Chapter Four

As soon as Nickole descended the stairs, the savory scent of buttermilk pancakes enveloped her. Her mother’s knack for homemade pancakes had the influence to sedate her thoughts and welcome her to a brief state of bliss. Sometimes it was just what she needed to fully awaken in the morning. Nickole walked into the kitchen where her mother was stacking fresh pancakes onto a square ceramic dish. “Morning, Mom,” she greeted cheerily.

“Good morning, sweetheart,” her mother responded as she proceeded to cut up an apricot.

Nickole opened the refrigerator and pulled out a 59-ounce bottle of Tropicana before walking over to the counter to retrieve a small glass. “That smells really good!” she said, inhaling the warm scent of the breakfast.

“Thank you, Nicki,” her mother smiled and placed the dish of pancakes on the island counter in the center of the kitchen. Right beside the pancakes she placed a small dish of sliced sections of the apricots she had been cutting.

Nickole poured herself a glass of orange juice and turned to examine with a smile the enticing breakfast her mother had prepared. What was amazing to her was that, despite all of the years that had past since their father had left, her mother hardly seemed to decline in mood. She always was always cheery and loving. She did everything to make sure her children felt welcome and taken care of. However, Nickole often wondered why she seemed to give her more attention than Alex, although she always assumed her mother had her reasons. Nickole could not read minds, but she was smart enough to understand that their mother loved neither of them more than the other.

“Nickole, where’s your brother?”

“What?” she responded, not paying attention.

Her mother laughed. “Where’s Alex? Is he still in his room?”

Nickole shook her head. “No,” she answered. “He came down just before me.”

“Hm, I must not have noticed. Do me a favor? Take these to the dining room table,” she said, pointing to the pancakes and fruit as she turned around to wipe off the counters. Nickole set her glass down and picked up the breakfast dishes and carefully walked them through the small kitchen archway and into next room. 

In the dining room there was a small, circular wooden table. Nickole set the plates down in the center of the table. Just as she was about to return to the kitchen to retrieve her drink, she saw Alex appear from around the corner and approach the dining room table. She figured he must have lounged himself in the family room while their breakfast was being prepared. He sat down in a chair and kicked back slightly so that the back of the chair was propped up against the wall. Then he withdrew his cellphone from his pocket and diverted his attention away from his surroundings.

“Well, breakfast is ready," their mother’s voice spoke up. Nickole turned to see her carrying in the bottle of Tropicana and a gallon jug of milk. She placed them down on the table next to the dish of pancakes. “Oh, Alex, would you please not do that with the chair?” Alex glanced up from his phone. He gave a sigh and set the chair back on all four legs. “Thank you. You know I don’t like it when you do that”

Alex turned and looked back at the wall just behind him. “Sorry. I wouldn’t wanna fall right through the wall,” he said arrogantly.

Nickole snickered as she reached for a pancake. Her mother shook her head at his joke. “Haha,” she scoffed. She sat down at the table only to jump right back up again. “Oh, good Lord,” she exclaimed. “I make pancakes and I forget to bring out the syrup of all things.” Laughing at herself, she quickly retreated back into the kitchen.

“You’re not perfect, Mom,” Nickole called after her.

“Thank you, honey, eat your breakfast!” her mother joked back. As Nickole laughed, Alex looked up a little from his phone and shook his head. To him, it seemed like his younger sister took some sort amusement in playing the role of the mother’s cub, but he did not want to delve too far into the thought. He did not care. Why should he care?

Just then, their mother reappeared from the kitchen with a brand new bottle of maple syrup. Nickole reached for it and opened the cap, peeled off the seal, and began to pour it down onto her pancakes.

“Easy on the syrup, Nicki,” her mother commented. “That’s way too much sugar.” She sat down and grabbed a pancake and a few fruit slices for herself. She saw that her son was still buried in his cell phone, swiping the screen consistently. “Alex,” she sighed. “Come on, put the phone away and please eat something.” Alex hesitated, but reluctantly returned his phone to his pocket and removed a single pancake from the stack and dropped on his plate. He poured a small amount of syrup on top of it and ate a piece of it, but seemed to forget how to enjoy it. “What, you don’t want any fruit?”

Alex looked back up at the breakfast selection. He swallowed his pancake fragment. “I really don’t care.” He returned to his small breakfast with as much solitude as he could make for himself.

Nickole looked to her mother and waited for her response, but there hardly was one. She had heard it all by now and she was not surprised. “Well, whatever gets you up in the morning, I guess.” 

Her brother just ignored her and continued to finish his breakfast. Nickole laughed to herself. As she was cutting up pieces of her pancake, a sudden thought hit her. Her happy morning was disturbed by invading thoughts once again about their father. Looking at her mother, she simply could not understand how and why she seemed to remain so unaffected by his absence. She almost felt the urge to ask yet again about their father, but she remembered something she had heard her mother mumble in her sleep one night, and without thinking, she blurted it out with a stammer, “Mom, what is- aeon?”

Her mother jumped in her seat and dropped her fork on her plate. It made a sharp clang as it landed, catching Alex’s attention as well. He was looking around the two of them, anxiously, waiting for someone to say something. Their mother caught her breath and looked seriously toward her curious daughter. “What did you say?” she asked.

Nickole did not expect such a harsh reaction to the question, but her curiosity got the best of her, so she continued to speak. “I got up to get a drink the other night and I heard you say it in your sleep, like several times.”

Her mother’s eyebrows raised. “What all did you hear?”

Nickole tried to remember exactly what all she might have heard that came out muffled through the bedroom door, but she was so tired that night that she hardly even took notice of it. “I don’t know,” she answered. “I just thought I heard you say something like that. I’m sorry, I was just a little curious.”

Alex had no idea what was going on. Whenever this happened, he must have been completely out of it because he had no recollection of their mother talking in her sleep. Not that he cared anyway.

There was a silent pause. Their mother swallowed nervously. Trying to forget the conversation, she looked up at the clock on the wall. “Oh wow, it’s getting late already,” she broke the silence. Nickole glanced up at the clock and then turned around to look at the window. The sun was already far over the treeline. “Finish up,” she said, standing up from the table, “so I can get you both to school before you’re late.”

Alex stood up as well and carried his plate out of the dining room. Nickole was suddenly feeling a little slow. The weight of the question she just asked was holding her down. Her mother had never reacted so startled whenever she asked about their father. So why over such a seemingly insignificant topic was she so shocked? Considering it to be simply meaningless, Nickole shrugged it off as much as she could and stood up, grabbed her dish, and followed her family from the dining room.