“That, and because of sports.” Cayde shrugs. “Really building muscle is just more calories in than you’re burning and lifting heavy at the gym, you know that. But my father had other ideas. Chicken and brown rice, for years upon years.”
There’s a bitterness in his tone that makes me think of the scars on his back. Part of me wants to ask about it, if any of those scars came from his father catching him eating corn dogs instead of organic baked chicken. But I don’t, because I don’t want to ruin the night.
It’s a perfect night with a full moon overhead, a crisp breeze, and leaves blowing everywhere, the kind of fall night you see in the movies. It’s so easy to forget every bad thing about these guys, about my time with them, and just be happy. And I let myself because it’s been too long since I’ve felt even a flicker of this.
“I’m going to get another one,” Cayde announces, getting up from the picnic table and leaving Dean and me sitting there. Dean is taking tentative bites of his Italian sausage on a bun with onions and peppers. I have to try hard not to laugh because he quite obviously chose it not because he necessarily likes it, but because it seemed like the fanciest thing on the menu.
“How is this even real food?” Dean asks, taking another small bite. “Why do people eat this?”
“Because it’s delicious,” I inform him through another bite of pre-made grilled hamburger. “Not everything is all croissants and foie gras, you know.”
“I’ll have you know I detest foie gras,” Dean says, taking a slightly bigger bite of the sausage this time. “And this—isn’t bad. But it’s so unhealthy. How can anyone constantly eat food like this?”
“Not everyone can afford three perfectly balanced meals a day,” I tell him, shoving the last of my burger into my mouth. “Not that you guys always eat perfectly. I’ve seen all three of you eating junk food. It’s just fancy junk food. Hazelnut truffles and prosciutto pizza and shit like that.”
Dean frowns. “Wouldn’t you rather eat prosciutto pizza than, oh, I don’t know—tuna casserole or whatever it is that poor people eat?”
I point at him, shaking my head. “It’s that attitude right there that makes people not like you. But sure, sometimes. And sometimes I miss my mom’s cooking, even though it was all cheap and unhealthy. We never had tuna casserole, but man, I do miss Hamburger Helper stroganoff sometimes.”
“That sounds disgusting,” Dean says, finishing his sausage. “What’s next, then? Rides?” He eyes the Ferris wheel. “Those look terrifying.”
I can’t help but laugh. “I’m actually going to agree with you on that one. My mom used to let me ride them when I was a kid. My dad thought they were a bad idea—they’re just taken down and put back up by carnies, you know, moved from place to place, but the Sons always did security for this. So he’d be working, and my mom would give in and let me on them. Now I can’t imagine. They’re so dangerous.”
“Kids love them, though.” Cayde walks up with two more corn dogs just in time to hear the last of our conversation. “Look at those screaming little shits. They’re having a great time.”
We’re just close enough to that swinging boat ride that’s at every fair ever to hear the screams and laughter, and he’s absolutely right. The kids on it, of all ages, are absolutely thrilled.
“You should bring your kids here one day,” I say impulsively. “They’ll enjoy it. It’ll be good for them to see something outside of the estate and prep-school bubble.”
The table goes quiet for a moment, and Cayde looks at me, leaving his corn dog sitting in a pool of mustard. I realize too late that I’ve probably brought up a sore topic, not to mention the fact that I saidyourkids, which assumes I won’t be with them anymore. Won’t be in their beds, maybe not even in their lives, probably not even here if I have any say in it.
“It’s weird to think of it like that,” Dean says finally, poking at the cardboard container that his Italian sausage had been in. “I mean—I’ve always known I was going to have to have kids, family lineage and all of that, but I’ve never thought about actuallyhavingthem, you know? Raising them? Doing things with them? I guess I just assumed that a nanny would raise them or something.”
“Same.” Cayde picks up his corn dog again. “But who knows? Maybe that’s something else we can change. We can have kids if we want, or not if we don’t want to. And if we don’t, then the town can go—oh, I don’t know, to someone else’s kids. Or to no one.”
Dean stares at him, his face tightening. “That’s throwing away centuries of tradition, Cayde. All of it if we get rid of the lineage.”
Cayde waves a hand. “I’m not saying we have to. I’m just saying that by us choosing how we run this place, we’ll have more choices than ever.”
There’s a heavy silence then, and I wonder if I’ve screwed up the whole night, if maybe I should have just thought before I spoke. And then I hear heavy footfalls from behind me and a voice that tells me that the night really might be ruined now.
“Went out without inviting me?” Jaxon walks around one side of the table, plopping down next to Cayde. “Rude, I didn’t even have any plans tonight.”
From the look on both Dean and Cayde’s faces, I can see that they’re not at all pleased to see him.
“We didn’t invite you on purpose,” Dean says tightly. “We’re taking Athena out on a date.”
“Both of you?” Jaxon smirks. “Seems a little unconventional.”
“Everything about this is unconventional,” I interrupt. “Do you need something?”
Jaxon shrugs. “I didn’t realize I was specifically not invited. Saw you guys and figured I’d come over.”
Cayde narrows his eyes. “So you just randomly decided to come to the fair? Nah. You’ve never been here before, just like we haven’t. There’s no reason for you to just happen to be here.”
“Actually, I have.” A shadow crosses Jaxon’s face. “I’ve been here a couple of times. With my—” he clears his throat. “You know.”
“Oh.” Cayde looks away. “Look, dude, if you want to tag along, that’s fine, I guess, as long as it’s fine with Athena.”