Hide & Seek

Four

Family breakfast was a foreign concept to Psalm. When he was living with Evelyn he never expected her to pour grits in one of their old rusted pots or whip up a pile of freshly made pancakes.

In fact, he remembered cooking breakfast for her once.

"Mommy!" A seven year old Psalm bounded into the living room happily. His mother was sprawled out on their cracked brown leather couch. Her face was hidden behind her greasy black hair and she had a bit of drool twirling down her chin. Beside her was one of her friends, Psalm knew her as the nice one, Jeanine. "I made us all breakfast!"

Jeanine smiled kindly, though a few of her teeth were missing. "Thanks, kiddo."

"Sí, what she said." Evelyn slurred, a giggle bubbling from her lips. "Just put it in the fridge for me, baby. Mommy's busy. Go to your room for a while."

"B-But—"

"Room. Now."

And that had been the end of that.

So sitting with the Wrights while they were eating peacefully was a conundrum to say the least. Callen read a comic while scarfing down waffles that'd been smothered in sticky syrup. Crumbs collected across his cheeks like a badge of honor and he was happy to go to war.

Caroline on the other hand seemed to even chew with grace. Her teeth didn't come down on the spoon of her weird fruit and oats bowl. Only her lips gently slid the food off the utensil. Every time she swallowed a hand would come up to cover her mouth, she was the textbook definition of elegance.

Nolan sat at the head of their long oak table, reading the newspaper because that was normal in the twenty first century. The only part of him Psalm could see was the immaculately manicured blonde curls atop his head.  Occasionally he sipped a pristinely white mug of black coffee.

The difference between a couple of billionaires and an average joe was immense.

Psalm imagined snapping a photo of them, cropping out the enormous wine cellar in the background and showing it to a stranger. If he would've asked them to guess the Wright's worldly status the person would've said top one percent based solely upon the way they looked.

He was beginning to understand that wealth wasn't just numbers in different accounts. It became who you were and oozed from your pores. Wealth consumed you. Psalm just didn't know if it was for better or worse.

"Baby Psalm?" He looked up, flitting my eyes across the table until they reached Caroline. She was smiling as she always seemed to do.

"Yes Ms. Caroline?" Her grin widened and she shook her head a bit, jostling her golden strands.

"How'd you sleep?"

"I..I slept really good." He nodded once, offering a small smile in return. "Thank you for allowing me in your home."

Caroline leaned back in her chair, leveling Psalm while a soft stare. "You don't have to thank me," then she dropped her voice to a whisper. "It's not even my house but, don't tell anyone." A laugh bubbled out of his throat.

This moment here was more precious than you could ever imagine because it was the very second that I realized I liked Caroline. In my eyes her heart was golden and she told good jokes. She giggled along with me and for that moment the world melted. There was no worry, no anxiety. But it didn't take long for me to catch Nolan's curious eye and for all of the world's bullshit to come back in full force.

"Um, Callen?" Psalm switched my gaze to the blonde. He froze, his mouth open, ready to bite another piece of pancake. "Yeah dude?"

"Ah uh, what grade are you in?"

"Fifth, what about you?" Dang. He honestly had no clue. The only reason he even went to school was to grab a refill of his pills. Which he was due for shortly.  "Seventh," Psalm nodded firmly. He was eleven so seventh grade sounded about right.

A low hum from the head of the table made him turn his gaze. Nolan's elbows rested on the arms of his chair, his eyes firmly locking into Psalm's. "You're in the seventh grade?" He cocked his head. "I don't see how that's possible. How old are you?"

"Eleven," he said, to him that was old. He was in the double digits.

Nolan's lip curled and Psalm winced, feeling my heartbeat pick up. "You said your birthday was last month. You're in fifth grade, elementary school." Something in the boy deflated. He lowered my gaze, studying the full pancake on his plate. Shame crashed down on him like thunder.  He didn't know what grade he was in.

I don't know my own goddamn grade.

"Welp," Callen cleared his throat, switching his gaze between his father and Psalm. "This is awkward. Psalm you want to know something cool?"

Yes. He nodded eagerly. Anything to get away from this.

"I'm mixed," Callen stated proudly, nearly puffing his chest out.

Psalm tried not to let the confusion wandering his face show. "With what?" The boy questioned gently.

"Irish?"

Cal's jaw went slack and the eleven year old cringed. Had he hit a soft spot?

"No!" Nolan's youngest shook his head vigorously.

"With African! Dad says I'm twenty-five percent black right?"

Nolan grunted again before sighing, he wet his finger tip and flipped a page in the paper. "Yes."

"O-Oh really?" Psalm rubbed his arm, feeling a bit bashful. He certainly couldn't see the thirty three percent but, when he squinted hard enough the boy supposed there was something black there. "M-Mr. Nolan...that means you-"

"I'm mixed race, yes."

Now Psalm could see that a bit better. From Nolan's hair to his nose and the subtly tanned skin. Still, he was passing. Psalm would've never thought twice about his race if Callen hadn't mentioned it.

"I couldn't tell." Psalm admitted softly, gazing down at his feet. Nolan folded the newspaper over, blaring his blue irises into the eleven year olds brown ones.

"Does it change anything?" He cocked his head.

"N-No!" Psalm sputtered.  "Of course not. I'm not-"

"Then it shouldn't matter." And Nolan flipped his paper up, continuing on like nothing ever happened while Psalm was left a blubbering mess.

"Yeah Psalm," Callen nodded vigorously, pursing his lips and something else inside the eleven year old died.

"White people, right dad?"

"Um..I'm actually Italian. My mom was from Sicily."

"Fancy white people--"

"Callen," Nolan raised an eyebrow and fixed the boy with a stormy glare. One sharp enough to make his lips clamp shut. "That's enough."

The four sat in silence until Caroline was ushering Callen out the door with a short promise to be back quickly so they could go shopping. Psalm twisted his fingers, overwhelmed by the sudden intimacy that blanketed the room. It felt like there were miles of unspoken words but no space to say them.

"M-Mr. Nolan?" Psalms' words were paced with uncertainty.

"What?"

"Am I supposed to be d-doing something or..?"

"I'm waiting on you."

Psalm recoiled, curling his lip. He didn't know what Nolan meant. "I'm sorry? I-I don't understand."

"I'm waiting for you to tell me why I found an eleven year old boy working at an Italian restaurant." He flitted his gaze to Psalm and he just about died. His eyes were gleaming, with knowledge and something else he couldn't decipher. "The floor is yours."