The scent of food cooking wafted in from the kitchen. Greg jumped up from his seat on the couch and raced out of the living room. Rather than grabbing the remote and changing the channel, Wirt followed him.
The small kitchen was warm. Their mother stood humming over the stove.
"Mashed potatoes!" Greg cried.
She smiled. "And roasted chicken, too. I'm about to start heating up the gravy."
"But I want molasses on my mashed potatoes!" Wirt half excted his brother to put their mother's teapot on his head again.
His mother raised an eyebrow.
"An inside joke," Wirt explained.