"What would you do with a backup arm?" Cole asked.
"Hold more cookies."
I laughed so hard I snorted, which made Sarah giggle, which made Cole's eyes crinkle at the corners in that way that made me forget how to breathe.
The weekends were even better. We'd crowd into my tiny kitchen, a chaotic assembly line of breakfast production.
"You're burning the bacon," I pointed out one Saturday.
Cole frowned at the skillet. "It's not burning. It's crisping."
"There's smoke, Cole. I have a tutoring session in 3 hours.”
"Smoke is just... flavor escaping."
"That's not how cooking works."
"How would you know? You eat yogurt for breakfast."
"Yogurt is a legitimate breakfast food."
"Yogurt is a cry for help."
Sarah looked up from her station, where she was stirring pancake batter with aggressive enthusiasm. "I think Uncle C's bacon is on fire."
It was, in fact, on fire.
"Flavor," Cole muttered, flipping the charred strips onto a plate. "Escaping aggressively."
But somehow, despite the smoke alarm going off twice and Sarah getting batter in her hair, we'd end up at my small table with plates of mostly-edible food, laughing about nothing and everything.
It was during one of those breakfasts that it happened.
Sarah was reaching across the table for the syrup, her tongue poking out in concentration. "Mommy, can you pass the?—"
She froze. Her hand hung suspended in midair. Her eyes went wide, darting between me and Cole like she'd accidentally detonated something.
"I'm sorry, I just?—"
Her words stumbled into my consciousness.Mommy. It didn’t feel wrong, but hearing it left me frozen for a moment.
"Hey." I reached across and took her small hand. "It's okay."
"I did not want to say it weird."
"You didn't say it weird."
"It just came out." Her lower lip trembled. "Are you mad at me?"
"Sarah, look at me." I waited until her brown eyes met mine. "I'm not mad. I could never be mad about that."
"Really?"
"Really." My voice cracked slightly. "Actually, it made me really happy."
"It did?"
"It did."
