Never Been Kissed(23)

“Please. I need coffee.” Matty’s chosen to sit next to me. I’m strangely honoured. I put my hands together like I’m praying and beg Hunter to wave the waitress over. “Between the two of you, I could probably sleep for the next forty-eight hours,” I yawn enough to crack my jaw.

“Can I have coffee?” This from Matty.

“No.” Hunter and I break his pre-caffeine-addicted heart together. Hunter grins but it’s wiped away as soon as I start to grin back. Frustrating. “You sure you want pancakes, little man? I think you should eat some eggs first, then work your way up.”

“I want pancakes.” Matty is adamant, and he even crosses his arms over his chest.

Hunter rubs his eyes, shoulders drooping. He looks...less, somehow. Like he’s Kal-El encountered with kryptonite. Like he’s Iron Man and his suit’s running out of juice. Like he’s a normal guy who’s exhausted by his life.

“How about I order six pancakes. And you and Hunter can get eggs and bacon and all that good stuff. I’m super hungry, so I might just eat three of them. That means three left over for you and your Dad, kid. How’s that sound?”

Matty tilts his head to the side, thinking. Everything he does is adorable, but his thinking face is exceptionally cute. After some deliberation he nods and says, “Okay.”

“But you need to eat all your eggs and bacon first. Pancakes are like dessert for breakfast,” I say.

Matty nods at the wisdom of my words. Hunter looks at me like I’ve turned into the She-Hulk. I would kill for abs like that, and gimongo boobs, too.

After our orders are placed, there’s nothing left to do but look at each other and wonder what to say. Matty’s oblivious to the awkward tension between Hunter and I. His innocent eyes probably just see two people he likes not saying anything.

“Daddy, remember when we went swimming, and I got scared when you went underwater for so long? Then I turned around and you were there! It was funny.”

Hunter’s smile is tired. He drinks deep from his glass of water. When he sets it down, his eyes go to my glass. I push it forward to his side of the table. His blue eyes clash with mine, before his eyebrows droop down low. In retaliation, I snag his coffee cup and take a few sips. He drinks it black, like I do. Good man.

He demolishes my glass of water, and excuses himself to go to the washroom. I wait anxiously with Matty. The food comes, I tell myself I’ll wait five minutes before going to check on him. I forgot he just got out of the hospital.

Matty starts humming as he starts digging into his eggs I cut for him. I’m a little paranoid that he might choke on the bacon, but I know how to do the Heimlich, like that means anything. If life wants to shit on you, she fraking will, and in a big way.

“Daddy, are you tired?”

Hunter gets into the booth across from us so hastily, his knees bump mine. I wince, and settle deeper into my seat, back flush to the vinyl.

“No, buddy. I’m good. How long was I gone? You’ve destroyed your plate.”

Matty nods, bobbing his head up and down. He’s eaten all his scrambled eggs, and bacon without choking. No toast. If he’s going to have the pancake – we have to play this game of give and take.

I plop a fluffy yellow pancake on his plate, cutting it up into squares. Hunter lets me cut, but takes my hand away from the syrup dispenser in favour of pouring it himself. Matty gets a light drizzle of it over his pancake and starts demolishing it within seconds.

He probably doesn’t know what he’s missing – inundating a pancake with maple syrup is foreign to him. He can’t miss something he’s never really had. I’ve eaten three of my pancakes. Hunter eyes the leftovers even after he’s swallowed the last bite of egg, toast and sausage he’s rolled together. I pass him one at first, startled when his eyes on me are intense and maybe a little angry.

“Do you want it or not?” I growl. I’m sick of everything being my fault.

“Resisting temptation only goes so far.”

“What? Fine, Hunter. Bloody crucify me for giving you a damn thing. Give me the bloody pancake, I’ll eat it.”

We play fork-war, scratching our utensils against the plate in that awful sound that makes my whole body erupt in goose-bumps, and my eardrums ring. Hunter wins.

“There’s that word again,” he says, shovelling in the pancake that’s now in strips. He only put the tiniest of drizzles of syrup on the thing, but it looks like he’s enjoying it. I wonder how long he’s been diabetic. Does he know what he’s missing?

I ruffle Matty’s hair, styling it into a Mohawk with my hands. “It’s a bad word in geek-speak.”