11. Ned
NED
When Abbot tries to get out of bed, Ned wraps him in his arms and holds on tight.
“I’ll make you coffee in exchange for my freedom,” Abbot offers.
Ned just cuddles into him. He smells so good, and feels better, and how many mornings did Ned wake up here alone since Abbot flew out in December?
“One more minute and then I’ll get up,” Ned says, still clutching him close.
“Despite all available evidence to the contrary.”
Ned presses a kiss to sleep-warm skin. “Or we could stay right here.”
“Baxter’s awake.”
“Baxter could use the rest,” Ned says as if the dog doesn’t sleep all damn day.
Baxter could also go sleep downstairs, instead of insisting that if he’s going to be banished from the bed, he gets to sleep on the floor right next to them. He picks his head up and whines a high, long note, then heaves himself to his feet to scratch at the door.
“I’ll take him out,” Abbot says.
Ned lets out a whine of his own when Abbot pushes the covers back, letting cold air in. “I can do it,” Ned mumbles, steeling himself to swing his feet to the floor.
“I want to go get the paper anyway.” Abbot’s actually awake in the mornings, so by the time Ned is vertical, Abbot’s already dressed and herding Baxter downstairs.
Ned pulls his clothes on and yanks the covers up in some semblance of a nicely made bed.
Abbot will come back up here at some point and really make the bed, leaving Ned’s childhood comforter stretched neatly over the mattress, the pillows set against the headboard, his phone charger coiled on the nightstand.
Ned tries now, yawning into his shoulder, but he can’t ever get the sheets just right, not like Abbot does.
The coffee’s burbling as he makes his way downstairs.
He waits next to the pot as it brews, letting his eyes close for a long moment.
He ought to do grading today, even though it’s Saturday.
If he finishes, it’ll leave tomorrow for working on that paper he needs to write.
Not that he particularly wants to do either project, with Abbot here and a weekend with Peggy.
Maybe he can relax for a bit. Let himself ignore the grind of life as he works toward tenure, and while he’s at it, the low smolder of anxiety over everything Steve said about Adams.
Yes. It’s Saturday. He hasn’t really spent time with Abbot in ages, their one night in Portland aside.
They deserve to enjoy themselves, and have fun with Peggy too, so instead of reaching for his laptop, he grabs a mixing bowl and the carton of eggs from the fridge.
Do they have pancake mix? They have flour and baking soda, and Abbot and Peggy aren’t the only ones around here who can stir ingredients together.
He has bacon in the oven and the butter melting in the microwave when Dad comes downstairs, yawning into the mug of coffee Ned passes him. “Morning,” Ned says. “Hungry?”
“What’s all this?”
“Do you and Mom have plans today?” Ned asks. “We should do something fun. Oh, the maple syrup, I was going to heat it up too. And scramble some eggs. Want eggs?”
“You know what this needs?” Dad reaches for a cutting board and knife. “Avocado.”
“Does it?”
“Of course it does.”
The door opens with a sharp gust of cold. Baxter jogs in with snowflakes clinging to his coat and heads straight to his water bowl.
“Morning Henry, Mr. Baxter,” Dad says.
“Good morning,” Abbot says as he sheds his jacket. “What’re you making?”
“Pancakes,” Ned says. “Thought we’d enjoy the morning.” Abbot looks good, his cheeks flushed from the cold, the shadow of stubble on his jaw. Come here, Ned beckons with the spatula.
But Abbot is always Abbot, neatly hanging his coat before he comes over, then taking time to fold the newspaper under his arm before finally meeting Ned in a kiss. “Have you checked your email?” Abbot asks when he pulls back. “It smells good.”
“No, I haven’t. We’re doing pancakes, eggs, and apparently avocado. Let me put the kettle on for you.”
“And bacon,” Dad says. “Do they make pescatarian bacon?”
“Not that I know of,” Abbot says. “Ned, where’s your phone?”
“Somewhere.”
Abbot spots it next to the coffee maker, though instead of handing it to Ned, he slips it into his pocket.
“What’s going on?” Ned asks.
“Eggplant bacon,” Dad murmurs, scrolling his phone. “Or tempeh. Huh, coconut? I’m not so sure about that.”
“I can’t imagine it’s a fair substitute, so I’ll leave you all to your breakfast meats,” Abbot says. “Ned, can we talk for a moment?”
Ned deflates. He wants to stuff himself with a giant breakfast and enjoy his coffee.
Not worry about what Steve said the other day, or wonder at Abbot’s refusal to talk about Newbury, or begin the process of discussing who’s living where.
It’ll be great to have Abbot closer. Can’t they leave it at that for now?
Forget they’re adults and that real life comes with annoying little details to sort through?
“That’s my cue,” Dad says. “I’ll see if Ms. Peggy is awake, since I’m sure she’s not going to snooze through the scent of bacon. Nor is your mother, if I had to guess.”
“No, no, it’s fine,” Ned says quickly. “She’s still sleeping. Here, you can have the sports section first.”
But Abbot doesn’t hand over the paper, no matter that Ned has his hand stuck out.
“Hon?” Ned asks.
“I’ll just…” Abbot turns the paper, holding it carefully as he unfolds it, and awkwardly pulls out the sports section like he’s never held a newspaper before.
“Don’t tell me it’s bad news about the Sox spring training,” Dad says, reaching for it. He stops abruptly, staring past Abbot’s arm at the front page.
“What?” Ned asks.
“Nothing.” Dad grabs the entire paper, hugging it to himself.
“Is it about their pitching?” Ned asks. “Let me see.”
“The butter is burning,” Dad says.
It totally isn’t when Ned turns back to the stove.
“Don’t burn mine!” Peggy hollers from the stairs. “What are we making?”
“Good morning, sunshine.” Dad keeps the paper as he scoops her up like she’s still little and his back can take the strain.
“Dad,” Ned says, pressing the spatula into Abbot’s hand. “Careful.”
“A big ol’ breakfast,” Dad says, hefting Peggy onto his hip. “Pancakes and bacon and eggs, and should we make Henry some fish bacon?”
“We should make cupcakes,” Peggy says. “With dirt.”
“Pegs, let’s not put dirt in our food,” Ned says.
“No, no, they have worms too. Abbot, we have to make them.” Peggy wiggles back down to peer into the bowl Ned got out. “I can do this.”
Ned lets himself get nudged out of the way, Abbot neatly roped into this project as Peggy’s sous chef.
Ned leans on the counter, holding his mug in both hands and watching.
Abbot is infinitely patient with her as she scoops out a cup of flour, then manages to spill half of it as she drops it into the bowl.
“It’s no matter,” Abbot says, neatly sweeping up the mess.
“This is why we bake by weight,” Peggy says to Ned, as if that’s what she’s been doing all along. “We need the kitchen scale.”
“Right here.” Abbot pulls it down from a shelf. In Abbot’s pocket, Ned’s phone buzzes.
“Let me check that,” Ned says, but Abbot moves away to wash his hands. “Abbot—”
“Did you get out the baking powder?” Abbot asks.
“No, Daddy, you got out baking soda.”
“Did I?” Ned asks. “The recipe is on my phone. Can I see it?”
“They’re different.” Peggy dumps more flour into the bowl. “Soda and powder. You have to be careful.”
“How many grams does it say?” Abbot pulls out Ned’s phone and unlocks it.
Peggy leans close to read the screen. “Three hundred.”
“And how many does the scale say is in the bowl?”
“Oh.” Peggy grabs a spoon. More flour dusts the counter as she enthusiastically digs scoops out of the bowl. “After this, we’ll make the cupcakes.”
“No dirt,” Ned repeats. “Who’s texting me?”
“We can make kaiserschmarrn another time, too,” Abbot says as if there’s not a notification right there on Ned’s screen. “It’s pancakes you tear up.”
“I can tear up a pancake,” Peggy says. “I can tear up these. And when we have dirt on the cupcakes, we put worms on them. We had them at Esther’s party. They’re dirt-worm cupcakes.”
“Oh, the ones with crushed chocolate cookies on top?” Dad asks. “I know those. Here.” He holds up his phone with a picture of a chocolate cupcake, a gummy worm on top.
“Yes, those,” Peggy says. “Abbot, can we make them?”
“Those are a different sort of worm than vermicelles,” Abbot says.
“I have them, so we can do both,” Peggy says.
“Oh, you’re bringing the worms?” Abbot asks. “How very obliging. I haven’t seen this confectionary before, I’ll admit.”
“Remember Abbot didn’t grow up here,” Ned says. “Though c’mon, you’ve got to have some ridiculous word for them.”
Abbot makes a show of considering Dad’s phone screen. “Schmutzküchlein,” he says.
“That sounds like a sneeze,” Ned says. When his phone buzzes again, he reaches for it.
“Or perhaps drecktortchen?” Abbot says without handing it over.
“Can I see my phone?” Ned asks.
“I’ll get the worms and bring them down,” Peggy says.
“You have these worms?” Ned turns to her, letting Abbot keep his phone if he wants it so bad. “Here?”
“No,” she says quickly.
“Down from upstairs?” Ned prompts.
She shakes her head. “Uh-uh.”
“Peggy, do you have Halloween candy stashed in your room?”
“I don’t have anything,” Peggy says. “Daddy, do you even know the difference between baking soda and baking powder?”
Ned opens his mouth, and then has to pause. “Um.”
Peggy giggles. “You don’t.”
He dips his finger in the flour and touches her nose. “Do you?”
“Of course,” she says and laughs again.
“So what is it?” he asks.
“Spelling.” She laughs so hard she spills the spoonful of flour she’s holding.
“Easy, tiger,” Ned says as Abbot rescues the bowl from toppling over. The counter’s still a mess, and Ned tries to sweep the flour into his hand. It’s too much to hold, so he reaches for the newspaper.
“Ned—” Abbot says.