Page 243 of What We Bury

Amy chokes on her coffee. “Milo!”

“What?”

“You can’t justsaythat at seven in the morning!”

“It’s nearly seven thirty. And I can. I have. I will continue to. Eat your tit-cake.”

She eats her tit-cake. She is also, I notice, fighting a smile.

Knox appears in the doorway while she’s eating. His eyes scan the kitchen, perimeter first, exits second, threats third,what the fuck is on the counterfourth.

He stops on the pancakes.

“Milo.”

“Morning, big guy.”

“Why are there cock pancakes?”

“Cocks and tits, Knox. Inclusivity. Equal representation.”

He looks at me for a long moment. Then he walks to the coffee, pours himself a cup, takes a sip, makes the small involuntary sound he makes when something pleases him, and sits down at the table.

“I’m not eating one,” he says.

“You are.” I slide a plate in front of him. “You will eat the largest one. It’s been allocated to you specifically. It would be discourteous to refuse after I spent so long getting the size and girth right.”

He looks at the plate. The pan-cock representing him is, in fairness,substantial.It has heft to it. And it’s a little too long to fully fit on the plate. Perfect for a growing boy to choke down.

“Fine,” he grunts, reaching for the syrup.

“That’s the spirit!”

Amy is watching this exchange like she’s at a tennis match. He gives her the small chin-lift. “Amy.”

“Hi, Knox.”

“You sleep here?”

“No.”

That seems to be the extent of his vocabulary this morning because he goes back to his coffee.

Holden comes in next. He’s wearing yesterday’s slacks and a T-shirt of mine that I have no memory of him acquiring. He clocks the pancakes immediately. He stops. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Milo.”

“Good morning, Detective.”

“It’s too early for this shit.”

I tsk. “You say that and yet everyone needs to eat. And I made onespecificallyto your specifications.” I gesture at one in the center of the lineup. “That’s yours, I went for understated authority, I think I captured it.”

Holden looks at the pan-cock. It is—and I will say this with all confidence—the mosthandsomepan-cock I made. Proportional. Dignified. The pan-cock of a man who has his life together.

“I hate to say it, but you’ve captured my likeness extremely well,” Holden says.

I beam. “You’re welcome! Syrup and berries are already on the table.”