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You wake up to the smell of pancakes.
Pancakes are Dave’s thing. He’s the only one in the family with any patience for making them. You have tried a few times but you always make them too thin and they end up falling apart, thus creating the infamous Scrambled Pancakes breakfast which still holds up as an excellent breakfast threat when the girls are being too unruly. Dave makes pancakes like he makes most things, with an unreasonable amount of patience and perfectionism.
However, the smell of Dave making pancakes is always associated with mixed emotions for you. It’s delicious, for sure. The girls go absolutely wild and you love how happy it makes them when they realize what’s on the breakfast menu. But Dave only makes pancakes when he has something to apologize for, and that part you wouldn’t mind going without.
You look over to his side of the bed. The bedsheets look too smooth and you realize that they haven’t been slept in. You reach out and touch his pillow with a sigh. Another all-nighter at the office. It has been a while since the last time and you’d just gotten used to waking up in the comfort of your husband’s embrace.
Wrapping yourself in your morning gown, you slowly make your way down. You hear the sound of Dave and the girls in the kitchen, their voices laughing happily and his a soft murmur. You stop for a minute just to listen. Sometimes you like to spy on the three of them, hide and just listen as Dave helps them with their homework, tries (and fails) to braid their hair or reads them bedtime stories (it’s more than one time that Dave has found you half sleeping on the floor of the hallway outside of the girls’ bedroom, having been lulled to sleep as well by whatever story he’d told them that night). You love watching and listening to them interact with each other. It fills your chest with so much love that it almost hurts.
There’s a sizzling noise as Dave pours pancake batter into the frying pan. One of the girls…growls? Curiosity gets the better of you and you emerge from your hiding spot and enter the kitchen.
Your youngest is on all fours on the floor next to the kitchen island, hunched over something and making loud growling noises. You have about half a second to speculate about the reason before your eyes land on your oldest, brandishing the largest knife in the kitchen as she slices up a pile of strawberries on the cutting board.
She’s the first one to notice you.
”Mommy!” she exclaims and waves the hand holding the knife at you in greeting. The little gremlin on the floor turns and grins at you. The lower half of her face is covered with something red that you hope is strawberry juice. When she spots you, she moves to stand up, unaware of the dangerous windmill that her sister has turned into.
”Dave!” you call before disaster has a chance to strike. Without barely looking up from the frying pan, he reaches out to still Molly’s arm. You hurry over and take the knife from her.
”Hey!” she protests.
”Grownup knife,” you explain, pulling open a drawer and handing her a smaller, less sharp one. She eyes it with disdain.
”Don’t worry, she’s a natural,” your traitor of a husband says and you give him a disbelieving look. He holds his hands up in surrender but there’s a teasing smile on his face. He’s wearing Alice’s apron, which has the Little Mermaid on it. It’s too small and he looks ridiculous. You can’t help but return his smile and just shake your head.
Molly reluctantly goes back to chopping up the strawberries and you feel something bump against your leg. You look down and Alice is watching you with those big brown eyes that she inherited from her father.
”Alice, darling, why are you eating strawberries off the floor?” you ask, eying the small pile of half-chewed berries next to her. You’re suddenly grateful that you did decide to vacuum and mop the floors yesterday, after all.
”She’s my dog,” Molly chimes in at the same time as Alice barks.
”Of course she is,” you say with a laugh.
Dave has returned his focus to the pancakes again. There’s a plate next to him with a steadily growing stack of delicious pancakes. You’re tempted to steal one.
Instead, you walk up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist in a tight embrace. He starts like you’ve just hurt him and you pull back.
”What’s wrong?” you ask. Dave shakes his head and apologizes.
”Pulled something at the gym. Age is a beautiful thing, isn’t it?”
There’s nothing strange about the way he says it, and yet there’s something that makes you think he’s not telling the truth. You tell yourself you’re being paranoid and when he sets the spatula down and turns to give you a good morning kiss, you forget all about it.
”Mom, Dad, look!” Molly calls and you and Dave both turn to look.
”Look what I taught her!” she continues and picks up a small piece of strawberry. She tosses it into the air and, against all odds, Alice stands up on her knees and catches it in her mouth before growling again. You clap your hands, actually impressed, and Alice wags her imaginary tail and barks again. Dave gives her the thumbs up before he pours some more batter into the pan.
”Can you try too?” Molly asks and you almost say no but she too has inherited her father’s eyes and you find yourself nodding in agreement instead. She squeals with delight and picks up a piece of strawberry. Alice abandons her role as the dog and stands up to watch.
”Alright,” you say, ”I’m ready.”
Turns out, you’re not. Unlike the gentle toss that she used for her sister, Molly now lobs the strawberry like she’s a pitcher in a baseball game. The berry hits you square in the forehead with a splat. The girls both howl with laughter.
”Headshot!” Molly yells and you wonder where the hell she learned what a headshot is. Turning to give Dave a questioning look, you find him already watching you with a strange expression on his face. It’s like he’s a million miles away in his thoughts and his hand is soft and almost trembling when he reaches up to wipe away the strawberry juice from your forehead. What is with him today?
”Girls…” Dave says, tearing his eyes away from you, ”Would you please stop throwing away all the toppings for the pancakes.”
They beg him for just one more, so he can try and catch it. He’s just as helpless when it comes to resisting as you are, and agrees. However, he is much better at strawberry-catching, it would seem, and he effortlessly catches the berry that Molly throws at him.
As Dave finishes up making the pancakes, you and the girls help set the table. Then you dig in! Well, three of you do. Dave, despite being an expert at making them, doesn’t actually like pancakes. He claims they’re too sweet. Instead, he’s nursing a cup of black coffee and eating a boring sandwich with cheese and cucumber.
He looks relaxed where he’s leaning back in his chair, his arm resting along the back of your chair. His fingers reach just far enough to he can caress the skin at the back of your neck when you’re not leaning forward to stop Alice from emptying all of the syrup over her pancakes.
The girls are ecstatic over the sugary breakfast and, like a swarm of locusts has passed through your kitchen, there’s not even a tiny piece of pancake left once breakfast is over.
You send the girls upstairs to wash their sticky faces and hands. Dave loads the plates into the dishwasher and before he has a chance to move away, you trap him against the counter, with one arm on either side on him. You kiss him with your own sugar-sticky lips and for someone who claims not to like sugar in the morning, Dave doesn’t seem to mind too much, kissing you back with gusto.
”You didn’t come home last night,” you say, when you pull apart. Dave’s face looks more tired all of a sudden and you almost regret bringing it up.
”I’m sorry,” he says, and you know he means it.
”Hence the pancake bribery,” you smile, showing him you’re not upset. ”Do you have to work today?”
Dave shakes his head and wraps his arms around you, gently pulling you against his chest.
”Not until tomorrow,” he says.
”Good. Because I’m dropping the girls off at my mom’s place for the day, which means I get to have you all to myself.”
You lean in and leave a trail of kisses from his neck, along his jaw and up to his mouth. As your lips part against his, he reaches under your morning gown to palm your ass. You smile against his lips before reluctantly pulling back.
”Later,” you promise, giving him a soft peck on the lips. ”And babe?”
”What?”
”Thanks for the pancakes!”