Page 17 of The Parkers' Handsome Holiday
I smiled. “I am satisfied. Thank you. And see? No funny business. Just me making pancakes and drinking coffee.”
“A sight any woman would be happy to wake up to,” he said.
I gave my father a deadpan look and shook my head. “It never ends with you, does it?”
He chuckled and shrugged. “No, I’m afraid it doesn’t.” He paused on his way over to the kitchen table to look me up and down. I wasn’t wearing a suit. I was dressed in blue jeans and a gray T-shirt. “Did they change the dress code at the office?”
I shook my head as I lifted a corner of one of the pancakes to check if it was burning. They still needed a couple more minutes until they would hit that perfect golden brown. “I’m not going in today. Actually, I’m taking the rest of the month off. I don’t have to go back until the New Year.”
My father lowered himself down into a kitchen chair slowly. His old age was showing, and he had sore joints. Arthritis. Bad knees. “It’s a Christmas miracle. You’ve been working yourself too hard, Cal. Ever since you lost Claire, you’ve been—”
“Dad,” I said quickly, cutting him off before he went down that rabbit hole any further. Claire, my wife, was off limits. We did not discuss her, especially not over pancakes and coffee. “I appreciate what you were going to say, but please, don’t say it.”
“Sorry.”
I nodded and lifted the pancakes onto a plate. “Asher! Breakfast is ready!”
I could hear his heels striking the floor as he rolled out of bed. My father clasped his hands in front of himself as I put the plate of pancakes down in the middle of the table. Beside them was a plate of bacon wrapped in paper towels. I’d set the table already. All the syrup was out.
“I’m just happy to hear you’re slowing down for a little while,” my father said. “A few weeks is better than nothing.”
“Yeah, I’m looking forward to spending more time with you and Asher over the holidays. It’ll be nice to unwind.”
Asher was making his way down the stairs now.
Thump thump.
Thump thump.
Thump thump.
He took the stairs one step at a time, and when he hit the hardwood floor in the foyer, he came sliding into the kitchen. His black hair was a mess, and his eyes were still a bit droopy with sleep, but he climbed up into his chair and sat on his knees as I put two pancakes on his plate. He leaned over them, practically drooling. “Pancakes?” he asked, looking back up at me. “But it’s not Sunday.”
I chuckled. “Does it have to be a Sunday in order for a father to make pancakes for his family?”
Asher frowned as he considered my question. “I guess not. Thanks, Dad. Grandpa, could you please pass the syrup?”
My father pointed between the three options on the table: real Canadian maple syrup, fake maple syrup, or raspberry-flavored syrup. He opted for real Canadian and earned my approving nod. He poured more than enough of it onto his pancakes before he dug in with his knife and fork.
My father went for the raspberry. The fake stuff was left untouched as we all dug in and ate ravenously. The bacon disappeared quicker than the pancakes, and by the time we were done, I was stuffed to max capacity. I leaned back and patted my stomach. “Well, I don’t need to eat until dinner time now.”
Asher copied my posture and sank down onto his bottom to lean back in his chair and rub his tiny belly. “Me too.”
My dad shook his head at the both of us. “Nonsense. Lunch will roll around, and the two of you will somehow have room for even more food. Mark my words.” He stood up, collected our plates, and began loading the dishwasher.
I looked at Asher and nodded at my father. Asher slid off his chair and began helping to clear the table. I sat for a minute as my food settled and then started to help as well. The kitchen was clean in minutes, and when Asher heaved the dishwasher door closed, he peered up at my father and me. “Dad, I have a question.”
“Of course you do. What is it, kiddo?”
“Penguins have wings, right?”
I nodded. “That’s right.”
“And they’re technically birds, right?”
“Yes,” I said, wondering where he was going with this interrogation style line of questioning.
“So why can’t they fly?”
