Her Legacy

XXXV. Scars

Mom flitted back to the frypan, flipping the sizzling pieces. I could see the fat popping in the pan. Ugh, I wanted some. "I used to cut up cool bacon pieces and Ronan would mix them with maple syrup on pancakes. I don't know if he still likes it this way, but he did ... once."

First off, that sounded absolutely delicious. But secondly, the fact that my mom remembered something so trivial as to how my dad liked his pancakes just killed me. It was like I was witnessing a family that was completely different from mine.

I really didn't know much about my parent's marriage or their relationship besides the bits and pieces that they told me. But they were together for four years before it all went to shit. That was a long time to be in someone's company. They had to know things about each other that only they knew.

I adjusted my posture, and resisted wincing as my scar pulled. Shit, that was actually a bad one. I wondered if I could get some Tylenol without my mom freaking out on me.

Before I could, though, Mom gave me a bushel of apples and a potato peeler, because apparently, we peel apples now. I humoured her, and I set to work peeling the apples, letting the task distract me from my abdomen pain.

Mom laid out our never used dining table beautifully. A fresh lot of bacon was sizzling in the pan when there was a knock on the door right on eight. Mom, frazzled, quickly wiped her hands on some paper towel, smoothed out her shirt, checked her reflection in the oven door, took a deep breath, before walking over to the door.

My dad had shaved. He was completely clean-shaven and looked so much more like the pictures I had of him. He was dressed in a pressed, white button-down shirt, and a pair of dark wash jeans. He was carrying a fresh bunch of Gerber daisies, and a tray of coffee.

He remembered Mom's favourite flowers.

Dad smiled when he looked at Mom, albeit kind of nervously. "Good morning," he uttered.

"Morning," Mom replied quietly, opening the door wider for him. "Please, come in."

"You look really nice, Amanda," he complemented cautiously, as though he was treading on eggshells. I knew he had to be shitting himself. How weird was this situation?

But Mom smiled upon hearing it. "Oh, this?" she said nonchalantly. "It's just an old shirt but thank you."

I had to stop myself from laughing. She was seriously pretending like she hadn't rushed out to a boutique and spent hundreds of dollars on options for today and spent hours getting ready.

"I saw these and ... well, I know you used to like Gerber daisies. I don't know if you still do, but you did ... and ..."

Holy crap, this was actually too cute.

"I love them," Mom said as she accepted the bouquet. "Pink ones were always my favourites." She turned away from him and brought the flowers over the counter top which she had cleaned off minutes before Dad had arrived. She pulled a vase from the cabinet and filled it with water.

Dad's eyes moved to me and he smiled warmly. He was more confident with me, I thought. "How are you, Saraphine?"

"Hungry," I replied.

He laughed. "Me, too. Smells amazing in here." He walked over to me and kissed the top of my head. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," I lied. No stupid stomach ache was going to spoil this morning.

"I realised when I was buying the coffee that I don't know how you take yours, or if you even drink it," he confessed. "I'm sure all kids your age are into coffee now. Isn't getting something complicated from Starbucks with macchiatos and almond milk popular now?"