“Near miss,” Millie says, and makes a note.
I am standing at this woman's stove wearing yesterday's flannel with a spatula I found in a drawer behind a pasta server shaped like a mermaid. I am flipping pancakes for three children who aren't mine, in a galley that isn't mine, on a boat I tried to evict from my dock.
My father would be thrilled. He would frame this moment and hang it in the dock office.
“You’re very serious about pancakes,” Emma says.
“I’m serious about everything.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Most people flip too early. You have to wait for the bubbles to set around the edges.” I slide one onto Jenna’s plate. “Patience.”
“Is that your life philosophy?”
“My life philosophy is ‘don’t get involved in things that aren’t your business.’” I look at the table. Four people. Three of them undereighteen. All of them eating my pancakes. “I’m aware of the contradiction.”
Jenna catches Emma’s eye from across the table. She mouths something I’m not supposed to see. Emma gives her a look. Jenna gives her a look back. An entire conversation happens in three seconds without a single word, and I’m reminded that women communicate on a frequency I will never have access to.
“These are the best pancakes I’ve ever had,” Aidan announces, leaning back in his chair at an angle that should be reported to the physics department. “Better than Mom’s. Sorry, Mom.”
“I’m standing right here, Aidan.”
“I know. That’s why I said sorry. I’m being polite about it.”
“You could also be polite by not ranking my cooking against a guest’s.”
“He’s not a guest. Guests don’t show up with wet hair and no shoes. He’s a regular now.” He points his fork at me. “You’re a regular. Congratulations.”
I look at Emma. She looks at me. Her son has just issued a decree and neither of us knows how to respond to it. An eight-year-old with syrup on his chin has more clarity about this situation than either of the adults in the room.
“You’ve got syrup everywhere,” I say, handing him a napkin.
“I’m saving it for later.”
“It’s on your ear.”
He touches his ear. His hand comes back sticky. He stares at it with genuine fascination.
“Huh. I don’t remember putting that there.”
Millie closes her book. “That was seven, by the way. Aidan ate seven.” She tucks the book under her arm. “I’m going to read on the dock. It’s quieter out there.”
She slips out the door without waiting for a response.
Jenna stands up. “I’m going to Dawson’s. Piper and I are going paddleboarding.”
“Sunscreen,” Emma says.
“Already on.”
“The real sunscreen. Not the tinted moisturizer you pretend is sunscreen.”
“It has SPF 30.”
“It has SPF ‘Jenna got a sunburn last week.’”
She grabs her bag and is gone.
