“Thought I said I’d be the one making you breakfast.” “You did, didn’t you? Then I want French toast.” “I’ve got no bread. How about eggs?” “Eggs are gross.” “Eggs are not gross. What the hell?” He peers up at me, pushing my hair back to see my face. “What other wrong opinions do you have?” “They are slimy and gross,” I tell him. “Like mushrooms.” He rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling. “Alright, what about pancakes? No visible eggs. Only hidden ones.” “I like pancakes.” “Hallelujah,”
