Read Online Love in the Time of Cynicism by Jani Berghuis - Free Book Online

now.”
    Rhett laughs at my pain. “Good idea. It’s just breakfast. Nothing to worry about.”
    And then we walk into the chaos. It’s the opposite of where I expected Rhett to live, not that I’ve seen his room or anything. The walls are various shades of freshly-painted citrus from lemony yellow to grapefruit pink but most are colored with marker or crayon drawings and the carpet is white and splashed with stains. My mother would have a heart attack if she saw the state of this place. But to me, it’s perfect. With the assortment of magazines and CD stacks and clutter and unpacked boxes along with the shouting of children, the place feels alive in a way I haven’t felt before.
    We’re in the bright kitchen and immediately there’re two tiny boys racing around my legs chanting who are you are you Rhett’s girlfriend why is your hair blue are you an alien?
    Rhett pulls them away from me and taps them on the head successively. “This is Evan-” the smaller of the two with a goofy grin and too many freckles for his own good who also happens to look like a smaller version of Rhett “- and Ethan-” who’s got curly blond hair and pale skin like Trent did when he was a kid. “The twins.”
    Silently, I run through the list of races I think this family could belong to. Filipino and…Irish? German? Austro-Scandinavian? I can’t tell but I’m itching to know more about Rhett’s family.
    Footsteps pad over the hardwood over the kitchen and who must be the Tressler parents emerge. They’re not quite what I was expecting. Both are tall and lanky but not as much as Rhett, who must be around six two and is currently watching me intently. His mom is tall – maybe even my height – and has more curves than I do, with big blond curls and light blue eyes and freckles. I figured his mom would be petite and Asian and I’m shocked by how classic Southern belle she is, like a middle-aged Miss America. Her husband’s only a few inches taller, with Rhett’s caramel skin and eyes, and he rocks a stubbly black beard over his round face.
    Mr. Tressler walks toward us and scoops up one of the boys in each arm. They cling to him and laugh as he plants kisses on their heads. Mrs. Tressler comes over to me and engulfs me in a huge hug while talking in a thick Southern accent.
    “You must be Cordelia. Rhett’s told us so much about you.” She cuts a well-meaning glance with terribly suggestive eyebrows to her eldest son. “Not nearly enough, of course.”
    “Susie, don’t smother the poor girl,” Mr. Tressler cuts in and turns to me, still toting both boys. “It’s great to meet you. You can call me Joel and her Susie.”
    “Serious, dad? You want my future girlfriend to call my parents by their first names?” Rhett rolls his eyes sarcastically and removes the latching twins from their father’s arms and sends them off to play.
    He replies, “Most definitely,” precisely the moment I ask, “Future girlfriend?”
    “Don’t roll your eyes at your father, kiddo,” His mom – Susie, I guess – reprimands Rhett.
    He shrugs. “I didn’t roll my eyes, mom, I just needed to take a brief inspection of the ceiling.”
    Suddenly there’s screaming from down the hall, high pitched and traumatized like a six year old girl’s just found her dead parents on the bathroom floor. Morbid, sorry.
    Susie sighs, pulling out several pans from cabinets and setting them on the stove. The countertops ring the room, interrupted by the fridge, oven, and dishwasher with a large dark oak table. Mr. Tressler joins her in cutting up fruits and they talk quietly to one another. “Take care of that for me, dear?”
    Rhett nods without a second thought. “Join me?”
    “How did you know my favorite pass time is handling pre-teen crises?” I joke as he leads me down a hallway and into a pale purple bathroom where his sister stands with a look of pure terror plastered on her face. There’s a wall to wall mirror with a loaded counter under