“Yeah,” called Michael. Waves of smoke rolled out of his mouth. He helped Liza to her feet, dusting off her back as if she had been laying in dirt rather than on her own living room floor. Liza didn’t know what was happening. She would have been less surprised to find Jesus standing over her and Bigfoot, The Jersey Devil, and Punxsutawney Phil making breakfast in the kitchen.
A Christmas Story was on TV. That must have been the children she heard yelling. Liza walked into the kitchen. She didn’t know what to say. What the hell was going on? Liza looked at Jake and then Bruce. Jake pretended to be absorbed with preparing his coffee. Bruce was flipping and re-flipping pancakes at the stove. Sam glided over and pressed a cup of coffee into her hands. “Hey Sweetie, how are you feeling?” he asked.
“Good! Breakfast is almost ready,” said Sam. He looked behind her. “How do you take your coffee?…”
“It’s Michael!” he barked, “I take my coffee black.” Sam looked Michael up and down before turning back to the coffee maker. Liza set her cup on the table and slid into a chair.
“What’s going on?” she asked.
Bruce leaned over and set a stack of pancakes in the center of the table. They smelled like butter and chocolate. “You have some company,” he answered.
“I see that, Professor,” she answered. “Where did everybody come from?”
“Let’s eat first,” said Michael. He forked three pancakes onto his plate and sat down next to Liza in one fluid motion. The butter and chocolate smell got stronger. Her stomach rumbled.
“Ok. Let’s eat.”