“The pancakes don’t pancake,” Caspian says solemnly.
He turns and pulls me into a kiss that tastes like coffee and him. “Good morning, sweetheart.”
My gaze drifts back to the pan. There’s an abstract blob of batter in the middle. I bite the inside of my cheek.
“Do you think I may have… mismeasured?” Caspian asks.
“I think so, yes.” I steer him toward the table. “Sit. I’ll make them.”
He sits, watching me like I’m performing magic.
“They are so perfectly circular,” he says in admiration when I put the finished pancakes on a plate.
“Pancakes tend to be.” I laugh, absurdly pleased with the silly compliment. “Do you want eggs?”
“Scrambled, please. But I can make them.”
“Madonna, Caspian,” I say, giving him a kiss. “Let me make you breakfast.”
“Do you ever let people help you?” I ask carefully when I place the eggs in front of him.
“What do you mean?” he asks, taken aback. “Of course I do.”
“How?”
He falls silent.
Tenderly, I brush his cheek, for once waiting patiently.
This question has been on my mind for a while. I know I’m dramatic, but I still notice things.
I’ve seen patterns, and I have a sinking feeling the ghosts from his childhood are worse than he lets on.
He rubs his neck.
“I’m used to handling things by myself.”
“Well, in case you haven’t noticed,” I say softly, “you’re not by yourself anymore.”
“Oh, I have noticed.”
He pulls me into his lap and kisses me.
“By the way, I’ve never had eggs that are this well scrambled.”
He’s ridiculous, and I love him. I love his determination to make me feel like I excel in everything I do. I want him to treat himself with that same kindness, but I’m starting to realize we’re a long way from that.
I kiss his cheek, then return to my seat to finish breakfast.
The stack of course books on the table draws my eye. We’ve talked about our respective majors, but I realize I haven’t asked him about his reasons.
“What made you choose restorative justice?”
He thinks for a moment.
“I think our criminal justice system is deeply flawed. Unjust, a lot of the time.”
“I couldn’t agree more,” I say, feeling a little breathless. He sounds like he’s going to build a better, softer world with his bare hands.
