“He always used that spatula.”
He looked at me.
“What?”
“Because Dad used to make them?”
He stared at the skillet.
“Kind of.”
“Do you remember how he did it?”
“Some of it.”
“Because Dad used to make them?”
He turned the pancake too early.
Batter spread across the pan.
Ethan sighed.
“I keep trying to get them the way Dad did.”
I’d worried Ethan was forgetting his father.
“But every Sunday, he’d been reaching for the same old spatula.”
“Want me to show you something?” I asked.
Ethan looked up.
“What?”
“Your dad had a trick for flipping them.”
“He did?”
“Well, he called it a trick. Mostly he made a mess.”
“Your dad had a trick for flipping them.”
Ethan smiled.
I reached for the old spatula.
He handed it over.
Halfway through dinner, his phone buzzed.
He read the message and grinned.
“Lily wants me to help her make something else.”
