"I can't remember what happened that night. I'm not talking slippery details or fuzzy-edged visions; I mean a complete and utter blackout. Like I wasn't even there. Except... I know I was."
Since the death of her boyfriend six months ago, Morgan Cai...
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Sunny Side Up is in a kind of sketchy part of town, where I never would have ventured otherwise, and its glowing neon sign is the only spot of brightness on a street that's almost entirely dark. Coming here alone would creep me out, but thankfully I don't have to.
Although Fazia parks as close to the entrance as possible, the rain still thunders on the roof of the beat-up Nissan, with no sign of letting up soon. It's inevitable we're going to get drenched no matter how hasty our exit. After a second to brace ourselves, we throw open the car door and head into the onslaught. Fazia retrieves the wheelchair from the trunk, while Elliot and I move to help Adam out of the backseat in record timing. Then, together, we tear across what's left of the parking lot, barreling toward the shelter of the entrance canopy.
Inside, the place is almost deserted, apart from one heavily bearded guy at the bar who has his head buried in a newspaper and one hand curled around a mug of bottomless coffee. The décor is whacky and mismatched—an abundance of red leather and framed vinyl—and the tables are packed too closely together, but it's warm and dry and smells like syrup. In my eyes, that's three big ticks.
We take a table at the back instead of a booth because it's easier for Adam to maneuver. The menus are in a holder on the table; Elliot passes them out, and with one glance, I'm faced with the biggest choice of pancake toppings I've ever seen.
"This has to be a joke."
Elliot looks at me quizzically. "What?"
"There has to be a hundred different toppings on here," I point out. "What person could need this many options for pancakes? I mean, they're pancakes. They're inherently good, whatever you put on them."
"You're the first person I've ever heard complain about having too much choice," Fazia says amusedly.
"I'm not complaining," I say. "I'm just... overwhelmed."
Adam peers over his menu at me. "I try something different every time we're here, so I like to think I'm pretty well versed. You want a recommendation, I'm the right person to ask. What are you thinking? Sweet? Savory? Crispy bacon? As much chocolate as possible? Or maybe all of the above..."
"Uh..." I let my eyes skim over the options, hoping something will jump out at me. But it's not easy when pretty much everything does. "Maybe something with Nutella?"
He nods wisely. "Then you want the Triple Hazelnut Stack."
"Where's that?"
He reaches over to stab a finger at my menu. Underneath is what I'm looking for: the item of that name, complete with a full three-line description of the chocolate, hazelnut and Nutella concoction that has my mouth watering just reading it, plus a photo that seals the deal. At this time of night, it'll be one insane sugar rush—but it looks and sounds so delicious I'd happily trade in the rest of tonight's sleep for a well-stacked plate.
