She stomps up the stairs, like the whole world has offended her. Sam follows, acutely aware of the fact he just avoided being thrown out on his ear.
Or would he be?
He’s not exactly a stranger any more. He showed Jack how to do a backflip. Someone tipped sand down his shirt. He gave Moxie a leg up over the chain fence on the way home. He’s eaten their potato salad and worn their clothes.
The trouble is he stole it all, every moment. And that’s the part people don’t overlook. They feel betrayed. Betrayed people have the hardest fists.
By the time Sam’s dragged his stiff legs up the stairs, Moxie has gone into both her room and the twins’ and returned with an armful of clothes. She shoves them at him and propels him towards the bathroom. This whole family is really forceful.
‘But these are girls’ jeans …’ Sam starts.
Moxie abruptly releases him and narrows her eyes. ‘And? Will they puncture your fragile masculinity for the evening?’
‘Um.’ He remembers her telling Jack she’ll take a pound of flesh and he can imagine it.
‘If they don’t fit, then we’ll discuss,’ Moxie says. ‘But they’re big on me anyway. Now go. Use soap. Towels under the sink. And throw your clothes out the door straight away so I can take them to the washerwoman.’
Sam blinks.
‘Jeremy,’ she clarifies. ‘Jeremy does laundry. Jack does yard work. Grady is supposed to houseclean, but he whinges about allergies. I look after the babies way too much. And we all cook, which sucks.’
‘And you don’t … have a mum?’ Sam says.
Moxie’s inconvenienced look fades for a second and sadness shadows her eyes. ‘No.’ She turns to go, but her fingers catch on the doorframe and she spins back. ‘That bruise looked pretty vicious. What happened?’
Lies run through Sam’s head. None tumble out of his mouth.
‘Hmm,’ Moxie says. ‘Jeremy’s mysterious, silent adoptee.’ With that she turns and Sam is alone and can breathe again.
He gets a real hot shower. With real soap. And puts on fresh clothes that smell of soft cotton and cupboards. Moxie’s jeans fit, which is a stab at his ego, but it’s a relief not to be carrying half the ocean in his pockets.
He comes downstairs all self-conscious with damp hair and a shirt with a huge yellow smiley face on it which seems to go against his entire personality. He feels like Moxie chose it on purpose.
The tone downstairs is as worn out as he feels. Everyone seems contentedly sunburnt and sleepy and the boys have video games going in the lounge room while they eat waffles and scoop ice cream straight from the tub. Sam slips on to a bench at the table and watches as Moxie artistically arranges waffles with raspberries and maple syrup. A thumbprint of berry juice stains the corner of her mouth.
Not having had such options with waffles before and feeling overwhelmed, Sam just progresses through three types of jam in orderly succession. He’s content with this until Moxie groans, leans across the table and slides his plate away.
‘That is the most boring way to eat waffles I have ever seen in my life.’ She snatches a jar of chocolate spread and gets to work. ‘It’s actually hurting my soul.’ She sprinkles slices of banana on top, then a generous scoop of vanilla ice cream. She tops it with chopped nuts and a twist of caramel syrup. Then she slides it back to him. ‘The De Lainey special. Eat and be educated.’
He does and, when he’s halfway through the explosion of flavours, realises he didn’t even thank her because he’s so used to being silent. Seriously? He’s embarrassing.
‘So,’ he says, coming up for air and tapping his spoon in what he hopes is a casual way, ‘where did everyone else go?’
‘They don’t all live here, obviously.’ Moxie fixes herself a similar waffle catastrophe, going heavy on the caramel. ‘Most of them were Jeremy’s herd, plus the kids next door, and a few people stopped by from church. The rest of the little kids were my Uncle Robin’s. He’s trying to catch up to Dad, apparently.’ Her tone is flat. ‘Six hellion cousins there. Obviously there’s seven of us De Laineys.’
Oh, that’s good to know.
‘Jeremy isn’t, erm, the oldest, right?’
Moxie looks faintly curious as she licks her spoon. She’s probably registering the fact that he’s at the table again, and the rest of the guys are sprawled in front of the TV.
Maybe she won’t think too hard about it?
Which is a huge joke, because Moxie has furrow lines on her brow – likely from a constant state of thinking too hard.
‘No, Grady’s the oldest,’ Moxie says. ‘The nerd over there.’ She points with her spoon to the taller boy who first forcibly shoved Sam into the lunch fray to begin with, and is now eating blueberries with his nose deep in a book. ‘He’s nineteen. Jeremy and Jack are next. Then me.’ She swivels the spoon towards the conglomeration of smaller girls who seem to be arguing passionately over a board game while getting syrup everywhere. ‘Then Dash, who’s ten, and is obsessed with elves and trolls and her stupid homemade sword.’
A head snaps up from the end of the table, all frizzed braids and dirt-stained cheeks.
‘I heard that,’ Dash says. ‘There is nothing stupid about the Thirteen Elven Kingdoms of War.’
‘It’s a book series,’ Moxie says to Sam.
‘It’s our life!’ one of the other girls says while the others nod in fierce agreement.
Moxie rolls her eyes. ‘And lastly there are the babies.’ She tips her head towards the kitchen where her father is wiping the sticky hands of a toddler and a small boy. ‘Toby is three and … well, we just call the other the Baby. There are too many names around here as is.’
She goes back to attacking her waffle, the family tour finished. So he’s left to slide a tentative question at her. Not that he has any right to ask. Not that he should be drawing attention to himself.
‘And you … sew?’
‘And I design.’ Her mouth is full of ice cream. ‘I’ll be a famous upcycling fashion designer someday.’ Her smile is slightly self-satisfied and more than a little beautiful. ‘And before you ask why I’m not drowned in friends too, it’s because, unlike the twins, I don’t need an audience twenty-four-seven. And,’ her lips tip down, ‘my best friend is away for the summer. Which means I’m facing the most dull holiday of my life.’
Sam’s absently fixing himself another waffle, although he’s getting full. But he’s been too hungry too long not to stuff himself when the opportunity presents.