Light shined through as the door to the bedroom nudged open. Alfred rolled over and groaned.
"Five more minutes," he muttered into the hair of the sleeping figure next to him. His brother stirred, and violet eyes flitted open while blue ones stayed stubbornly closed.
"Alfred, darling," coaxed a gentle voice.
He heard his mother enter. Feeling her hand tangle into his hair, he buried his head in the sheets in protest.
"It's time to get up. We have to get out before eight." She gently shook him.
Alfred didn't bat an eyelash at her words, not feeling very in the mood to be punctual.
"I made pancakes," she murmured in a sing-song voice, nudging his shoulder.
Alfred opened his eyes, meeting the excited gaze of his older brother.
The truth was Alfred didn't like pancakes all that much. He was more of a lunch person, preferring a huge hamburger or a bowl of fried chicken. Matthew was the pancake lover.
The sun had not yet risen, much to Alfred's disgust. He felt there was an unwritten rule of the universe that made it illegal to wake before dawn. It was just wrong.
The table was set for three. Alfred's father was already sitting, silently sipping his coffee. He had poured a generous amount of syrup on his pile of pancakes. His mother sat down across from her husband. She daintily started cutting through a small stack in front of her. Usually, she never deviated from her strict diet, but on Sundays, she made an exception. She called it 'tricking her metabolism'.
Alfred eyed the huge stack on his own plate and sighed contently. The day obviously had not started yet-it couldn't until the sun made it appearance. But he supposed the food was worth it, but only by the smallest margin.
The three started chatting; Alfred and his father cracking jokes at each other, while his mother giggled and tried to maintain some semblance of control. The three were a family.
Matthew approached quietly. There was a huge stack of leftover pancakes next to the stove. Whenever mother made dinner, there was always extra. When father did, he wasn't always so lucky. He knew he couldn't take them all, because Alfred always went for seconds. He looked over at his brother; he looked almost halfway finished. He also noticed the maple syrup was between his father and mother; out of reach.
Pancakes really weren't the same without maple syrup.
Alfred gulped down his milk at a blinding speed and shot up.
"Where are you going?" asked his mother.
"More milk," he managed to state through a mouthful of pancakes. He swiped up the maple syrup from the table. "And more pancakes," he added.
Swallowing, he jogged up and tripped, spilling the syrup all over the table and pancake stack.
"Aw, sorry!" Alfred exclaimed. "I'll clean this up."
"Don't worry about it, sweetie. I'm sure it'll get taken care of," his mother assured.
Matthew heard the command tinged in her words.
Alfred forked a few pancakes over, leaving five leftover, deliciously soaked in maple syrup. Matthew grinned, grabbing the plate and hurrying up to his room to enjoy his breakfast. He would have to be quick in order to finish and get down and clean up the mess before they left.