I typed half of this chapter and then went to make food. Shockingly, I didn't burn the house down.


Photo #21: Bon Appetit?

Eadlyn knows her mom is very a talented woman. She could sing and play many musical instruments that could make any crowd stand up in applause, chanting for an encore. The only thing her mother couldn't do, which the next photo shows, is cook. Sure, the photo showed a cute woman who looked like she could cook, but no. The one time her mother tried making pancakes, they ended up black and her mother tried to defend the fact that they weren't burnt.

As far as mothers go, Eadlyn knew her mother was the best there could ever be. Her mother is just that kind of woman which only makes Eadlyn's heart ache more than it already is.

-o-

"Maxon, stop pointing that camera in my face," America scolds, pushing the camera away. "I'm trying to cook."

Maxon laughs a little as he snaps a picture of his wife who was cooking pancakes for the family. He will admit that she looked adorable when covered in flour and trying not to be frustrated. Cooking wasn't exactly her forté, and he was completely okay with that. She wasn't.

"My dear, we have chefs who can cook for us," Maxon tries to say.

"Quiet," America orders.

Maxon immediately steps out of the kitchen to leave his wife alone with the cooking equipment and her pancake batter. He joins his hungry kids in the dining room and sits at the head of the table.

"Dad, I didn't know mom can cook," Eadlyn says.

Maxon takes a breath. "Neither did I."

The kids try not to be surprised at that sudden fact. Instead, they sit in silence, fidgiting with their cutlery. Maxon knew that when America was determined to do something, she will get it done. It was good that she was stubborn in that way.

About twenty minutes later, America prances out of the kitchen with two trays of pancakes in her hands. The kids are hyped up until she puts them down in the center and they all see stacks of brownish-black pancakes. The kids sink into their seats, suddenly losing their appetites.

"Bon appetit," America says happily.

Maxon encourages the kids to take at least one pancake to make their mother happy because he did. Eadlyn, Ahren, and Kaden all subtly shake their heads in fear. Osten stands on his chair to take a few pancakes before drowning them in a pool of syrup. Maxon tries to do the same and gives his kids another look, this time more forceful. They all succumb to the pressure of making their mother happy.

"Mommy, they're burnt," Kaden finally says, scraping some of the pancake with his fork. The noise and black ash produced isn't close to pleasant.

"They're not burnt," America argues. "They're just crispy."

"What kind of pancakes are there?" Ahren asks, poking through the stack with the serving fork. To him, they all look the same.

"Blueberry and chocolate chip," America replies.

"How can you tell?"

America hesitates as she looks at her pancakes. To her as well, they all look the same, but she won't admit such a thing.

"Just taste them and find out," America tells Ahren.

"They taste burnt!" Osten exclaims, with his mouth full of pancakes and syrup.


I love pancakes. I really do.

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