Sunday Morning
“How do you like your pancakes, my love?” he asked, gripping the spatula and sliding a wedge of butter into the warm pan as it sizzled gently. I stared at him standing over the stove in his boxers and grey tank, a smirk creeping up the side of my face. “Come on baby, it’s not a difficult question,” he reiterated, “You like them light or dark? Fluffy or thick? Small or large?”
I chuckled and ran my fingers through my hair, “Are you used to cooking for people that are very particular about their pancakes?” He shrugged and nodded in the affirmative. I offered, “Your nephew?” He carefully poured the batter into the pan, dripping it into a perfect circle. “Oh my god,” he concurred, “Yes… He is so picky. It has to be the perfect caramel color on the top or he won’t eat it. So again, what kind of pancakes you want, mami?"
I stepped up behind him, slipping my hand around his waist and pressing my lips against the back of his neck mumbling, “Small. Medium level burnt. Fluffy.”
He nodded approvingly, turning the pancake in the skillet. “Ah, see? That wasn’t so difficult.”
He told me once that he’d go around walking on clouds after spending the night with me, but it was the first time I’d taken note of it. I leaned into a chair so he didn’t feel anxious with me standing around watching him cook, listening to the gentle sizzle and his Rican dialect serenading No Woman No Cry. It’s interesting how we walk around seeing everyday people with their stoic façade, presenting one side to society, and then another day watching them cook in their underwear crooning to Bob Marley. It warmed me inside out seeing that side that only few others get to see.
“Oh little darling, don’t shed no tears.”
He gave me a mischievous smile and flipped the spatula in the air, catching it in one hand. “It’s made out of silicone. Not a serious cone. Get it? Silly-cone?” I couldn’t help but laugh at his adorable wit, even though that was worthy of being added to the worst “dad jokes” of all time. Silicone, not a serious cone. I tickled his side and nibbled his neck playfully. “Silly cone? You’re in a good mood this morning huh baby? Did someone wake up on the right side of the bed this morning?” His silent grin confirmed that I didn’t know how much I was right.
Photo Credit: Toa Heftiba