"Is that it?" Mom asks.
"What do you mean?"
"You used to stack them in piles of at least four with a generous serving of butter and maple syrup."
I look down at my plate of dry pancakes and back at her. She looks...disappointed?
"No, never mind," she says. "You're a grown man now. You've outgrown your childhood habits, right? I'm sure people in Paris are all sophisticated and proper, and you're used to—"
"Mom."
She places her hand on top of mine and squeezes it. "I'm really happy you're home, Judson."
I nod and smile because I don't have the guts to say anything else.
Every day since I arrived I've waited for the moment either of my parents asks how long I'm staying, what am I really doing here, and the absolute worst, what happened?
Dad rushes into the kitchen with the energy of a man thirty years younger and kisses my mom while grabbing her ass.
I look away, trying my best to keep my pancakes inside my stomach. I'd forgotten how in love and open about it my parents still are.
That's how it is, right? When you find the person you're meant to be with for the rest of your life.
I drink the last of my coffee, wondering how the list of topics I don't want to think about keeps getting longer and longer in my head.
"Morning, Judson." He squeezes my shoulder before filling his to-go coffee cup and leaving again.
"I'm going to wake up your brother. If you hear screaming, it's all perfectly normal. No need to call the neighbors or police," Mom says as she leaves me to check on my beautifully risen dough.
True enough, there are knocks on doors, grunts, and doors opening and shutting before the sound of the longest shower in the history of showers. I definitely do not miss being a teenager.
By the time Luke comes down, my bread is out of the oven and cooling on the countertop. The kitchen smells just like a home should in the morning.
My stupid brain brings back the last good memory I have with Pierre. Him walking into the kitchen of our Paris apartment, wearing nothing but a pair of black boxer shorts. The elastic band low on his hips perfectly showcasing his toned abs, his morning wood at half-mast but ready to go at a moment's notice, as it always was.
The memory is swiftly followed by a less pleasant one. I snap out of it quickly, but my mom's worried expression as she looks at me tells me I've been caught.
"Why don't you go out for a walk, sweetheart? Get some fresh air, maybe see your friends. Have you caught up with—?"
"No." I interrupt sharply and then feel like a dick for it. "Sorry, Mom. I didn't mean…I’m just not up for seeing anyone."
She leans against the kitchen sink and crosses her arms. There it is, her signature move.
"Let's put it this way, you either get your butt outside and work that mopey look off your face, or you can kiss goodbye all of your favorite dinners. God knows Luke has his own ideas on what I should feed you all."
"Damn right. Since you got here, we've been eating like it's Sunday every day. I'm not complaining, but Coach Allen will bench me if I can't jump hoops," he says, but it doesn't stop him from stuffing his face with at least a quarter of the bread loaf. Where the fuck does he put all his food?
"Fine, I'll go outside," I say, resigned to my sentence of death by frostbite. At least if I'm dead and in heaven, I can have all of my favorite mom-made food without needing to worry about the carb-to-protein ratio.
The first thing I do when I get to my room is check my phone. No messages or missed calls from Pierre.
Paris is six hours ahead, and I left a week ago. Even considering how much time he spends at the restaurant, I don't believe for one moment he hasn't had the time to contact our lawyer.
I send him a reminder email and put the phone down again to find something warm to wear.
One benefit of all the weight I lost after I left home is that I don't have to search too deep into my old closet to find a Vermont winter-proof coat that fits me.
I still feel like I'm knocked sideways as soon as I step outside. I'm definitely not acclimatized to Vermont winters anymore. I wrap my scarf tighter around my face and steel myself before I walk down the porch steps and onto the fresh snow, following the literal footprints my dad and Luke left behind earlier.
