Chocolate-Chip Pancakes

[This story was first published in Solstice: A Winter Anthology, from Devil’s Party Press, which you can purchase here.]

Mom hovers over my bed; it’s pitch black and I’m confused. She’s said something. “What?” I say.

“Paul’s mom called and asked if we could help her out before school. Get up, we’re taking Paul to breakfast.”

I prop myself up on my arm and rub sleep from my eyes. “What time is it?”

Already out of the room and bustling around, she calls back. “It’s early.”

The blurry red numbers on my desk clock say 4:58. “What?” I say again, mostly to myself. “Paul?”

Moments later I’m bundled in my new winter coat, boots, hat and gloves. We step out the front door. Immediately wind whips snow into our faces pushing us back. Drifts of snow have piled up on the porch against the house. We crunch through it to the car. “Geez mom, it’s still nighttime.”

“Honey, when someone needs help, we help.”

“Yeah but I haven’t been friends with Paul since fourth grade.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Somehow the leather seat in the car feels colder than the wind outside. I watch mom scrape snow and ice from the windshield as the car struggles to warm up. Our Christmas lights blink red like warning lights through the frosted window. She climbs in and backs out of the driveway.

“Can't his mom just drop him at our house or something? We could watch TV until school. I don’t want to go to breakfast with him.”

She ends the conversation with, “This is happening.”

Still freezing, I huddle up and look out the window. We turn out of our subdivision. There’s no one out on the road except a plow noisily scraping snow to the side. Through living room windows, people’s Christmas trees sparkle dreamily, making me wish I was back in my warm bed. We turn on to Main Street, pass convenience stores and smoke shops and a tattoo parlor. At the self-storage center, we turn onto Paul’s street and the car bumps over railroad tracks. His house is one in a long row of single story brick duplexes. Faded plastic toys and bikes with training wheels poke out of the snow in front yards. We pull up in front of Paul’s house; it’s smaller and more ragged than I remember. Paul sits in the dark on the front stoop, flanked by rusty wrought iron rails. He stands and approaches us. He’s wearing beat up black sneakers, black jeans, and a black hoodie pulled tight, no gloves or coat. He looks thin and cold. I sigh. This is going to suck.

“Thanks, Mrs. Brody.” He says as he slides in next to me. He smells… not dirty, but dusty. Like a cardboard box that’s been in the basement for a long time.

“It’s no problem, Paul,” she says.

“Hey,” he says, without making eye contact with me. He’s fidgety and awkward as he buckles his seatbelt.

“Hey,” I say back. It’s the most we’ve spoken in at least a year.

Mom turns into the parking lot of the diner down the street from our high school. It’s the only place that’s open. Garland and colorful lights dress the windows, and a small, artificial tree sits in the entryway, brightly decorated. The bell dings as we walk in. It’s warm and welcoming. A few other groups of people huddle over coffee and breakfast.

A voice calls out to us, “Happy winter solstice!” A young waitress appears from the back. “First day of winter, the days only get longer from here.” She’s way too cheery for so early in the morning. “Sit where you like, I’ll come take your order in a minute.”

We get settled into a booth, mom on the inside, me next to her. Paul sits across from me.

Menus are tucked behind the salt, pepper, ketchup and syrup. Mom passes them out. “Get whatever you like, Paul.”

“Ok, Mrs. Brody.”

We’re quiet as we make our choices. Cheery comes over. Somehow I knew what Paul was going to order: chocolate chip pancakes and chocolate milk. I get eggs over-easy, hash browns, and toast with orange juice. Mom just gets coffee. Cheery leaves, and Mom pulls out her laptop, getting a head start on work.

Paul looks up at me for the first time. “Winter solstice, huh?” he says.

“Yeah, how about that?” In my mind I’m rolling my eyes. Paul was always a little awkward and weird.

After a moment he says, “It’s our anniversary.”

“What?”

“You know, we became friends on the winter solstice.”

I think back to that day. We were in the same class, but never played together. Then the last day of school before Christmas break I cut in front of him in line so he punched me in the back of the head. It didn’t hurt, but we got sent to the principal’s office. It turned out that both of us had Snorlax as our favorite Pokémon, and we both loved pizza, and I guess at that age that was enough. We spent every moment of that Christmas break together, and most weekends after.

“Huh, so like nine years ago?

“It was kindergarten. Ten years.”

He knows exactly how long we’ve been friends? Nothing creepy about that.

Cheery arrives with our food and I tuck in. Mom doctors her coffee and is back to her email.

Paul seems to relax a little, and smiles. “Hey, remember when we found that toad in the woods behind my house?”

“Yeah, you wanted to keep it as a pet.”

He laughs, “We got a shoe box for it, and we brought it to school.”

A vivid image pops in my head of Paul and I digging in the mud by the little creek, exploring, looking for treasure, and finding that toad. I stayed to keep an eye on it while he went and got the shoebox. It took us awhile to scoop it into the box, but we were determined.

I smile, “Yeah, after that, Mrs. Jensen separated us.”

“She sure did. Toady escaped from my backpack.”

“Did we really name him Toady?” I ask.

He laughs again, warm and rich. The sound of it tugs on a nostalgia deep within me.

“I guess that’s the best we could think of,” he says.

We reminisce more, and I feel myself loosen up. I had forgotten how much fun we had together. Our conversation gets more and more animated, and at some point Mom looks up and smiles at us.

The bell dings and a woman swirls in from the cold. She approaches us. She’s tattooed and seems like she’s in her late twenties, until she gets closer, and I can see the creases around her eyes and mouth.

“Paul, let’s go.”

Suddenly she’s next to our table. The cold from outside pours off her and she smells like stale cigarettes.

“Oh, hi Aunt Dee.”

She folds her arms. “Yeah, hi. Come on, let’s go.”

Mom starts to introduce herself, but it seems like Aunt Dee wants none of it. Before Mom has a chance to say anything, Aunt Dee says, “Hurry up, I’ll be in the car.” She leaves, the bell dinging behind her.

Mom says, “Well, it was nice to see you again, Paul.”

“You too, Mrs. Brody. Thanks for breakfast.”

“Of course.”

Paul stands and lingers by the side of the table for a moment.

“See you at school,” I say.

“Uh, about that. I’m going to live with Aunt Dee, so I won’t be back at school.”

“Oh,” I say, surprised, and sad, and guilty all at once.

He leans down and gives me an awkward hug, trapping my arms. When he stands, his eyes glisten. “You’ve been a good friend.”

I’m at a loss for words, but then he’s leaving and the ding of the bell is ringing through my head.

Across the table from me sits his plate, his pancakes untouched, next to a full glass of chocolate milk.