagined it as a good way to occupy his children, give them an insider’s view of entrepreneurship and a decent work ethic, provide him with a good excuse to spend lots of time with them, keep their hands busy and allow him to keep an eye on them and their friends. It was one thing for their mother to have granted them the freedom to be “who they are,” quite another for their father to be comfortable with their choices. “It’s really a cool place,” he said, coaxing, hopeful. “And I want your help in choosing paint and decorations and chairs and stuff. I need your help. This is a family project, remember?”
The ensuing silence told him what they thought of his idea. But he pretended not to notice anything out of the ordinary. Come to think of it, this behavior was pretty normal for them. But they’d come around. He was sure of it.
“But I told Ariel—” Cate began.
“Ariel can come with you,” Nate offered generously. “This will be a lot more fun than going to the mall. In fact, you can all bring a friend. The more the merrier.”
He could see they wanted to argue, probably would argue as soon as they figured out the best angle. But they were, as Angie had often remarked, great kids and they didn’t say anything. Not now, anyway. And not out loud.
“What time do we have to go?” That was Will asking. As if any time would be too soon.
“Eleven?” Nate suggested. “That gives you plenty of time to…uh, brush your teeth. And change your clothes. If you want. Or ask a friend to join us.” He smiled his broadest “Father-Knows-Best” smile. “We’re going to have a great time together.”
“Great. Just great.” Cate flounced toward the door on a sigh, her fringe fluttering with displeasure.
“Just great!” Taking their cue from her, the little girls pushed away from the table and stalked after their sister, carrying their sticky orange Popsicle sticks with them and leaving their sticky orange fingerprints on the table.
It was just the men then, father and son, and Nate looked at Will expectantly.
“Girls are stupid,” Will pronounced