Marjorie Mullens flipped a pancake in one pan and mixed shredded cheese into the scrambled eggs in the pen on the back burner. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and checked on the toaster. Then she heard the patter of feet as her daughter trotted down the stairs into the kitchen. She clambered onto the barstool near the counter and leaned on her elbows to watch her mom cook.
“Morning, ladybug. Hope you’re hungry.” Marjorie reached over and booped the tip of her nose.
Lillian, ladybug, frowned at her mother. Instead of answering, she said, “Michael said he’s mad at you.”