“Shit,” I exclaim, pulling off the burnt pancake, and tossing it in the trash. I forgot that this burner gets a hotspot and missed watching it. “We won’t eat that one.”
Angie laughs and helps herself to jumping up, sitting on the counter opposite the stove. “Have you always wanted to stay in Philly?”
“Yes and no,” I say and take off the newly finished pancake and start the next. “Part of the reason I went to school in Tennessee was to get away. But coming back home—I think I just needed to move out of my parents house andget away from my brothers for a while to appreciate the city better.”
“That’s right. I’ve always wondered if it was weird having siblings much younger?”
Now that I have an eye on the stove, cooking goes faster and I plate the next pancake—continuing like a conveyor belt as we talk. “Yes,” I say after mulling over my response. “Malcolm is your age and then Ford and Evan are much younger. In fact, Ford is still in high school and won’t graduate for a few more years.”
“That’s a big gap.”
“Yeah,” I say and hold out a plate for her. “It’ll definitely be odd going to a high school graduation while in my thirties and not having a kid of my own.”
The cabinet bangs behind me and I see Angie looking toward me with wide eyes.
“Oh no. This isn’t me saying I want them now. Or maybe ever,” I stammer and move my plate over to hers along with the turkey bacon, hesitating to ask my next questions. “D-do you? Want kids that is?”
“Um, no? I mean, I haven’t been around a lot of them, but I like kids. I think it would depend on where I’m at in my life to consider them. But right now, I’m way too young.”
“No. Yeah. Of course,” I spit out.
“Do you want kids? I mean you’re at the age where couples are having their second. Or even their third kid.”
I nod toward the dining room for us to eat and we head that way. I head back out to grab us some water and take a seat next to Angie. “Carter and I were just talking about how we’re at that age.”
“You make it sound like you’re retired,” Angie jokes.
I snort and shovel a forkful into my mouth and chew thoughtfully. “Feels like I’m close. But do I want kids?Honestly, I’ve never—no. I try to picture my future with kids running around, but I can never see it.”
“What can you see?” Angie asks and I watch as she sticks a forkful of pancakes into her mouth and smiles when she catches me gawking. Seeing her not afraid to eat around me, like we’re way past the modest stage, is comforting.
I finish off my breakfast and push my plate away. “Still working on video games. I’m not sure if I’d branch out and leave North Autumn Productions, because I love my job. But I don’t want to get in the position where I find myself stuck.”
“I know what you mean.” Angie says and the sliding of her empty plate follows her statement.
“You too?”
She nods and leans back against the chair. “I was so sure of what I wanted to do when I was in high school and looking at colleges. I teetered between wanting to be a teacher—” we smile at each other, “—and wanting to be like Hannah by opening my own TapHouse.”
“But then…?” I ask, afraid of the answer.
Angie sighs, and I see her pick at her cuticles before answering. “But then, Liam died. And everything I thought I wanted no longer mattered.”
I cock my head to the side and regard her. “Your parents care about you, Angie.”
“Not like they did with Liam. He was the golden boy. The child that my dad could brag about at the office and put all his future dreams on. He envisioned everything for Liam’s future before it was even a done deal.”
Anger I feel like no other courses through my body. My parents bragged about all of us in equal measure. Sure, some of our accomplishments outshined the others, but even then, they never showed preferential treatment. I have always wondered what it would be like to only have anothersibling, not four. But then I listen to what Angie says about how she was treated and it makes me glad that my parents knew not to pit the five of us against each other.
“I’ll brag about you,” I tell her and feel her blue eyes on me.
“Why would you do that?”
I shrug and trace an eight on the table before meeting her eyes. “Everybody needs somebody to brag about them.”
“And I’m your somebody?” she asks and places her elbow on the table, resting the side of her head on her closed fist. She looks at me like she’s discovered Big Foot. Not someone who’s sincere about her.
“Yeah, Angie. You’re my somebody.”
