While Hannah contemplates the cereal selection, my son, Liam, joins us in the kitchen. Unlike his sister, Liam is fully dressed in what is a surprisingly nice blue button-down shirt and khaki slacks. I bought a new wardrobe for him over the summer when he shot up four inches and all his old clothes looked comically short. He recently turned sixteen, which means he went to the DMV last month with my husband to get his learner’s permit to drive. I had thought my son getting his learner’s permit would fill me with terror, but I’m oddly calm about the whole thing. Liam will be a good driver. He’ll be careful, he’ll pay close attention to the road, and he’ll never drink and drive. I’m certain of that much.
That’s not why I’m worried about him driving.
“Eggs. I love eggs. Thanks, mom!”
Liam’s lips spread into an appreciative smile. He was always an attractive kid, but in the last couple of years, he’s grown downright handsome. We were out at a restaurant as a family last weekend, and I caught a woman who was in her twenties giving him a second look. A full grown adult was checking him out! There is something about his thick dark hair and chocolate-colored eyes that almost twinkle when he smiles. Unlike Hannah, Liam never needed braces, and his smile reveals a row of perfectly straight, white teeth.
According to my mother, Liam looks very much the way my father did when he was young. My father died when I was a child and I barely remember him, but I’ve seen pictures, and I agree the resemblance is uncanny. I keep one of those photos in a drawer by my bed, and lately, every time I look at it, I get a pang in my chest. It was hard enough knowing my dad never got to see me grow up, and it’s another sting to know he’ll never meet the grandson who looks just like him.
Hannah pulls a box of Cheerios out of the pantry and studies the label, her nose crinkling.
“What’s in Cheerios?” she asks me.
“Poison.”
“Mom!” That was at least four syllables right there. M-o-o-om. “You know I’m trying to lose weight and be healthy. Don’t you want me to be healthy?”
Hannah has always been a little on the chubby side. I think she looks cute, but in the last year, she’s been obsessed with losing ten pounds, although she has not done anything to lose it. In fact, when I brought home a bag of chips that I had been planning to pair with guacamole to bring to a mom’s night out last month, Hannah demolished it before I made it out the door. I ended up bringing some sliced up apples. They haven’t invited me back.
“Of course I want you to be healthy,” I say.
She rolls her eyes. Hannah has mastered the eye roll. It’s her favorite facial expression. It can be used when I’ve asked her to do something she doesn’t want to do. Or when I’ve said something so terribly lame, she just can’t bear it. Or best of all, when I express any sort of love or affection.
“Eggs in two minutes,” I say to Liam.
“No rush. I’m gonna have some orange juice.” Liam goes for the fridge, but he’s not quick enough. Hannah shoves him aside to get to the quart of milk. He raises his eyebrows, but he lets his sister get away with it without commenting.
“What are you all dressed up for, Liam?” I ask as I turn off the heat on the stove. Usually my son wears jeans and a T-shirt, regardless of the weather. I’m just happy when they’re clean.
“Debate.” He finally gets his turn and grabs the orange juice from the fridge. He pours himself a heaping glass, so full that the juice is licking the edges, threatening to spill over. Like every other teenage boy in the world, Liam has a huge appetite even though his build is lanky and athletic. “We’re competing against Lincoln High after school.”
“Can I come to watch?”
Hannah rolls her eyes. “Seriously? Liam’s debates are mega boring.”
Liam smiles crookedly and takes a swig from his orange juice. “She’s right. It won’t be fun for you.”
I scrape the eggs onto a plate for him, giving him his portion in addition to the eggs I made for Hannah. I’ll make more for my husband later if he wants it—Jason should be back from his run before long. “It will be fun if you’re up there.”
“Okay, sure.” Liam digs into the plate of eggs. For some reason, I get a lot of satisfaction out of watching my children eat. It dates all the way back to when I was breast-feeding. （Hannah says it’s super weird.） “These eggs are great, Mom.”
“Why, thank you.”
“What’s your secret ingredient?”