Harry was far more interested in helping with the cooking then Owen. Alexander found a chair so he could reach the table. I had offered to cook. Owen and Harry and Julia were more comfortable around Alexander, which made perfect sense, so I'd offered to do the cooking.
I didn't trust Harry with knives, but he really wanted to help with the beef patties, so I let him and only thinned them a bit before grilling them on the pan.
"Can you go get Alexander and your siblings?" I asked.
Harry nodded, jumped off the chair and ran to the dining room.
I checked the food, and double checked the buns in the oven.
Julia was sitting on Alexander's lap, and Harry really wanted to help serve and present the food, so I helped him do that.
Marcus came and picked them up a little after seven.
"Dad!" Harry exclaimed and ran to the foyer. I heard him tell about his little cooking adventure.
Alexander held Owen's hand when they reached the foyer.
I kept in the background.
Alexander helped Julia into her clothes, Marcus helped Owen, and Harry was able to put on his jacket without help, even though he was busy talking.
And then, just as fast as they'd arrived, they were gone again.
Alexander looked at me when the elevator doors slid close. "Thank you for being here." He said.
I smiled. "You're welcome."
He walked around me and into the kitchen.
I followed and helped him clean what was left. He had kept the cookies I'd baked with Harry and Owen.
"Do you want to stay?" he asked me.
"For how long?" I asked.
He looked at me. "Until tomorrow?"
I smiled. "I don't have any other clothes." And what I wore smelled like cookie dough, chocolate and burger.
He briefly looked down my attire before meeting my gaze. "You can borrow something?"
That's where we were heading? "Okay." I said.
He smiled a crooked smile.
I went to the dining room and sat on the couch. They had put away their toys when Alexander had told them Marcus was on his way.
Alexander sat down next to me and handed me a soda. Bottle. Coca-Cola light.
"That's what you've ordered so don't accuse me for deciding you have to drink it," he said. It sounded like he was talking me away from the precipice. Or maybe just trying to avoid a fight.
I accepted the bottle. "Thank you." I said.
He looked out the windows.
"You're good with kids."
"No," he said.
I looked at him. "Yes?"
He shook his head. "I'm only good with children I know."
"And your brother's children are different?"
"I've been there since they were born," he said and looked at me. "Believe it or not, but I do have a family life."
I smiled. "Have I doubted it?" I asked.
His expression told me I had doubted it. "It has sounded as if you thought I was a hermit."
"I'm sorry," I said. "But you delivered that sleazy line about sex, so I probably thought of you in comparison to Christian Grey."
"Fifty Shades?" he asked.
I nodded. "I'm not proud to say that I read them but they was so hyped and everyone talked about them, so I thought I wanted to see what the fuss was all about."
"I only know what my Mom has said." He shook his head ever so slightly. "She watched it with a few girlfriends. And I have issues, I blankly admit that."
"Do you have an, uhm, BDSM cave?"
"No!" he said and looked at me.
"Why so intense?"
"Because I don't," he said. "I do like to play a little, dominate a little, but that is too spicy for me."
"Nice to know," I remarked dryly.
He laughed. "You can't blame me for saying anything, you asked."
"I didn't ask about specifications about your sex life," I said and looked at his face.
He was still smiling. "Are you after someone with a BDSM cave?"
"No," I said. "I'm not that adventurous."
He put the bottle, beer bottle, to his lips.
"I wouldn't have guessed you drank beer." I said.
He moved the bottle and looked at me. "Then what did you think?"
"Probably red wine and then, I don't know, stronger drinks like whiskey or the like."
He shook his head slightly. "I do enjoy a nice glass of wine for my food, but otherwise I rarely drink."
"But having spent the day looking after children requires a beer?"
He nodded.
"Do you want children?" I asked.
He looked at me. "Now, I don't have a girlfriend," he said.
"Hypothetically," I said with a little smile.
"No," he said.
"Why not?" I asked. The disappointment shouldn't have hit me that hard, but it did so anyways.
He looked at the beer before looking at me. "Because I don't want to end up in a situation where they would, uhm, leave me? It probably sounds weird, but it's the same reason why I'm scared to commit. What if they leave?"
"Technically, a family can up and leave too," I said.
He nodded. "I know," he said. "Trust me when I say that I've spent a lot of years learning to believe they won't just leave me."
"How many years?" I asked and put the Cola bottle to my lips.
He looked at me. "The better half of fourteen years."
"Fourteen?" I asked, surprised.
"I've got issues, Christina," he said quietly.
"A lot?"
He nodded.
"Do you prefer Alex or Alexander?" I asked. Marcus had called him Alex. Just, before he started to ask me anything right now.
"That's a different topic for sure," he remarked.
I wouldn't ask when I couldn't say anything about my mother.
He looked at me, pensive. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"My name," he said.
"I just realized I always call you Alexander but that Marcus called you Alex."
He smiled and looked at the beer between his hands. "I don't care," he said.
"And if you have to?"
"Then I don't care," he said. "Work relations call me Greene, and that's probably the only time I have a real preference."
I nodded.
"Do you have a nickname?"
I shook my head no. "Sometimes some call me Stinna, but I prefer my full name." Mom always used my full name, and even before she passed, I'd found it weird not to be called Christina.
He looked out the window briefly before looking at me again. "Are you going home to your Dad for Christmas?"
I nodded. "Where are you celebrating Christmas?"
His eyebrows dived down. "At my parents'," he said. "With Marcus and Damien, their wives and children."
I smiled. "Are you always celebrating Christmas together?"
"No," he said. "Every other year."
"Are they with their wives' families otherwise?"
He nodded. "Then it's just me, Mom and Dad, and grandparents with no set year." He was almost grunting it.
"Is it very bad?" I asked.
He scratched his chin. "Marcus was adopted when he was four," he said. "His biological parents died in a car crash, and there wasn't any other family. He has a wife. He doesn't have the same issues and me, and he belongs. Damien is sort of the same, even though he was adopted from a mother who couldn't look after him. She was disabled."
He put the beer to his lips.
I looked away from his mouth and out the window.
"I know they've got their own things to battle with, but I miss to have a place where I belong." He said and looked at me.
"You do have a family," I said quietly. "You belong there."
He didn't sigh nor smile. "No," he said.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because I don't dare to," he said and looked at me. "I don't have the guts to throw everything over board and claim I belong somewhere."
"Are you seeing a shrink for that?" I asked.
He nodded. "Among other things."
I looked at my bottle.
"How old where you, when your mother passed?" he asked.
I was picking at the label on the bottle. "Seventeen," I said. "I was in the Danish version of high school."
"I'm sorry to hear," he said. "Were you close?"
I nodded. "I've always been really close with both my parents." I looked at him. "You biological mother, has she passed?"
He shook his head without elaborating.
I finished my Cola and put the bottle on the coffee table. "Now I'm staying, can I shower?"
He looked at me. "By all means," he said. "I don't have to give you permission."
I smiled. "You eagerly offered I could borrow clothes."
"I wasn't eager," he said, his blue eyes on my face. "I'm trying to be kind."
"You are kind," I said. "I just don't like when you dictate what I should do."
"Did I do that today?" he asked.
"You are very happy to boss me around. Go to the kitchen, come into the living room, keep an eye on Harry and Owen. What else? You most frequently used is 'come'," I said. "Not a question mark after the word, just that one word. And I'm no too keen on that."
He emptied his bottle and stood. He took my bottle and went to the kitchen with both.
I looked at him.
"I'm not aware of it," he said.
"You've said that," I said. "But that doesn't mean I won't point it out if it bothers me."
He smiled a little smile. "What would you like to borrow? T-shirt and sweatpants?"
"Yes please," I said.
He walked through the living room.
I looked out the window. Whether I was willing to admit it or not, I had butterflies in my belly. But I was still struggling with his controlling nature. Our conversations, actual conversations, I like them. A lot.
He returned with a navy t-shirt, soft black pants and socks.
"Thank you," I said and stood. "I'll shower."
He looked at me. "There's cookies when you're back down. I know they're good."
I smiled. "Thanks," I said and went through the slightly more homey living room, up the stairs and into the bedroom. The smile was still on my lips.