Figuring Out Foster

Chapter 11

I awoke to the feeling the sun on my face from my lack of any blinds. Sighing, I shielded my eyes from the light and glanced around my boy vacant bedroom.

Where did Michael and Foster go?

There were no longer blankets and pillows on the floor, I observed while getting out of bed. They must have put the blankets back...well, actually Michael probably did that.

I stepped from my room, immediately hearing and smelling breakfast being cooked in the kitchen. My heart jumped in my chest, my dad was back and he was making me breakfast like he always does.

Running down the stairs, I turned into the kitchen and found— Foster, standing in fresh clothes holding a frying pan. For a moment, he stared at me wide-eyed before quickly recovering with a smile, "Shit, Maggot you scared the hell out of me, and while I'm holding this thing. I keeping telling you you're a dangerous girl." He lifted the frying pan for good measure, and then turned back to the stove.

My heart dropped, "I thought you were my dad." I leaned against the kitchen table, trying to take a deep breath to calm my beating heart, and probably because I was completely out of shape. All that running did a number on me.

"I could see that." Foster commented before looking at me, "...he'll be back, Maggie."

"How could you know that?" I said slightly defeated because he has been out somewhere all night. And every time Foster would say that, I trusted him but it was hard to believe.

"He didn't leave you. He just needed some time to cool off. I know a lot about that." He said knowingly still facing the stove.

"You don't know a lot about him though. My dad's not a strong person, when my mom—you know, he took it badly." I sighed walking up to Foster, and I noticed that he was cooking a pancake in the frying pan.

"How did you take it?" Foster asked as he flipped the pancake over, before he looked down at me.

"Not as bad." Is all I say turning away from Foster's watchful gaze, "Um, where's Michael?" He wasn't anywhere in the kitchen as I could see when I first entered.

"He's getting ready for school. I'm almost finished making this, want some...?" Foster stepped back and I could see a plate full of pancakes already made on the kitchen counter by him. Without another word, I reached for the syrup in the cupboard next to the refrigerator, before grabbing another plate in the cupboard next to it.

"They smell good." I let him know playfully while I took some already-cooked pancakes off the plate, "I didn't think you could cook." I looked at up at him smiling, but my smile didn't seem to reach him as he had a sour look on in face.

He pushed the pancake around the pan with a spatula. I quickly hide my smile, walking around him to pull out two forks from the drawer on his left.

"I guess you could say I learned some things in foster care. One of those things just happened to be making my own food." He said meaningfully, before turning off the heat and placing the last pancake on the plate left on the counter.

"That's right! You were adopted when you were eleven. So you were in a foster home before?" I sat down at the kitchen table, and looked up at him as he paused mid-walk looking down at me with an unreadable expression. After a moment, he continued to the table.

"More than one," he mumbled finally sitting down across from me, "...sometimes I forget that you read my file."

"How was that?" I tried to ask casually, but it was obvious I was more interested in his back story than I wanted to sound. Although, last night Foster told me his dad said his life before adoption caused him to be in 'survival mode'.