Breakfast in the Holloway house was always… an event. A chaotic, syrup-splattered, slightly ridiculous event that somehow passed for normal.
I slid into my chair just as Caleb attempted to launch a pancake off the table with his fork. "Careful," I warned. "You're not a catapult engineer."
He grinned, pancake wobbling dangerously in the air. "Watch this!"
Before I could react, Mariah snorted coffee through her nose at the spectacle. Classic. Always dramatic, always overreacting. Mom just sighed like she'd seen this scene a thousand times — which she had.
"Caleb!" she scolded, though there was a hint of amusement in her voice. "Eat with the fork, not fling it."
"Fork? Who needs a fork?" he countered, already eating the airborne pancake mid-fall.
I shook my head and poked at my own plate. My pancake looked innocent enough, shaped like a snowflake as if it had been designed by someone who loves symmetry and rules — definitely not my little brother. I added a generous drizzle of syrup and watched it soak in like the first rays of sunshine.
Dad came in from the garage, still wearing his scarf upside down. "Morning, troops," he said, balancing a coffee mug like it was a newborn baby. "Snow's falling heavier out there, so don't get lost in the driveway."
Mariah rolled her eyes so hard I was worried she might see her own brain. "Dad, it's literally two inches. Two. Inches."
"Two inches can be dangerous!" Dad declared with the kind of conviction only parents possess. "Especially when your sister thinks she's a stunt pilot in a car."
I snorted. "Yeah, because I'm the only one driving these days," I said, though the truth was I didn't drive at all yet. Dad just laughed, clearly amused at my sarcasm.
Mom placed a plate of eggs in front of me, slightly sliding it as if to say, "Eat this before I lose my patience." I took a bite.
Caleb, meanwhile, had moved on to Mariah's waffles, because apparently, he had a talent for finding other people's food. Mariah's protest was loud and dramatic. "That's mine! Give it back, thief!"
"Sharing is caring," Caleb said, mouth full, syrup dripping down his chin. I had to fight back laughter.
This was our normal. Slightly chaotic. Always loud. Full of little battles and bigger laughs.
I glanced out the window while nibbling at my breakfast. Snowflakes tumbled lazily from the sky, and the small town of Maplewood Ridge seemed cozy, almost like a snow globe. But a snow globe where your siblings are constantly throwing imaginary snowballs at you and your parents are refereeing like Olympic judges.
Then, I noticed it. The little, odd thing. A soft glow, not from the Christmas lights but somewhere on the counter near the old cookie jar. It was faint, barely there, like a whisper only my eyes could catch. I blinked. Surely it was just the reflection of the lights… right?
"Are you staring out the window again?" Mariah asked, following my gaze. "It's cold. Come eat before your food gets cold."
"Mm-hmm," I muttered, trying to shake it off. But the glow stayed with me, teasing at the edge of my curiosity.
Breakfast continued — laughter, spilled syrup, jokes, mock arguments — the kind of family chaos that somehow feels like home, like the glue that holds you together even when the pancakes fly.
And for some reason, that little glow kept nudging at my mind. A whisper of something… unusual. Something that didn't quite belong in a normal, chaotic December morning.
I shrugged, took another bite of pancake, and said aloud, though not really to anyone, "Maybe today will be just another boring day."
Famous last words, I thought. Famous last words.