Breakfast of Champions

I wake up in a comfortable bed, and it feels splendid. I sigh contentedly, rolling over my pillow, and notice that Genevieve’s not there beside me. Hmm…? Instead, I see a dark-haired vixen working on her laptop at the desk tucked into the corner of the room.

Erin looks up at me, and a sly grin crosses her face.

“So you fucked my girlfriend yesterday?”

My face instinctively reddens in embarrassment. Of course Erin would know, but to bring it up like this…

“I don’t kiss and tell,” I reply, and Erin snorts.

“Well, Genevieve does. She’s out for her morning run right now, but while she was at the door, she was getting herself all worked up telling me about what happened yesterday. She practically had to sprint outside with the way she was bouncing on her feet,” Erin says. She looks back down at her laptop, typing down something.

I groan a little as I sit up, still feeling groggy, but I can’t help but smile at Erin’s comment. Sounds like Genevieve had as good of a time as I did.

“What time is it?” I say.

“Nine-oh-seven,” Erin replies, and I murmur something inarticulate, kicking off the sheets.

“Should I make breakfast?” I offer, standing up and stretching a little. The air is nice and cool…

“Maybe after you get dressed,” Erin says drily, and she raises an eyebrow.

I realise with a start that I am still naked from last night. I involuntarily blush again, and then quickly turn around so that I’m no longer facing Erin, but I know that she's already seen all there is to see. At least the morning wood wasn’t that bad…

“Unless you meant to serve a different kind of meat than I was expecting,” Erin says, and I rush into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me.

“I’ll set some of Ricardo’s clothes by the door,” Erin shouts as I stare at myself in the mirror, bare-chested and bleary-eyed. Gods, what a fucking idiot I am.

“We should have made you cook last night,” Erin says, looking at the table full of breakfast laid out before her.

I’ve made three breakfast omelettes, a stack of chocolate-chip pancakes tall enough that it might just topple, home-made hash browns sizzled with bacon on the side, a bowl of fruit topped with hand-whipped cream, and three golden glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice.

Genevieve, back from her run and changed into a chunky red sweater, voices her approval by eagerly taking a bite out of her omelette. She chews, closes her eyes, savours the taste, and then smiles at me.

“You’re cooking every meal we have from now on,” she says. “My morning oatmeal just doesn’t compare to this!”

“Your morning oatmeal also doesn’t take over an hour to make,” I reply, and then, as an afterthought: “Or at least, I hope it doesn't.”

“Don’t worry, she only burns it once every couple days,” Erin remarks, and Genevieve swats Erin.

“I like it that way,” she responds, before quickly forking another mouthful of omelette into her mouth.

“But don’t think you can get away with your new responsibility by changing the topic,” Erin says, looking at me.

“Fine, fine, I can cook. But can we at least agree to call this brunch? I don’t know if I have it in me to make lunch after this,” I say.

“I don’t know if I’ll have it in me to eat lunch after this,” Genevieve laughs.

“Fair enough,” Erin concedes. “It is almost eleven.”

Erin is a fast eater. She’s somehow already polished off her omelette, and has moved onto the hash browns, when she suddenly looks up at me.

“By the way, I think I found a solution to the Dr. Park problem this morning,” Erin says.

“Does it involve an application of Erdős–Stone?” Genevieve asks hopefully.

“Well, it’s a bit of a stretch, but there’s a natural isomorphism between the graph of doctors that…” Erin begins, and then she catches the blank look that I am giving her. She stops talking.

“Go on,” Genevieve pleads, oblivious to the source of the interruption.

I turn to look at her. I am unimpressed.

“Or… maybe just get to the point,” Genevieve says, laughing. She gives me an apologetic arm-rub. “The two of us can nerd out together once you’re gone.”

“Anyways, I was thinking last night along the lines of your suggestion, Markus, and trying to figure out whether we could fly in a doctor, but it wouldn’t be feasible. Not only would it draw too much attention, but all the staff, equipment—it would be a nightmare to handle,” Erin says. “So instead, I turned inwards and took a look around at the doctors here in the States. Now, before you object—yes, I know that most of them aren’t as good as the Korean ones, that’s why mom always went home, but I managed to find one that I think is promising. He was trained in South Korea, and after a brief but successful career there, he moved to Hollywood to chase movie-star money…”

“Dr. Kee Hyun-Min,” I say.

“You know of him?” Erins says, practically spitting out her sip of orange juice.

“There weren’t that many options,” I respond. “I was hoping you’d be able to find someone better than him, though.”

“But his skills are top-notch!” Erin protests. “Look, trade-secret that you wouldn’t have been able to get surfing the web on your phone—both the Merrygold twins are his clients.”

I’m impressed. The delectable, identical Merrygold twins were the second and third top-billing actresses in the world last year—topped only by our dear Tiffany Najbreit in the record books. Which is all well and good except…

“I didn’t mean better in terms of skill, I meant better in terms of someone I could actually get an appointment with,” I clarify. “I checked his website. It’s referral only.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ll take care of that,” Erin says.

She winks at Genevieve, serving herself another pancake, before we both realise that Genevieve is staring down at her phone, wide-eyed. She hasn’t been talking or eating for a while.

“Is everything alright?” I ask.

“Do… do you remember what we set emergency alert 308 to?” Genevieve says, frantically looking up at Erin. “I’m trying to find the dictionary, but I don’t think I have a copy on my phone…”

I look at Erin, whose lips have drawn into a flat line. She shakes her head before she speaks.

“Inspector Vidocq is in Boston.”