Page 39 of Safe With You

We just knew the first pancake belonged to them.

Three years later, the first pancake was still the sacrificial pancake.

Mila reached for the spatula again.

"My turn?"

I slid the bowl of batter closer instead.

"You can help me pour the next one."

She nodded like she'd just been handed the most important job in the world.

Together, we worked our way through the rest of the batter. The pancakes got rounder after the first few, though none of them were perfect. Mila declared one looked like Texas, another looked like a cloud, and one looked "like nothing at all."

By the time we finished, the stack on the plate leaned just enough to make me nervous.

"I carry syrup," she announced.

"I think that's a great idea."

She wrapped both hands around the bottle and carefully shuffled to the table while I followed behind with the plates.

Sunlight stretched across the kitchen floor, warming the hardwood beneath our feet. Cartoons played softly from the living room, filling the quiet between us with familiar background noise.

Mila dug into her pancakes without waiting for me, then reached for the coloring book she'd abandoned earlier. She flipped it open beside her plate and picked up a green crayon, her tongue peeking out as she carefully colored inside the lines.

I smiled to myself.

Somewhere along the way, I’d learned pancakes came first.

Everything else could wait.

Six-year-olds didn’t stay six forever.

I reached for my coffee and took a sip.

Cold.

Figures.

“Daddy?”

“Hm?”

“You not eat.”

I looked down at my plate before realizing I’d been staring at it instead of eating.

“I’m about to.”

“You were thinking about Mommy.”

It wasn’t a question.

Kids had a way of noticing the things adults missed.

I smiled.