Loved & Loyal | 1

xiii

We woke up the next morning to knocking on my door.

"WHAT?!" I yelled. I wasn't a great morning person unless I had something planned with Abby.

"Is everyone clothed?" I heard Dad's voice from the other side of the door, then he chuckled and opened the door.

I sat up in bed and looked down at Abby, still sleeping peacefully. God, that girl could sleep through anything sometimes. I put my finger up to my mouth, motioning that Abby was still asleep. I got up out of bed, swinging my legs over the side. I stood up, grabbed a shirt off the floor, and followed Dad downstairs to the kitchen.

He grabbed a large bowl and the flour as I realized what he was doing. I grabbed the rest of the ingredients and we started making pancakes. It was our thing. This is one of the main things we bonded over. Baking pancakes. Dad had an affinity for this and had taught me everything I know. When I was little, he was out of a job, so every morning he would make me pancake art. Sometimes it was an animal, or an apple, a smiley face, or a truck. He taught me how to flip them and which recipe was the best. We never made buttermilk pancakes, though, because Mom didn't like them. That was fine with us. These were better.

Making pancakes was when Dad and I had some of our biggest and most important talks. Most kids got sat down, handed a box of condoms and told all about the birds and the bees. Not me. My dad had brought me to the kitchen and started out with, "Son, get the flour, would you?"

By the content look on Dad's face, I wasn't sure what this was gunna be about. Either catching up, a talk, or just enjoying the companionship. It was hard to tell with him sometimes.

"So, son, how are you and Abby doing?"

"We're all right. Close as ever," I said, adding the salt.

"Anything you want to talk about?" He asked.

"She thinks that John and Nikki might be getting a divorce. They've been fighting lately," I confessed to my father quietly.

He looked at me warily. "And what do you think?"

I cracked an egg into the bowl. "I think they're stressed and taking it out on each other. I also think that Abby is overreacting and they'll be fine. I just hate seeing her so upset, so for her sake I'm praying she's wrong and I'm right." I looked to Dad and saw him nod, approving of my answer.

"I need to have a chat with John. We haven't talked as frequently as we have before. I only see him once a day now," Dad said with a frown.

I scoffed. "Oh, yes Dad. That's barely any time at all."

I earned a smile at that and he added the oil to the batter. Now it was time for mixing. This was my favorite part because he did it so fast. It was fascinating.

He grabbed the fork and started to beat it, his bicep flexing.

"Anything else, Benjamin?" Dad was the only who could call me by my full name and it won't make me feel like I'm in trouble. I debated on whether to tell him about my feelings for Abby.

"I think - ... Dad, I think I might like her more than a friend," I said hesitantly and my voice low.

I saw Dad grin out of the corner of my eye and turned to face him more directly.

"Did you know?" I asked him, incredulous.

"I see the same look in your eyes when you look at her as I see in my own when I'm with your mother." I grinned at that thought because I loved the way my parents looked at each other.

You could tell that they were completely in love. My father looked at my mother like she was the only one he saw, like she was his everything and he would do anything for her at the drop of a hat. And she looked at him like she didn't want anyone else to be with her, like he was her best friend and she wanted to be wherever he was. The looks never faded. I remembered seeing them together when I was little and it looked the exact same as it does now.