Nathan Kingston has been forgotten by the world. A dad that fucked off when he was young and a mother gone days at a time with work he feels alone. Especially since he goes to the most elite private school in the city on scholarship. He's falling do...
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Nathan Kingston
By some February miracle as Ivy called it the power came back on the second we walked into the kitchen after both of us cleaned ourselves up. When she saw the light's power back on she squealed at a frequency I thought only dogs could hear and started bouncing on her heels while clapping happily, a face-breaking smile on her face.
"Why are you jumping up and down like a maniac?" I question, raising an eyebrow.
She stops bouncing when I question, instead rubbing her hands together like a cartoon evil scientist, "well...since the powers back on..." She doesn't finish her sentence, instead deciding to flurry around the kitchen, grabbing a bunch of things and setting them on the kitchen island, leaving me confused in her wake.
She makes one more trip into the fridge and I stop her, placing both of my hands on her shoulder while she grins at me and holds the syrup bottle in a death grip, "Ivy, what are you doing?"
I can feel both of our skin burning where we're connected, shivers being sent up my spine, and flames rising on her cheeks.
"I'm teaching you how to make pancakes, silly." Her voice slightly out of breath like she just ran a mile.
"Pancakes from a box," I point to the Aunt Jemima mix that's sitting among the other things on the island, "are pretty self-explanatory."
"The right way to make pancakes, duh. We in the Matthews family have two different kinds of pancakes," she manages to wiggle out of my grip, placing the syrup on the island and turning to face me again, "we have normal breakfast pancakes that we have almost every day and we have..." She stays silent for a second to build anticipation, "the Matthews Perfect Pancakes."
"What's the difference?"
Damn, this family takes their breakfast foods seriously.
"I'm so glad you asked." She punctuates her sentence with a tap on the tip of my nose before she goes on explaining, "basically, I mean regular pancakes can be any kind of pancakes really, but Matthews Perfect Pancakes are very special. It was basically created by my dad and my aunt Gracie about a billion years ago. it's where you make your pancake batter, the consistency has to be perfect before you pour it onto the griddle, then when it's on the griddle you make a smile out of chocolate chips," she holds the opened baggie of chocolate chips in the air, shaking it for emphasis, "and you have to pile a bunch of blueberries to make the eyes, and they have to be symmetrical or else the pancake is basically ruined."
"Why aren't the eyes just chocolate chips as well?"
"It's kinda a long story, not really but," she starts rambling, her excitement for telling stories shining through, "my aunt Gracie would always call these Auggie cakes because they were supposed to look like my dad with the Auggie eyes. Even though now technically they could be Auggie eyes, Ivy eyes, or Gracie eyes since we all have blue eyes we just keep to tradition."
