Page 42 of The New Place

Abbot spots it next to the coffee maker, though instead of handing it to Ned, he slips it into his pocket.

“What’s going on?” Ned asks.

“Eggplant bacon,” Dad murmurs, scrolling his phone. “Or tempeh. Huh, coconut? I’m not so sure about that.”

“I can’t imagine it’s a fair substitute, so I’ll leave you all to your breakfast meats,” Abbot says. “Ned, can we talk for a moment?”

Ned deflates. He wants to stuff himself with a giant breakfast and enjoy his coffee. Not worry about what Steve said the other day, or wonder at Abbot’s refusal to talk about Newbury, or begin the process of discussing who’s living where. It’ll be great to have Abbot closer. Can’t they leave it at that for now? Forget they’re adults and that real life comes with annoying little details to sort through?

“That’s my cue,” Dad says. “I’ll see if Ms. Peggy is awake, since I’m sure she’s not going to snooze through the scent of bacon. Nor is your mother, if I had to guess.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Ned says quickly. “She’s still sleeping. Here, you can have the sports section first.”

But Abbot doesn’t hand over the paper, no matter that Ned has his hand stuck out.

“Hon?” Ned asks.

“I’ll just…” Abbot turns the paper, holding it carefully as he unfolds it, and awkwardly pulls out the sports section like he’s never held a newspaper before.

“Don’t tell me it’s bad news about the Sox spring training,” Dad says, reaching for it. He stops abruptly, staring past Abbot’s arm at the front page.

“What?” Ned asks.

“Nothing.” Dad grabs the entire paper, hugging it to himself.

“Is it about their pitching?” Ned asks. “Let me see.”

“The butter is burning,” Dad says.

It totally isn’t when Ned turns back to the stove.

“Don’t burn mine!” Peggy hollers from the stairs. “What are we making?”

“Good morning, sunshine.” Dad keeps the paper as he scoops her up like she’s still little and his back can take the strain.

“Dad,” Ned says, pressing the spatula into Abbot’s hand. “Careful.”

“A big ol’ breakfast,” Dad says, hefting Peggy onto his hip. “Pancakes and bacon and eggs, and should we make Henry some fish bacon?”

“We should make cupcakes,” Peggy says. “With dirt.”

“Pegs, let’s not put dirt in our food,” Ned says.

“No, no, they have worms too. Abbot, we have to make them.” Peggy wiggles back down to peer into the bowl Ned got out. “I can do this.”

Ned lets himself get nudged out of the way, Abbot neatly roped into this project as Peggy’s sous chef. Ned leans on the counter, holding his mug in both hands and watching. Abbot is infinitely patient with her as she scoops out a cup of flour, then manages to spill half of it as she drops it into the bowl.

“It’s no matter,” Abbot says, neatly sweeping up the mess.

“This is why we bake by weight,” Peggy says to Ned, as if that’s what she’s been doing all along. “We need the kitchen scale.”

“Right here.” Abbot pulls it down from a shelf. In Abbot’s pocket, Ned’s phone buzzes.

“Let me check that,” Ned says, but Abbot moves away to wash his hands. “Abbot⁠—”

“Did you get out the baking powder?” Abbot asks.

“No, Daddy, you got out baking soda.”