Easy over*

“Easy over.” You answer.

“Ask and you shall receive.” He says, before depositing a pair of immaculately cooked easy over eggs onto your plate. You grab your fork and take a bite.

“Good God, this is delicious.” You groan, stuffing the rest of the soft fluffy egg and runny yoke in your mouth.

“I’m glad you think so.” He responds, humming to himself.

“Morning dad.” Yawns your sister Carrie coming into the kitchen. You turn and then nearly recoil out of your seat.

“Morning Carrie.” Your dad replies. You watch your sister Carrie walk about the kitchen, grabbing a cereal box, milk, bowl, and spoon. Her hair is a rat's nest that she is scratching as she comes in to sit at the table, cereal box pinched between her sideboob and arm. She’s wearing a pair of scuffed sweatpants and a rather loose yellow long sleeve shirt that does no favors hiding her ample breast as they jostle with every move she makes.

“Here you are big C.” Your dad states and deposits a little plate of bacon and a cup of coffee in front of her elbows on the table.

“Thanks dad.” Replies Carrie yawning, mouth full of cereal and a drip of milk escaping the corner of her mouth. You watch as it drips down to her chin, wobbles, and then drops down to make a little wet patch right between her massive breasts.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full in mixed company.” You dad tuts. Carrie looks at you and rolls her eyes.

“Morning.” You reply.

“Morning.” Carrie responds and returns to shoveling cereal in her mouth, taking a moment to eat a piece of bacon every so often, dropping little crisps into her milk as she does. You eye her sharply. Besides the more, well, more relaxed way that she’s dressing this morning, there is something deeply unsettling about Carrie sitting across from you and shoveling food into her mouth. There’s a jarring quality to it, seeing your older sister who would not have been caught dead eating like an animal before now attacking her food with reckless abandon. You watch her take her bowl and drink the milk remaining in the bottom of the bowl and give out a wet and hearty burp.

“Carrie!” You hear your dad snap.

“Nice.” You hear yourself snort. Carrie flashes you a smile, wiping her milk mustache onto her shirt and standing from the table.

“Sorry dad, and thanks for breakfast.” She says then turns to you.

“Where are you going?” You ask.

“Work.” She sighs, stretching her arms over her head and flashing you her midriff. It looks soft, poking out over the waistband of her sweats ever so slightly. The very bottom of her pendulous breasts make a very brief appearance before she drops her arms again.

“That’s new.” You reply. She narrows her eyes at you.

“Is your head alright?” She chuckles. “I’ve been working since before you went off to school.”

“Where?” You ask. Carrie’s eyebrows jump up.

“You seriously don’t remember?” She asks earnestly.

“A few years in the city will do that to you.” You chuckle offhandedly.

“I’m working in the depot shops.” She states. “Mechanical department.”

“Honey‽” You hear your mom shout from upstairs.

“Yes dear‽” Your dad shouts back.

“Can you come here for a second?” She shouts back.

“Yes dear!” Your dad sighs, taking another plate full of bacon and setting it on the table.

“That’s your mom’s.” He states, pointing and glaring at Carrie. “Don’t.” He says as he leaves.

Carrie looks at you and you look at her. You hear your dad’s footfalls as he goes up the stairs as she reaches over the table and steals a slice of bacon from mom’s plate.

“So,” she chews, “what are you going to do now you're back here in the middle-of-nowhere?”

You shrug.

“Still trying to figure that out myself.” You sigh.

“Huh.” Carrie replies, wiping bacon grease on her shirt, making her boobs jiggle again.

“Yeah.” You say, taking another sip of coffee.

“Well,” Carrie sighs, “even if you’re a boy I doubt that mom and dad will let you free load for very long, so don’t be shocked when they start pestering you to get a job or go back to school.”

“Is that why mom was on Max’s case last night?” You ask.

“Yep,” Carrie slurps some coffee, “she’s been getting pushier with Max to make up her mind to go off to college or start at the depot like its going out of style.”

“Huh.”

“Can’t fathom why though,” she sighs, “there’s more than enough work in town or out on the farm to go around.”

“Farm?” You ask.

“Yep,” Carrie states, scratching her diaphragm under her shirt, dangerously raising the hem of her shirt and giving her a noticeable underboob, “Don’t you remember Aunt Aggie always asking us to come work for her over the summers or did you hit your head or something?”

“Yeah I remember” you lie.

“Sure.” She replies, obviously unconvinced. “Hey.”

“Yeah?” She leans over the table towards you conspiratorially.

“You don’t have any plans for Friday night yet, do you?” Carrie asks, her eyes narrowing.

“No.” You state, “but it sounds to me like you’re about to make some for me.”

“What makes you think that dear baby brother⸮” She grins.

“That look you’re making.” You reply.

“Well I was just going to suggest that you come out with me and some friends from work for dinner. My treat since you're back in town.” She explains. Then she smiles and scoffs. “Plus, you’re not allowed to spend your Friday night home alone with a bucket of ice cream like Max.”

“What?” You snort. Then you hear the footfalls of someone coming down the stairs again.

“Well?” She says, standing to go. “You down?”

“I’ll think about it.” You reply, non-committedly.

“Sure.” Carrie replies, rolling her eyes at you and walking out. “See you later.”

“Later.”

“Where are you going?” You hear your mom ask in the hallway.

“Getting dressed, thanks again for breakfast dad.” Carrie replies and you hear her going up the stairs.

“Morning John.” Your mom yawns.

“Morning mom.” You say as she slides into the seat Carrie just vacated and digs into her breakfast with speed.

“Where are you off to mom?” You ask.

“Work, honey, same as always.” Your mom replies. “Have to pay the mortgage somehow.”

“I see.” You say, pondering another difference from before to now. Your dad comes in, changed into a dress shirt and slacks.

“These eggs are delicious honey.” Your mom says, and blows an air kiss to your father.

“Why thank you.” Your dad replies, catching the kiss and pressing it to his heart.

“Where at?” You ask. Your mom gives you a look while she chews her food.

“The distribution center that I’ve worked at for 25 years John?” She replies. There’s a dawning of understanding as you look over at your father and then back at your expectant mother.

“Oh, I knew that, I was just curious.” You reply. “Have you made management yet?”

“Uh oh.” You hear your dad chuckle under his breath. Your mom gives an exasperated look at your dad’s back and then at you.

“I wish, but Yvette is still shy of work and ready to take all the credit.” You mom snorts. “Still just assistant depot manager.”

“What about you dad, do you still work?” You ask inquisitively.

“Yeah,” he replies, cleaning the dishes, “still teaching part time.” Well that’s another difference, you catch yourself thinking, your old dad used to be an accountant, a CPA of some 15 years or so, and the sole breadwinner of the house. But now it sounds like your mom has taken that role in the household. You hear somebody coming down the stairs, and Carrie pokes her head into the kitchen.

“I’m off!” She says, wearing overalls, flannel shirt, and a baseball cap with a stained mechanic’s bag in hand.

“Love you.” Replies your mom and dad in unison as Carrie opens and slams the front door shut behind her.

There’s a long silence as you nurse your coffee, the only noises in the house the squeaking of your dad drying the dishes and the scraping of your mom’s tableware on her plate.

“So John,” your mother breaks the silence first, “did you sleep well last night?”

“Like a baby in fact.” You chuckle.

“That’s good to hear. We’re happy to see you, though we’re sure that you’re bummed out that things didn’t work out.” She states softly.

“Eh,” you shrug, “that’s life, right?”

“Sure John.” Your mom says, “but if there’s anything you need to get back on your feet just let us know, right Samual?”

“Yes dear.” Your dad replies, putting the last of the dishes away in the cupboards.

“Well,” you say―