carl@fire

Carl woke up.

It was Sunday.

Carl's family wasn't religious, but they tended to spend Sundays together doing one activity or another as a family. The girls tried to escape on occasion, and Carl was usually more lenient than his wife with regards to letting them out of whatever plans had been made.

It had been Annie's idea to spend that day together as Bobby and Sammy began to grow older, and he supported her, but they were just too darn cute sometimes.

He took stock of things as he opened his eyes.

His wife was sprawled out, her arm over his chest—

No, actually he had it backwards. He'd turned over in his sleep and his arm was over her chest under the covers.

Also, the pillow was a little wet.

But that was definitely Annie's drool, because it was something she did sometimes when she wore her retainer.

Carl never drooled while he slept. Ever.

He moved to roll away, but his wife hugged his arm in her sleep and prevented him from separating from her.

Carl sighed.

This was the best way to wake up.

Minus the wet pillow.

Maybe he'd sleep a little longer.

Carl clomped down the stairs on his way to coffeetown. His glasses were raised to his forehead, and he rubbed at his eyes. He was feeling much less sore than he had the previous morning, likely the result of a very early, straight-to-sleep bedtime the night before.

Annie was showering first.

Obviously they wouldn't shower together all the time.

They'd been married for nineteen years already. Sometimes the best showers were the ones he took alone.

The kitchen was empty when he reached it, walking noiselessly and wearing socks on his feet as part of his usual, lazy home clothes.

It was just before eight thirty, so it was expected that neither of his daughters would have arisen at this point; Sammy would still be fast asleep, and Bobby was probably already awake and logged into New Era, even though she wasn't supposed to play until after she'd eaten breakfast with them.

Carl wasn't about to say anything to her about it, though.

He wouldn't tolerate it if his own daughter let the noobs win.

He scratched his beard as he considered his predicament.

Both he and Annie enjoyed making progressively more elaborate smoothies in the mornings, but Sammy got really grumpy if he used the blender before nine thirty or so, and even that's too early, Dad.

Being the best dad was tough sometimes, but Carl wasn't a noob.

He checked the refrigerator.

Hm.

He checked the pantry.

Hmm.

He checked the bread drawer.

Bagels? When had they…

Also, where had his pulled pork gone? He frowned.

Annie was known to take leftovers in for lunch at work if he didn't eat them quickly enough, but…

He grumbled. It had been more than two days, he supposed. That was the limit she gave him to keep his leftovers before they became their leftovers.

Egg sandwiches on bagels it would be, he decided.

But only once he'd poured his first cup of coffee.

"Mmm," Annie moaned, "this is perfect, Carl. You're so good at this."

Carl bit into his own egg sandwich, which he'd liberally covered with salsa. Obviously.

And of course he was good at making breakfast.

He was Carl Weathers, a man who had religiously watched and listened to food and cooking tutorials for the first five years of his marriage.

Annie was a great cook. But if he let her do all the cooking, that would make her feel like she was required to cook, wouldn't it?

Carl was way too smart to fall into that trap. Yeah, he reckoned, if there was some kinda chef class or whatever in New Era, he'd probably be at least level…

Carl frowned. Why was he randomly thinking about game stuff? He hadn't done that in very long time.

He bit into his egg sandwich again and refocused himself.