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“Yep, I sure did. We can’t enjoy a day of shopping and movies if we don’t start with a good breakfast,” Jake responds.
Apparently, a good breakfast means enough to feed an army.
I’ve uncovered two containers of bacon–whoops, make that three. There are also two containers of sausage, one of pork tenderloin, a huge bowl of gravy, two containers of biscuits, and a bag full of butter, jelly, salt, and pepper. I move to the last four containers, and there are scrambled eggs in one, fried in a second, and the last two are nothing but pancakes. I watch as my son scans it all. He looks worried until he sees the pancakes then he claps his little hands together.
“Alright!” he says with glee that only a seven-year-old can manage.
“Did you wash your hands?” I ask him before he starts reaching for the food.
“Awe, Mom.”
“Hey, I need to wash my hands, too,” Jake interjects.
“I’ll show you where,” Lennon proclaims, beaming. It shouldn’t be painful to see my son happy, but…God, it is.
“You go with Jake and show him where to wash up then, and I’ll help your grandmother so she can join us for breakfast,” I tell Lennon, walking around the counter.
“Do you need my help?” Jake asks, surprising me.
I shake my head no. “I got it.”
Jake nods. He looks like he’s dying to say something else, but before he can, Lennon grabs his hand.
“Let’s go!”
I turn my attention to the living room.
“Everything okay?” she asks, concern laced in those two words so thick that it makes me smile.
“Peachy,” I half laugh, making her shake her head.
“I can see that,” she mutters, patting my hand.
We get her settled with the blue throw she likes to keep over her legs. She catches a chill easily lately because she’s on so many blood thinners. She uses her power wheelchair to follow me into the kitchen just as Jake and Lennon come back in.
“Hello, Miss Hazel.”
“Jake. It’s good to see you again,” Mom murmurs as I get down plates and utensils for everyone. “It’s been too long.”
“It has,” he admits, “and I’m sorry about that,” Jake agrees. I find myself fighting the urge to roll my eyes.
I busy myself getting down cups. Jake surprises me–yet again–by getting the milk and juice from the fridge.
“Coffee?” I ask.
“Black,” he replies with a nod. I don’t tell him that I already know that. He might have forgotten everything about me over the years, but I’ll never forget anything about Jake—even if I wish I could.
“Let’s eat,” I puff out once everyone has plates and drinks. My stomach is churning so much that food is the last thing I want, but if we eat now, then we can get this day started…and be over quicker.
“Mom, I can’t.”
“What’s wrong?” Jake asks, worried.
“There’s no whipped cream,” Lennon whines, sounding so disappointed that I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning.
“Shi–” Mom swats Jake’s hand to keep him from cursing. He grimaces. “Sorry, Miss Hazel.”
“Take your hat off while we eat,” she instructs, and his hand goes up and he immediately takes his hat off and places it on the counter beside him.
