Another Year Without You, My Blonde Goddess

The kitchen was still cloaked in dawn light, soft rays slipping through the blinds and casting stripes across the tiled floor. Brandon stood barefoot by the stove, hair messy, stubble thicker than usual. A black shirt clung to his broad chest, tattoos peeking out beneath the fabric, the black apron that definitely should be washed. A mug of black coffee steamed in one hand. The other hovered over a pan of sizzling butter. He squinted at the eggs on the counter.

Were these the organic ones or the ones on sale? Shit...I'm starting to sound like Leo.

Didn't matter. The comforting crackle of the eggs against the oil filled the silence, a rhythm that made the house feel alive.

Then his phone buzzed across the counter. Brandon glanced at the screen.

*LEO (Incoming Call)

He sighed, already smiling as he set the pan off the burner and answered.

''You better not be in jail'' he muttered, leaning on the counter. Conversations with Leo were never short.

Leo's groggy voice came through immediately, half-laughing, half-coughing. ''Yo, Pops! Happy Mother's Day, you beautiful, muscly MILF-dad.''

Brandon groaned, dragging a hand over his face. ''Leo. Jesus. Never say that again.'' But despite his words, couldn't help but let out the small chuckle he was holding.

Leo cackled like it was the funniest thing he’d ever said. ''What? A son can't celebrate his old man who had to pull double duty and raise us like a badass?.''

Brandon snorted. ''Okay, okay, thanks. That all?.''

''Nah, chill. Two things. First: can you kiss Mom's photo for me? The one with the sunflower candle on the altar? Just...tell her I said 'hey' okay?.''

Brandon was quiet for a moment. ''Hey'' he repeated like if he was making sure that was all the message.

''Yeah. And, uh...'' Leo's voice dipped, almost sheepish. ''Tell her I'm sorry for still bein' a burnout. And all that sappy shit you like, old man.''

''You're not a burnout. You're figuring it out'' Brandon said softly, actually too soft. ''One dumbass mistake at a time.''

His throat tightened. He glanced toward the hallway where the altar sat in the living room: a framed photo of Karina smiling like she knew every secret in the universe.

Good to know my boys don't forget their momma. Even if they didn't have her for long...At least Leo got a few years. But you...you never even got to meet her.

''I'll tell her'' Brandon murmured, rubbing his chest. ''What's the second thing?.''

Leo cleared his throat. ''Oh yeah. How the hell do you make those rich-people eggs? Y'know, the fancy-ass ones? eggs...eggs...'' Leo said, struggling to remember the name.

''Benedict?'' Brandon answered faster, he knows his son.

''Benedict Cumberbitch, yes!'' Leo burst out laughing, followed by the unmistakable bubbling of bong water and a long pause. ''I'm tryna impress a dude, and I Googled that shit, it looks like some NASA-level stuff with poaching and sauce and...prayer. I need the wizard recipe, man. Do I poach it in vinegar water or just offer it to Satan?.''

Brandon chuckled, shaking his head. ''Use vinegar, it helps the egg hold together. And swirl the water first, makes a little vortex. Like a whirlpool hug for the yolk.''

''Damn'' Leo breathed. Like if he literally listened to Socrates. ''That's poetic.''

Brandon walked him through the steps slowly. He could hear the scratch of Leo's pen against paper, the occasional ''wait, say that again?'' as he tried to write and absorb everything at once.

Eventually, Leo cleared his throat. ''Alright. Got it. Thanks, milf-man. Love you.''

Brandon rolled his eyes, but his smile didn't fade. ''Love you too, idiot.''

The call ended. Silence returned.

Brandon walked to the living room, settling on the floor in front of the small altar. Karina's urn sat beside her photo, surrounded by little trinkets, dried sunflowers, and a candle that had burned low. He picked up the photo and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

The worst hell is never feeling your warmth again...

''Happy Mother's Day, baby.'' he whispered. His thumb brushed gently over her face through the glass of the frame. ''My blonde goddess.''

He chuckled softly. ''Our son's making Eggs Benedict for a guy. You'd be laughing your ass off right now if you heard him.''

He sat there a moment longer, then slowly stood and returned to the kitchen.

As he stirred the eggs, he heard footsteps behind him.

Without turning, Brandon smirked. ''I beat you to waking up. That means it's your turn to do the dishes. Chop chop, young man.'' He turned, waving the spatula like a general issuing orders. ''Today’s Mother's Day, so we're feasting.''

His expression softens as he saw his younger son...you.

You've really grown, little monster. In a few months you'll be flying off on your own. College, real life...My child is gonna leave the nest soon.

Brandon glanced toward the photo on the altar.

Damn...that'd make a hell of a song...