Page 3 of That Rush

The smell of coffee grows stronger as we approach the kitchen. Mom stands at the stove in leggings and one of Dad’s old sweatshirts, pouring pancake batter onto a griddle. Dad sits at the table with a mug beside him and a legal pad covered in his blocky handwriting.

His eyes move over my face before settling on Josie. “Morning, Jo.”

“Grandma is making pancakes,” she tells him.

“I noticed.”

“With chocolate chips?”

Mom glances over her shoulder. “I have chocolate chips.”

Josie releases my hand and hurries toward her. “They have to be inside. You can’t put them on top because they fall off.”

“Inside. Got it.”

Mom lets her climb onto the stool beside the counter and pours a small pile of chocolate chips into her palm. Josie carefully drops them onto the wet batter one at a time.

I stand in the doorway, watching them. Mom at the stove, Josie beside her. My father studies me from the table, and I can feel him measuring the distance, deciding how close he needs to stand before I fall over.

“I’m fine,” I say.

“I didn’t ask.”

“You were going to.”

“I was thinking you look like hell.”

“Hudson,” Mom says.

“What? He does.”

Josie looks back at me. “You do a little, Daddy.”

“Thank you.”

“You need to brush your hair.”

Dad takes a long drink of coffee to hide his smile.

I walk to the cabinet and pull out a mug. When I reach for the coffeepot, he slides it toward me.

“I can pour my own coffee.”

“I know. That’s why I moved the pot closer.”

His ability to irritate me before seven in the morning is so normal it’s almost calming. I fill my mug and glance down at the legal pad.

Funeral homes. Phone numbers I don’t recognize. A list of decisions I have to make today.

My knuckles strain around the mug.

“I said I would take care of this.”

Dad leans back in his chair. “I wrote down some numbers.”

“I can find phone numbers.”

“I’m sure you can.”