“Really?”
“Sometimes. And he always added a little more milk than the recipe called for.”
Ethan looked at the bowl.
“How do you know?”
“Because I used to complain about cleaning up after him.”
He smiled.
For a moment, I could almost see Daniel standing beside him, sleeves rolled up, making a mess of our kitchen.
I moved beside Ethan.
“Your dad had a trick for flipping them.”
“He did?”
“He waited until the edges looked dry and little bubbles appeared on top. Then he slid the spatula underneath and flipped quickly.”
Ethan studied the pancake.
“Like this?”
He lifted it.
“Exactly.”
He flipped it.
The pancake landed neatly in the center of the pan.
Ethan stared at it as though he had just performed a magic trick.
“Did you see that?”
“I saw it.”
He grinned.
“That was perfect.”
“It was.”
He looked at the spatula again.
“I wish he could see it.”
