The Twenty Year Triangle

Chapter Five

I leave my honey blonde hair down to airdry and don't bother with makeup, it's going to be hot today, so it'll all just sweat off anyway. I still have a youthful look despite the stress, many mistaking me for younger then thirty-three. After years of insecurity, I finally started seeing myself with some confidence in my early twenties. I'm not gorgeous or anything, but with my heart shaped face, soft amber eyes and full lips, I can turn some heads. 

I step downstairs, rolling my eyes at the cat toy I'd flipped out about the night before. The stairs lead down to a small entry and the front door, and an archway on the either side leads to either the cozy living room or the kitchen. I head left into the sizable kitchen, It's as warm and welcoming l as always, with its forest green-painted cabinets against knotty pine walls. 

Our kitchen table, a big round, beautifully hand-crafted oak table that had been in the Abbot family for generations, greets me topped with a bountiful feast of homecooked food, coffee, rolls, and freshly squeezed juice. It's a welcoming site after a month of me alone with an oversized cold island topped with takeout boxes, wine, and little else.

The one thing everyone forgets about when they insist on having a big shiny white island is how cold and sterile it is in hindsight. This big table with its loved-up scratches and old stains that never came out from years of use, on the other hand, is full of memories; that's part of what makes a house a home.

Dad is already perched at the table, looking at the newspaper. Mama is still fluttering about but looks close to finally sitting.

"Sit." Mama pulls out my chair as she fills our coffee cups and then sits, and I plop down to join her as my mouth waters.

Breakfast is as amazing as it smells. My mama makes these sourdough honey pancakes that are like clouds of fluffy, delicious heaven. She tops them with a dollop of butter she gets from Harrison's dairy farm and smothers them with her homemade maple syrup. They are incredible and even better with the thick peppered bacon, and runny eggs she made to go with them. 

 So damn good I'm devouring breakfast, the world is forgotten. It's just me and this plate right now, cue the romantic music.

"Hungry, Kinsey Girl?" I look up to see Dad watching me and looking amused, whereas Mama seems pleased.

"This beats my usual cold slice of pizza."

There's this strange regression after a divorce, at least for me. I reverted right back to being a college student, both with eating and drinking habits. I'm slowly pulling myself out of that, I guess. Well, saying I am anyway.

"You're too skinny," Mama says worriedly. "You forget to eat when you get stressed. You can't be doing that, Sweetie. It's not good for you."

"Don't worry, Mama," I say assuredly. "I'm sure you'll fatten me up in no time."

"Oh, I plan on it," she agrees, and my dad chuckles. "Speaking of, I'll be baking today. Hunter's son is coming today after school. Would you like to help? I was thinking of making snickerdoodles, he loves those, but I could do cutouts; so, he can decorate them. Oh, and he also loves chocolate, so maybe some fudge brownies too."

"Mama, he's just one little boy!" I laugh out loud. "And I would, but I think I'm going to head into town this afternoon. Mind if I borrow your van?"

"Not at all, but what for? I made sure you had everything you need to get started here."

"You did that and then some," I assure her, gently patting her hand. "I have an errand to run, and I want to get an idea of who is hiring. The sooner I get back to work, the better."

"Kinsey, there is no rush," Dad says firmly.

"That's right; you take time to settle in first." Mama says as she passes me the juice.