A/N: Additional characters will be added as they appear.
Peter stuck his head through the doorway.
"Hey."
Abe startled, pretending like he hadn't just been rearranging their Monopoly money. That had been a fast bathroom trip.
"My mom is making chicken with biscuits and gravy for supper. She wants to know if that's okay."
Okay? That was way more than okay. Abe's mother would never let him eat biscuits as a meal. She always said that as a doctor and a nurse, she and Dad knew better than to let Abe feast on junk food. Once in a while as a treat, sure. But not for supper.
"Yes! I love biscuits." Abe wasn't going to question it. "Are they chocolate chip?"
Peter returned to his place by the game board, across from Abe. "Chocolate chip? Who puts chocolate chips in biscuits?"
"My mom. They're really good."
Peter shrugged. "Nah, they're just plain. But I like em'."
With biscuits for supper, Abe wasn't going to be picky. Chocolate chip or cinnamon or whatever "plain" meant was fine with him. He couldn't wait to tell his other friends in kindergarten how great Peter's mom was.
They each made it another two runs around the board before being called to eat. (Peter insisted that Abe had not been that far ahead before, but he had no proof to back that up.) Abe was a little disappointed to put the game aside until he remembered: biscuits!
It was difficult for Abe not to run all the way to the kitchen.
"Jeepers, Abe, wait for me. The food's not gonna run away."
"Biscuits, Peter."
"Yeah, so? They're just biscuits. They're not that great."
Abe didn't even bother responding because that was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard. Biscuits were the best food on Earth.
Peter's mom and dad were already sitting down when the boys got to the table. Abe squinted at the supper plates. He saw chicken and gravy all right, and small scones piled on top. But no biscuits.
"Have a seat, boys," Peter's mom urged. "We have to say grace."
Abe obeyed, taking the chair between Peter and his mom. He kept his hands folded as Peter's dad thanked God for the food, but he kept one eye open, looking around for those biscuits.
"Amen."
Abe quickly shut his eye, then opened it again with everyone else. Peter and his parents all started eating. Abe tried to sneak a peek at the counter—maybe the biscuits were on a plate there—but it was too high for his sight. He sat up straighter in his chair, leaning forward—
"Are you looking for something, sweetie?" Peter's mom asked.
Abe blushed, looking down at his plate. He hadn't meant to be rude. "Um, Peter said you were making biscuits with supper. I was just wondering where they were."
"Well, they're right in front of you. On top of the chicken." She pointed at Abe's plate. He glanced down, but all he saw were the scones.
"But…those are scones, aren't they?" Abe picked up his fork and poked one. They definitely weren't biscuits. Chocolate wouldn't go well with gravy anyway. "My mom makes biscuits that have chocolate chips in them, or sugar ones sometimes. I thought, you know..." Abe stopped talking when he realized all three family members were staring at him. Peter's face was blank, muddled with confusion, but his mom and dad were gazing at Abe fondly.
"Your mom and dad are English, aren't they son?" Peter dad asked.
"I think so?" Abe was pretty sure he'd heard is parents say that before. "That's why they talk different, right?"
Peter's dad nodded. "What they call biscuits in England—and what you call biscuits at home—we call cookies." He gestured to the plates. "And we call these biscuits."
"Oh..."
"You really call cookies, biscuits?" Peter asked incredulously. "That's silly!"
"Peter, be nice," Peter's mom scolded.
Abe didn't even mind. He was more concerned coming to the slow realization that he wouldn't be getting any biscuits tonight.
"Sorry to disappoint you, Abraham. I'll try to have some cookies around next time, okay?"
Abe nodded numbly. He picked his fork back up and started eating the imposter food, but just to be polite. He wasn't even really that hungry. Biscuits for supper. He should've known it was too good to be true.
A/N: And this was when 5-year-old Abe developed trust issues. For the next 6 months whenever Abigail said she was making biscuits he asked, "The ones with the chocolate chips, right?" And don't even get me started on fries.