“No, I’m sorry, we don’t,” he said into the open cabinet.
When he turned around, Mary Ellen’s lips were twisted into a pout. “Oh, phooey. There’s nothing better than peach jam on toast.”
Eron’s toast jumped out of the toaster. He grabbed it and sat down on the other side of the counter. Helen’s stool was well worn and comfortable.
Toast crunched, knives and forks scraped on the dishes, but neither one of them said a word. The silence was uncomfortable compared to his time with Garrett. While they’d share many meals without saying word except, “Please pass this,” or “Please pass that, the silence was relaxed and pleasant.
Eating breakfast with Mary Ellen was like eating with his parents. Each silently irritated with the other, neither saying what they thought. A small mercy that he and Mary Ellen didn’t have a child caught in the middle.