But whatever it is, it fades fast.
“E.T. the alien, wet or dry,” he repeats. “He’s kind of…” Tink cocks his head. “I think he sort of feels like a frog, you know, like soft, and sorta, I don’t know. Velvety.”
“Okay, sure,” Kit says. “But that means on a scale of wet and dry…”
Tink bites his lip. “Wet,” he says. “Definitely wet, if those are the two choices.”
“Yes!” I say, pumping my fist and rising up from the couch to offer Tink a high five, which I realize is also wet from my hand mask. “Thank you for backing me up.”
“You guys are idiots,” Kit mumbles into his apple.
“Are not,” Tink and I say at the same time.
Which makes me smile, even with the mask on.
And makes Tink smile, too. A full one this time.
And you know…
“You…got another one of those masks?” Tink asks, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “They do look, uh, refreshing.”
Wendy nods. “Um, absolutely I do.”
And Tink’s got a nice smile, I think. He should really do it more.
I guessI kind of always wanted a little sister. I mean, I know I already have a little brother. Technically, Kit’s younger by a couple minutes, I think. But, I mean like a real little sister, like a kid sister. Which is exactly what Wendy is like.
“What’s next?” I give the bowl of batter another stir with the fork, which is what I’m using since I can’t find a whisk.
Wendy looks at the box. “The eggs,” she says. “Two of them.”
“Eggs,” I repeat, nodding. “Uh, can you see if we have eggs in the fridge?”
Wendy sighs, but runs across the kitchen to the fridge.
“We could have gotten pancakes from McDonald’s by now,” she says, from behind the door. “That’s what my brothers always do.”
“Yeah, well, homemade pancakes are better for you,” I call back. No idea if that’s true, but whatever.
Wendy sighs and closes the fridge, a carton of eggs in her hands. “There’s only one,” she declares.
“Oh.” I lower my fork. “So we’ll use one, I guess. It can’t make that much of a difference.”
Wendy frowns. “Yes it can. It’s literally half as much.”
“Listen, do you want pancakes or not?”
“Does someone have the—oh.” Tink stops at the kitchen door. “Sorry. I thought I smelled something burning, so?—”
“I’m on it,” I say, looking back at the stove. “I’m just?—”
The pan I put on there to preheat is smoking.
“Shit. I mean, shoot.” I rush over and turn off the burner as Wendy sets the one-egg carton on the island. “Um, it’s fine.”
Tink tips his head. “Is it?”
“Okay, who wants to go to the mailbox for me?” Now it’s Pan, walking in barefoot and shirtless. “Because I’d pay money to not have to go outside.”
