He reached over and messed up her hair. “You looked like a monkey.”
“Luc!” Marie set the pan on the stove and brushed her hair with her fingers.
He laughed, a deep pleased-with-himself ha-ha-ha. “You were a cute monkey.”
“Okay. That’s better.” She turned on the burner and added the butter. “You’re just jealous because you looked like a Teletubby.”
“What’s a Teletubby?”
“Oh, my gosh! You don’t know what a Teletubby is?” She shook her head at her clueless brother.
“No.” A bewildered crease furrowed his brow as he turned his blue gaze on Jane. “Do you?”
“Unfortunately, yes. It’s a show geared toward very young children. And, as far as I could tell from the one time I watched it, all the Teletubbies do is run around in Teletubbyland babbling and baby-talking.”
“And they show pictures on their tummies,” Marie added.
His mouth fell open a bit, his eyes glazed, and he looked as if he were getting a sudden headache just thinking about it. “You’re kidding.”
“No.” Jane shook her head. “And in my own defense, I only know this because a few years ago, Jerry Falwell made headlines when he warned parents that there are gay undertones in Teletubbyland. Apparently because Tinky Winky is purple and carries a red purse.”
“Tinky Winky?” Slowly he turned and looked at his sister. “Holy hell, and you make fun of me for watching hockey.”
“It’s not the same thing. You watching hockey is like me watching school.”
She had a point.
He must have thought so too because he conceded with a shrug of his shoulders. “I can’t believe you watch those Telebelly things,” he said, but he did pick up the remote and shut off the hockey game.
“Teletubby,” Marie corrected him. “When I go to Hanna’s, she puts in the tapes for her two-year-old brother. It mesmerizes him so we can paint our fingernails.”
“Hanna?”
“The girl who lives on the third floor. I told you about her.”
“Oh, that’s right. I forgot her name.” Once Luc set the vegetables steaming, he turned on the stovetop grill and put the chicken on.
“I’m going to the movies with her after dinner.”
“Do you need a ride?”
“No.”
Luc had an innate grace about him, whether it was reaching for a puck or turning chicken breasts on a grill, an economy of motion and fluid style that was fascinating to watch. Almost as fascinating as the way his butt filled out those cargo pants. The bottom edge of his sweater hit just below his hips and right above the Nautica label sewn on his back pocket.
Jane listened to Luc and his sister talk about her day. Everything Marie had bought, and her plans for later. Jane knew from her conversations with Luc that he didn’t think he was doing a good job with Marie. Seeing them together, Jane wasn’t so sure he was right. They seemed to get along pretty well. They were a family. Perhaps not an average family, maybe not always easy, but family just the same. They stood at the stove, cooking, talking, trying to include Jane, but she still felt a little left out. Marie in the too-tight jeans she’d worn when Jane had picked her up that morning, and Luc in his pants that were just right.
Luc flipped chicken and Marie filled him in on the different designers Caroline had told her about. “I hope you finally bought some jeans that aren’t too tight,” he said as he checked on the steaming vegetables.
Marie looked across her shoulder at her brother and her blue eyes got a bit squinty.
Perhaps if Luc had glanced his sister’s way he would have noticed she’d just taken serious issue with him and he wouldn’t have added, “Your pants are so tight it’s a wonder you don’t blow out the seams.”
Uh-oh.
“That’s soooo mean! I don’t tell you your jeans are too tight.”
“That’s because they’re not. I don’t like anything up my butt.” Finally, he glanced at Marie. “What are you so mad about?”