In Summertime Saga

The pancakes smelled like butter and vanilla and the kitchen was warm.

Debbie was at the stove. Apron on, spatula in hand, radio playing low on the counter. A normal morning. She'd beaten me down by ten minutes and the coffee was already made and there was a glass of orange juice at my spot at the table like there was every morning because Debbie believed in orange juice the way some people believe in God.

But her hair was down.

Every morning since I'd woken up in this body, Debbie's hair had been up. Clipped, pinned, sometimes a low ponytail. Today it was loose around her shoulders, brown and soft, tucked behind one ear. She looked five years younger. She looked like she'd gotten out of bed and decided she didn't need to put it up today.

"Good morning, sweetie."

She turned from the stove and smiled at me. The corners of her mouth pulled wider than her usual kitchen smile and her eyes stayed on mine a beat too long and there was color in her cheeks. Four hours ago I'd been inside her and she'd said my name and that was still on her face when she looked at me.

"Morning." I went to the coffee. Poured a mug. The blue one with the chipped handle. The same one every morning because the other mugs were too small and Debbie made strong coffee and I needed volume. "Smells good."

"Blueberry. I had some in the freezer." She flipped a pancake. Her wrist turned easy, practiced. The bathrobe was cinched at her waist and the collar was pulled up on the left side, higher than usual. Covering. "Sit down, I'll bring them over."

I sat down.

Jenny was already at the table.

She was eating cereal. Froot Loops again, the spoon in her left hand, phone flat on the table next to the bowl. She was in a tank top and shorts, hair in the messy bun, no makeup. Her eyes moved to me when I sat down and she said "Morning" without stopping chewing and went back to her phone.

"Morning."

The kitchen was doing its morning thing. Refrigerator humming, coffee maker popping on its hot plate, radio murmuring something about weekend traffic. The orange cat was on the third step of the stairs. Same as every morning. It stared into the kitchen, decided against participating, and left.

Debbie brought a plate of pancakes to the table and set them in front of me. Three pancakes stacked, butter already melting on top, little pockets of blueberry splitting through the surface. She put the syrup bottle next to my plate and her hand brushed my forearm on the way back and stayed a beat too long before she pulled it away.

"Eat up. There's more on the stove."

She went back for Jenny's plate. Set it down. Jenny looked at the pancakes and looked at her cereal and pushed the cereal bowl aside and pulled the plate over.

"These look good."

"Thank you, honey."

Debbie sat down with her own plate. She cut her pancakes into small squares, which she did every morning, and poured a careful amount of syrup over them, which she also did every morning. She ate a square. Chewed. Sipped her coffee. Her foot found my ankle under the table.

Her toes pressed against the inside of my ankle and stayed there. Light, warm, her bare foot against my bare skin. Three weeks ago, Jenny's foot had been in the same spot. Jenny in my shirt eating cereal, cold toes on my calf, Debbie at the sink pretending not to see. Now it was Debbie's foot. Debbie's morning.

I ate my pancake.

"These are really good, Debbie."

"I thought blueberry would be nice. We haven't had them in a while."

Jenny was cutting her pancake with the side of her fork. Her phone was face-up on the table and she was reading it while she ate but her eyes kept moving. Between the phone and Debbie and me and back to the phone. A pattern that looked random and wasn't.

She looked at Debbie. Debbie's face, Debbie's hair. Down. Loose. Different. Jenny's eyes tracked from the hair to Debbie's face to her neck and stopped.

The mark was small. I'd put it there around three in the morning when I'd had my mouth on her neck and she'd been arching into me and I hadn't been thinking about how bathrobe collars work in the morning. It was above the collar on the left side, reddish, maybe the size of a quarter. Debbie had pulled the robe up to cover it but the fabric had shifted when she sat down and now it was showing and Jenny was looking at it.

Jenny's jaw tightened. A small movement. Her molars pressed together and the muscle at the hinge of her jaw flexed once and then she looked down at her pancakes and cut another piece. She chewed. She swallowed. Cut another piece. Chewed that one too.

She didn't say anything.

I kept eating. My fork cut a triangle out of the pancake stack and I put it in my mouth and the blueberry burst warm and sweet on my tongue and I chewed and two women were at this table and I was sleeping with both of them and nobody had said a word.

Debbie was eating her pancake squares and her foot was resting against my ankle and the radio was playing a song I didn't recognize and the morning sun was coming through the kitchen window and landing on the syrup bottle and making it glow amber.

"Do you have plans today, sweetie?" Debbie asked me.

"Gym. Then maybe a delivery run if Tony needs me."

"On a weekday?"

"He's been busier lately." This was true. Tony's lunch traffic had picked up since the weather got hot and people stopped wanting to cook.

"That's good." She nodded. "It's good that you're keeping busy." She sipped her coffee and her foot pressed a little firmer against my ankle.

Jenny was watching. She'd put her phone face-down on the table and both hands were on her fork and knife and she was eating pancakes and watching. Her eyes went from Debbie to my face and back to her plate. She didn't need to see under the table.

"Mom."

"Hmm?"

"Your hair's different."

Debbie's hand went to her hair. A reflex, touching the loose strands behind her ear. "Oh. I just didn't feel like putting it up today."

"It looks good." Jenny said it flat. Took a bite of pancake. "You should wear it down more."

"Thank you, honey." Debbie smiled. "Maybe I will."

The kitchen went quiet for a stretch. Forks on plates. Coffee mugs being set down. The refrigerator cycling on with that low rattle it made when the compressor kicked in. I ate my pancakes and they were good and Debbie's foot was warm against my ankle and Jenny was eating across from me and the sun was coming through the window.

I thought about the game. About how Debbie's route and Jenny's route ran parallel in the original. Two separate questlines in the same house. The MC could be sleeping with both of them and they'd never interact about it because the game engine didn't track overlap. No shared flags. No jealousy triggers. Two women, one house, zero acknowledgment.

This wasn't the game.

"More coffee?" Debbie asked.

"Please."

She got up and took my mug and went to the counter. She poured coffee and brought it back and this time when she set it down her fingers touched the back of my hand and lingered for a second and she was looking at me with that smile again and Jenny was right there watching Debbie's fingers on my hand.

Debbie went back to her seat. Her foot found my ankle again.

Jenny finished her pancakes. She stood up, carried her plate and her cereal bowl to the sink. The bowl still had purple milk at the bottom. She rinsed both, set them in the rack. The water ran and stopped.

She walked past me on the way to the stairs. I was looking at my plate, picking at the last bite of pancake with my fork, when she leaned down. Her mouth near my ear. Her hair falling forward, brushing my jaw.

"You're full of surprises."

Then she straightened up and walked to the stairs. Her bare feet on the wood, two at a time, and her bedroom door closing upstairs.

Debbie hadn't heard it. She was eating the last of her pancake squares and looking at the window where the sun was making the backyard bright and green.

"She seems to be in a good mood today," Debbie said.

"Yeah."

"I worry about her sometimes. She's been cooped up in that room with her computer and her phone and I don't know what she does all day." Debbie shook her head. "But lately she's been better. More energy. More present. I think having you around has been good for her."

I drank my coffee.

"For both of us," Debbie added. She said it to her plate. Her foot was still on my ankle. The color in her cheeks had come back and her hair was loose around her shoulders.

"Thanks, Debbie."

"Thank YOU, sweetie. For being here. For staying." She looked up. Her grey eyes held mine and they were clear and warm and the morning light was on her face and she meant every word. She was thinking about last night. She didn't know the half of what was happening at this table.

She stood up. Collected the plates. Turned on the faucet. Started washing.

I sat at the table and drank my coffee and stared at the spot where Jenny had been sitting. Her chair was pushed back at an angle. There was a drop of purple milk on the table from where her spoon had dripped. The syrup bottle was catching the sun. The kitchen was warm and the radio was still playing and Debbie was washing dishes and humming and her hair was down and her foot had left my ankle when she stood up and the warmth was still there.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

Jenny: "Her neck. Classy."

I put the phone back.

Debbie hummed at the sink. The water ran. The dishes clinked.

I finished my coffee and went upstairs to shower.