Chapter 41
Julian: Two Years Later
The sun isn’t even up when I open my eyes. I used to wake at five a.m. to get a jump on the market. Now I wake early to watch dawn break through colored glass tiles we installed in the kitchen window, and to make pancakes shaped like cats that will make Meredith giggle and Leo roll his eyes.
I slide out of bed carefully, not disturbing Elowen.
She’s curled on her side, curly hair splayed across the pillow, one hand tucked beneath her cheek.
I resist the urge to touch a curl and wake her with a kiss.
She deserves the extra sleep, so I don’t.
Instead, I pad across the house to check on the children.
Meredith sprawls diagonally across her bed, stuffed animals arranged around her while Pepper lies next to her.
My little cat whisperer, just like her mama.
Since she’s still asleep, I cross the hall to Leo’s room.
He sleeps neatly, blanket pulled to his chin, hands folded on his chest like a miniature businessman.
Downstairs, I pull ingredients from the fridge for breakfast. Eggs crack cleanly against the bowl’s edge.
It’s a skill I’ve mastered only recently.
Up until last month, it wouldn’t be unusual for me to go through a second batch, as the first contained an eggshell.
My fingers move with developing confidence, adding milk and vanilla before whisking.
The butter sizzles in the pan as I dip bread into the mixture.
French toast is Leo’s favorite. We had pancakes for Meredith yesterday.
Balthazar appears as if summoned by the smell, orange fur still rumpled from sleep. He winds between my ankles, his purr a rusty engine in the quiet kitchen.
“Good morning to you, too,” I murmur, reaching down to scratch behind his ears. “No, you can’t have French toast.”
He blinks at me with yellow eyes that once held only suspicion, but are now filled with trust. The former feral who hissed at everyone now headbutts my ankle, demanding attention. We understand each other, Balthazar and I, as we’re both reformed cranks learning to accept affection.
Footsteps on the stairs announce Leo’s arrival.
“Morning, Dad,” he yawns, climbing onto a stool at the counter.
“Morning, buddy. French toast is almost ready.”
“Can I have the blue cup?” he asks, and I reach for it automatically.
“Of course.”
We’re setting the table when Meredith thunders down the stairs, all noise and motion in her nightgown, with Pepper trailing behind her. “Is breakfast ready? I’m starving.”
“Indoor voice, Mi-Mi,” I remind her gently, but can’t help smiling. Elowen appears in the doorway as I’m flipping the last pieces of French toast. She’s wearing soft leggings and one of my old T-shirts, her hair a glorious riot of untamed curls. No makeup. No straightening iron. Beautiful.
“Something smells amazing,” she says, accepting the mug of coffee I offer.
“French toast,” Leo announces from the table.
Elowen’s eyes meet mine over the children’s heads. “I love you.”
“I love you, too, beautiful.”
“Gross,” the kids say in unison.
I wouldn’t have it any other way.
…THE END!