She sniffles and looks at me suspiciously.
“Do you know how to make pancakes, even?” she asks, and I’m almost insulted.
“Do I know how to make pancakes?! Pfft. Your Gram taught me how to make pancakes a million years ago!” I say proudly.
“I told Dad that’s how old you are, but he said not to say it around you.”
“Ouch.”
“He said you’d say that,” she says, walking off towards the kitchen in her footie pajamas.
To add insult to injury, my traitorous cat comes bouncing down the stairs to follow right at her heels.
I quickly shoot off a text while Lennon is distracted.
Hey Momma Mary, quick question. What’s your pancake recipe again?
You must be hosting the pancake party for me! You’re gonna need some flour . . .
BECKETT
Clover had every right to lose her shit on me. When I asked about leaving Lennon with her, it came out much douchier than I intended it to. She always has a way of getting me riled up; her anger lights mine, and I know that’s toxic.
There was a time when it wasn’t like that. I shake my head, droplets flying from my hair. Thunder rumbles in the distance and the wind picks up again. It’s not the time to think about that. It will never be time to think about that. Last night when she was crying, it about broke my heart. All I could see was her at nineteen, crying in my driveway as I pushed her away. I was so cruel. I had my reasons, none of which are reasonable. Now that I look back, I realize I was a fucking idiot.
She confessed she was in love with me, and instead of pulling her into my arms and telling her she was the one who lit up my life, I forced myself to laugh at her. I got about five miles down the road before I pulled over and got sick on the side of the road, then went to a buddy’s and drank until I couldn’t see straight. That’s the night I decided I would never hold Clover back.
I run through the chores that absolutely need to be finished and go around to all of the pens and barns, making sureeverything is secure. Locking latches, closing gates, and making sure everyone is dry, fed, and watered. I remember Mom saying their road was flooded, so I drive up to my gate to check out what the creek looks like. I’m obviously not going to let Clover take a rideshare in this weather; I don’t trust anyone enough to drive her safely.
The creek isn’t flowing as calmly as it usually does. It’s raging. It’s been replaced with a quick, strong current of water . . . so strong that it’s completely wiped out my bridge.
No one’s getting in or out.
For fuck’s sake. Telling her is going to go so well.
* * *
When I get backto the house and open the door, I’m met with the sound of Lennon squeal-giggling. Clover is making monster noises, and I hear my mom’s voice in the background.Did she call my mom?
The smell of pancakes slams into my nose and my stomach grumbles loudly, reminding me that I didn’t eat this morning. I’m running on caffeine and cortisol.
“Looks like you girls did it! Great job. I hope this rain stops so I can be at the next pancake party!” My mom is saying over a video call as I round the corner.
The girls wave at her and say they love her, and Clover mouths “thank you” as they hang up. Both of them are covered in flour. So is the counter, the utensil drawer, there’s an egg yolk on the floor and an almost empty carton of milk balancing dangerously close to the edge of the island. My body tenses up immediately at the mess. I take measured breaths.
I know that it’s ironic that someone who deals with literal barnyard animals and their messes gets anxiety when his house is even a little bit messy, but I do.
Lennon’s eyes light up when she sees me. She runs at me full speed, clinging to my legs.
“Daddy!”
The look in Clover’s eyes is the exact opposite of Lennon’s. She is still pissed from earlier, and she has every right to be. I need to find time to apologize to her.
“We still had a pancake party with Gram!” She says, pulling on my hand to take me to the kitchen.
“You did, did ya?”
She nods and bounces on her toes, holding her arm out to present their work to me.
