Operation Fake Relationship

Reg was standing at the cooker, wearing pyjamas, dressing gown, slippers, and a Santa hat. He smiled. “Happy Christmas, you two. Did you sleep well?”

Nick seemed lost for words, so Jackson replied for both of them. “Yes, great thanks.” His cheeks heated as he remembered Nick bouncing on the bed. He really hoped the creaking hadn’t been too noticeable.

“Good, good.”

“Where’s Mum?” Nick asked.

“She’s in the living room playing with Seth.” Reg flipped over one of the pancakes. “He had Maria and Adrian up early so she’s giving them a break. I’m in charge of breakfast this year.”

“Oh, right. Well, it looks as if you’ve got everything under control. Can we just grab some coffee? Then we’ll get out of your way and see if Mum needs an extra pair of hands.”

“Actually, can you set the table first? That would be useful.”

“Sure.” Nick didn’t sound too enthusiastic. “Are we having breakfast in the dining room or in here?”

“In here. It’s warmer.” He added more butter to the pan with a sizzle. “And there’s coffee in the pot.”

“Thanks.” Nick poured out two mugs of coffee, added a spoonful of sugar to one and milk to both. “Here you go, babe.” He handed the sweet one to Jackson.

“Thanks, hun.” Jackson gave him a wicked grin.

“Hun?” Nick mouthed, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

Jackson bit back the urge to laugh at his expression. Hun was Nick’s least favourite term of endearment. He cringed every time he heard anyone use it.

Nick opened a drawer, frowned and closed it again before trying the one next to it. “Where’s the cutlery kept?”

“Hmm?” Reg turned. “Oh, yes. We keep them in that drawer now.” He pointed to one on the other side of the kitchen. “Your mother rearranged everything years ago. I’d forgotten we ever kept them there.”

“Well you did.” Nick’s voice was tight as he moved to the other drawer and started getting out knives and forks. He dumped them on the table with a clatter. “How about the plates, are they still in the same place?”

“I think so,” Reg replied mildly. “Yes, that’s right. The cupboard under the bread bin.”

Jackson started laying out the cutlery, trying to ignore the tension that was mounting in the room.

Nick put a pile of plates on the table, and then he opened a few more cupboards and drawers, clearly searching for things, but he didn’t ask Reg for any more help. Eventually he managed to gather placemats, glasses, and napkins. Jackson helped him lay everything out in silence.

“I think that’s everything,” Nick said.

“Yes, looks good. Thanks, boys. Tell your mother that everything will be ready in about ten minutes.”

“Will do,” Nick said, already on his way out of the kitchen.

Jackson sighed as he followed. He knew Nick had old grievances with his father, but he couldn’t help wishing Nick would give him a chance. The man genuinely seemed to be trying hard to be nice, and Nick wasn’t making it easy for him. Perhaps he wasn’t being fair to Nick, but it was hard for Jackson to be objective given his own history.

In the living room, they found Sue sitting on the sofa with Seth on her lap, holding a little chunky cardboard book with slightly chewed corners.

“—and here’s the cow. Look, Seth. What does a cow say?” Seth looked at her expectantly. “Moooooo,” she said. “Cows say moo. Moo moo!”

He smiled and his whole body wiggled with excitement as he echoed her. “Moo moo!”

“Yes!” She beamed. “That’s right.” Looking up, she greeted Jackson and Nick. “Happy Christmas! How are you two this morning?”

“Happy Christmas, Mum.” Nick went over to sit beside her and let her lean across to kiss him on the cheek. He seemed to be softening towards his mother at least.

“Happy Christmas, Sue.” Jackson took the seat beside Nick, who took his hand and casually threaded their fingers together. The warmth of his palm and the sight of their linked hands made Jackson’s heart beat a little faster.

“Dad said breakfast will be ready in about ten minutes. Speaking of breakfast, since when did Dad cook?” Nick asked. “He could barely boil an egg when I was growing up.”

“It started when he retired,” she replied. “But he really got into it since he stopped drinking. It’s become quite a hobby now, along with his art.”

“His what?” Nick gaped at her.

“Art. He’s been taking evening classes. Started out with watercolours but now he’s branching out. Didn’t you see the paintings in your room?”

“I saw them, but I had no clue they were Dad’s. They’re good!”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” Her lips quirked in amusement. “You’ve seen my attempts at drawing, so it stands to reason that you must have got your artistic talent from somewhere.”

Seth tugged at the book impatiently. “Ma-ma-ma-ma!”

“Sorry, darling. I got distracted.” She let him turn the page.

“Oof oof oof!” He flapped his chubby hands in excitement, looking up at her for confirmation.