Patrick the Pirate

My twin brother Patrick invited me to his beach house to meet the THE ONE. The one he’s going to marry. I was wary. Patrick has had his share of awful girlfriends. Let me describe Patrick. He is portly, balding and has a front tooth missing. He has a warm and ebullient personality and can make me laugh. Always. I arrive to his beach house and was greeted on the front stairs by a beautiful young woman who embraced me warmly and said, “Hi, I’m Mariah .” She opened both arms and gave me a warm hug. We sat on the front porch where she had two iced teas awaiting us. The air was salty with a soft breeze. The sun on my face felt wonderful. “Where’s Patty?” I ask as he’s usually the host and shows company in. “He’s napping. He’s been preparing dinner for us and needed a rest, he was nipping wine and he got sleepy”. Typical pirate behavior. So, Mariyah described how she met Patrick at her beauty salon. He came in for a haircut in spite of having very little hair on his head! He charmed Mariyah. He saw her going in to her shop and figured he’d find a way to meet her. We chatted a while and eventually fell silent as we watched the sun dip into the water. We walked into the house and into the kitchen and there was Patrick, stirring the biggest pot of white sausage gravy I’ve ever seen and grinning maniacally at me. “ Hello sister!He exclaims, “how are ya!?” I always imagine him with a peg leg and a parrot riding his shoulder. “Are we having breakfast for dinner?” A childhood favorite of ours. Mariyah looked up and I saw her green eyes glitter with gold specks around the iris. My brother has been bewitched, I thought to myself. The auburn hair to her shoulders. The smoothest creamy skin I’ve ever seen. Bewitched. Patty finally replies, “ why, yes! How did you guess? Oh! The gravy.” Our daddy made the same gravy for Sunday breakfast. Patrick resembles him in so many ways that it makes me ache for our daddy. Southern breakfasts were his specialty. We exchanged pleasantries while Patty stirred and sampled his gravy. He put the biscuits he had made into the oven. “It looks really good, Patty. What wine pairs well with sausage gravy?” I query. He laughs a huge belly laugh and exclaims, “whatever wine you like, go pick a bottle out.” Motioning to a wine rack. Mariya begins setting the large table that faces a picture window that looks out on a rising tide as the sun slowly and purposefully slips into the expansive blue ocean. The wine bottle was empty. The biscuits and gravy eaten and we sat around Patrick’s table and talked and laughed and I began to notice a trend. Mariyah tended to interrupt Patrick and interject herself into every story, sentence and utterance he made. It bothered me but I dismissed it to her being nervous. Who hasn’t felt that way when meeting new people? Especially the closest relative to the one you love. It got late and I excused myself to the room I usually sleep in when I visit the beach house we called “Sweet Dreams”. The next morning I was awakened by voices raised in anger. It was Patty and Mariyah in a heated argument. I dressed quickly and gathered my belongings and got out of there and to my car.