Page 87 of The Wedding Run
I feel this now as I hold the teabag. Momma’s words intertwine with what Stacy shared about her grief over the loss of her daughter, those memories treasured like gold. The words “in light of eternity” float through my mind. Love binds us to one another and brings us together for an eternity.
I glance at Dad’s present sitting in my den, and I feel his love surrounding and comforting me, along with all the stories and memories we share.
A memory sneaks up on me. Not long after Momma passed away, Dad was doing his best to get breakfast on the table. His eyes were red-rimmed and smudged with exhaustion. I imagine he hadn’t slept much in weeks, if not months. Still, he scrambled eggs, made toast, and set plates before each of us.
“That’s not right,” I said primly, my seven-year-old nose in the air. “Momma don’t make toast like that.”
He gave me a long look. Charlie began shoveling eggs into her mouth. Elle smashed a piece of toast between her chubby hands and banged it on her booster chair. Finally, Dad asked, “How did she make it?”
“Cimmamen,” I said, jutting my jaw out in defiance.
Dad quietly took the toast off my plate and made cinnamon sugar toast. When he brought it to the table, the toast was swimming in butter and dark globs of cinnamon sugar. “How’s that?”
“You have to cut it!” I cried out.
Dutifully, he retrieved a knife from the dishwasher and cut my toast in half.
“Noooo!” I hollered.
This time, Dad rested a fist on his hip. “What’s wrong now?”
“Not like that! Like…” But I lacked the words to explain, so I crossed my arms in front of my face.
“All right. Hang on.” He made more cinnamon-sugar toast and cut the slices diagonally to create four triangles. “Better?”
I stared down at the toast and burst into tears. It wasn’t the toast. It wasn’t how Dad made it—or didn’t make it. It was that I missed Momma, and I didn’t know how to express my sorrow and anger at the injustice of it all.
Instead of getting angry, Dad wrapped his arms around me and held me close against his big, broad chest. He embraced me while Charlie went off to play and Elle squeezed eggs through her fingers. Finally, I snuffled against his shirt.
“You know what we need?” Dad asked.
“What?” I said, with a stuffy nose.
“Tomorrow, we’ll make pancakes. Would you like that?”
“Booberry or chocolate chip?” I asked.
“Those are good. But I was thinking about something new. Have you ever had unicorn pancakes?”
My eyes grew round.
Sure enough, the next day, I helped Dad mix the pancake batter. I used blueberries for eyes, chocolate chips for the mane, and an ice cream cone for the horn. There was also whipped cream for good measure—lots of whipped cream. From then on,it became our go-to breakfast for birthdays, celebrations, and the occasional heartache.
Looking back now, it wasn’t the last time I threw a tantrum that year as I struggled with the loss of my mom. Dad was having a tough time, too. It would have been easy for him to send us to Aunt Barb, but he didn’t.
Over the years, he transformed my sorrow into laughter as we made unicorn pancakes for breakfast and sloppy joes for dinner. We played in the park on Saturday mornings. At night, he tucked us into bed and read picture books until Elle fell asleep. He’d let me stay up later than Charlie and Elle, sitting on the porch where he introduced me toCharlotte’s WebandThe Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. He even allowed me to teach him how to bake cookies using Momma’s recipe.
With those memories wrapped around me like a warm blanket, I set the teabag on the table and search the pantry for the dry ingredients. I check the fridge for eggs—half a dozen—and butter. I’m in business.
While the cookies bake, I go into my bedroom, hang up clothes, and make my bed. A buzzing noise alerts me. Cautiously, I check my phone. In addition to a dozen or more missed calls from Derek, Elle is calling.
“Hey,” she says when I answer, “are you home?”
“I’m making cookies for breakfast. Wanna come over?”
“Open your door!”
Smiling and still wearing mismatched pajamas, I hurry to the door to greet Elle, Charlie, who holds a bunch of daisies and a bag of fresh bagels, and Bailey, who happily wags his tail.
