Chad was conversing with the chef and glanced over when she approached. “Hey, Merissa. The cook says that eggs laid from a French hen have more pizazz. What do you think?”
“I think if you believe that line, the man should be a salesman instead of a cook,” Merissa answered then glanced at the professional chef watching them from behind the counter. “No put down intended, sir.”
“None taken. If you will allow me, I will create a perfect blend of omelet that will satisfy your French taste buds, Madam.”
“I’m in. Let’s eat Paris-style this morning,” Merissa said.
“Are you inviting me to breakfast?” Chad asked.
Merissa blushed. “Only if you want to. Don’t feel obligated to hang out with me just because our roommates are attached at the hips.”
“I think you know otherwise,” Chad said, but he did not introduce the subject of his letter.
“Well, as the song goes – three French hens are the emphasis in this buffet this morning.” Merissa noticed that every sanitary idea that hinted at hens decorated the room and the food displays.
Chad smiled as he held up his bowl of freshcut fruit. “Can I get you some while the chef prepares our feast-a-la- resistance?”
Merissa glanced to the far end of the buffet. “It’s right there. I think I can manage.”
“But where’s the gallantry in that? French men are known for flamboyant behavior, and if we are dining in Paris…”
“Okay, you win. I would love, half a bowl please, with a scoop of cottage cheese.”
“Now that ruins the whole thing.”
“That’s your opinion. Somehow I knew you wouldn’t carry the health kick to the extreme.” Merissa turned to receive the plate being handed to her.
“I’ll have one the same, Chef Breishette,” said Chad as he moved to fill her bowl with small pieces from many varieties of fruit. Grimacing, he plunked a white mass of cheese on top and passed it to Merissa. His face screwed up, and it thrust her back in time to Kyle, and the playful spirit he loved to exhibit. Chad took the plate of eggs and toast from the chef, and with a quick “thank you,” nodded toward a table by the window.
Once settled in a seat, they hesitated before diving the fork into the thick cheesy omelet. Merissa glanced up and they both burst out laughing.
“What came first the chicken or the egg?” Merissa asked. “And where do you want to start with this piece of creation?”
“I will tackle the head. Don’t want my breakfast staring at me with those two nutty eyes for the entire meal.”
“Chop off the head.” Merissa cut through the throat. “Never considered molding my omelets to suit the theme of the day. But it’s a splendid idea I shall have to try sometime. My niece will love it.”
“Suppose that’s why we are not famous Chefs,” said Chad. “My father grew up on a small farm where they raised laying hens, chickens for meat, pigs, milking cows, and horses – the whole animal fest.”
“Is farming still your family business?”
“Horses mostly. My folks like to ride along the shore and pretend they are racing with Black Beauty.”
“You grew up by the ocean and you still felt the need to cruise? It might have been cheaper to stay visiting with your family,” Merissa said.
“But then I wouldn’t have met you or eaten eggs from a French hen.”
The server that rotated their section of the room came and filled the glasses with orange juice and topped their cups with coffee.”
“Yes, coffee! My hands know how to brew the black Joe before my eyes officially open.” He took a long sip. “Tasted many brands from many countries but I’ve never had cruise coffee before. It passes my inspection.”
“Do you travel all the time with your job?” asked Merissa.
“Unfortunately way too much. But, when Skip came up with this cruise idea I couldn’t say no. Not with Christmas on board.”
“You are a fan?”
“I am. And from watching you, I gather you are too,” Chad said.
“I have no idea what possessed my friend. Amy literally dragged me here. I suppose, for her, the vacation is not all about the birthday of Jesus. She’s enjoys the craziness of the season, whereas I like the peace.”
“From what I see, I think you are a perfect balance of both,” Chad said before he mowed down on a piece of toast.
Merissa felt the squeeze in her heart. It was true – she loved the peaceful part, but for the first time since Kyle’s death she remembered, without guilt, how she’d enjoyed the silly rush of fun and nonsense that the season brought. Since boarding the ship, she’d worked to subdue the person who’d evolved this past year, and had naturally slipped back into the outgoing role of the old days. Christmas was about sharing love and giving. She had never used her faith as a crutch, and Jesus would not want her to simply endure his season. Merissa pushed her plate away, confused and tired of trying to figure it all out.
“I believe a lounger awaits me on the deck,” Merissa said. “Thank you for your company this morning.”
Merissa stood and smiled absently at his easy-going goodbye. She wanted to be alone, and yet, once again felt the bitter loneliness creep over the soul she’d closed to life. On the sundeck, Merissa was met by an enthusiastic, Amy, lying mid-section across from the pool, flailing her arms to beckon her over. So much for alone. It was probably better this way. The morning sun felt good and warmed her slightly dampened spirit.
“I thought you would eat the whole buffet. I hate breakfast,” Amy reported as soon as Merissa got within earshot.
“What? You didn’t try the eggs from the French hens?” Merissa asked while
