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I got my own phone out of my sweatpants pocket and sent my parents a text in our family group chat.
Jonas: Just wanted you to know how thankful I am for you, Mom and Dad. You were the best parents a kid could have. Still are. Love you both.
I set my phone down, but the notification quickly chimed.
Dad: Well now your mother’s crying.
Mom: He’s lying. Your dad’s tearing up over here.
Tess: Jonas is a suck-up. As usual.
Tess: But also, he’s right. You’re the best. Love you both so much.
In a separate, private text, Mom sent me a message.
Mom: Hey, is Mara doing okay? She looked so shaken up after her dad showed up.
Jonas: She’s okay, I think. She’s strong.
Mom: Will you check on her today?
Jonas: Um...
Mom: You dirty dog.
Jonas: It’s not like that.
Mom: Sure it’s not. Be sure to make Dad’s famous pancakes for her.
Jonas: Already on it.
I smiled at my phone before setting it back down and getting to the pancakes. No way was Mara waking up to the smell of burned pancakes.
They were nearly finished when I heard the sound of her shuffling footsteps over the floor. She was walking toward me, rubbing her eyes in the most adorable sleeping way. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” I replied, holding up a pancake on my spatula. “I hope you like pancakes.”
“Love them.” Her eyes widened at the coffee pot. “Coffee!”
I set the pancake down and reached for a mug from the cabinet. “Enjoy,” I said, pouring her a cup.
Her smile made me feel way better than I should have. I focused on the cooking food as she doctored her coffee with sugar and milk from the fridge. Then she leaned back against the granite countertop, holding the cup with both hands and taking a careful first sip.
It was like she belonged here, the way she so naturally fit in my space.
“Can I help?” she asked.
“Not at all. Why don’t you sit at the table? I’ll bring you a plate.”
She rewarded me with another one of those smiles. “I feel like a queen.”
“Youarefamous,” I retorted, reaching for a plate from the cabinet. I set it on the counter, then pulled the bacon from the oven.
“I must be famous to get bacon and pancakes for breakfast,” she replied, pulling a chair back across the stone floor.
I used a few paper towels to get the grease off her strips and added them to her plate, along with pancakes and a cube of butter sliced off the stick. My parents never used margarine, so it sort of stuck.
When I brought the plate to the table with a bottle of Canadian maple syrup, Mara said, “This looks amazing, Jonas. You didn’t have to do all this for me.”