“I’m going to dip my pancakes in it.”

Jared wrinkled his nose and stuck out his tongue. “So hold the maple syrup, then?”

“No, I want the syrup, too,” I said, ambling to the bathroom. I didn’t look behind me to see what revolted expression was on Jared’s face, but he didn’t move from the bed until I turned on the shower.

He was probably beyond disgusted, but it did sound good. What wasn’t appetizing about fresh, spicy tomatoes, cilantro, onion, blueberries and pancake batter soaked in maple syrup? My stomach growled. I was suddenly ravenous.

I rushed through my morning routine, and yanked on a Brown University pullover hoody and a pair of jeans. The button was being stubborn, so I sucked in. When I still couldn’t get it buttoned, I lay on the bed. Coupled with sucking in, I finally got it fastened. I made my way down the stairs, uncomfortable and stiff.

“We need to do some shopping tonight instead of sparring,” Jared said, joining me.

“We can do both,” I said. “Just don’t take me to a maternity store. I’m not ready for that yet.”

Jared shrugged. “Fair enough. I just want to make sure you’re both comfortable.”

I made a show of looking around the room. “Did you eat my salsa pancakes?”

Jared laughed once. “Absolutely not. Cynthia beat me to the cupboard.”

“She’s making pancakes?”

“No, and she’s not serving salsa, either.”

I frowned. “I sort of had my heart set.”

Cynthia’s high heels clicked against the tile as she brought in a tray and set it on the table. She placed an empty plate in front of me, and then sat a tall glass of an indiscriminate frozen cocktail on the plate. She added a bowl of fresh fruit, a bran muffin, and a slice of tomato.

“What’s in the glass?” I asked.

“Fresh fruit, yogurt and peanut butter.”

“That sounds awful,” I groaned.

“But salsa pancakes are appetizing?” Jared said. I shot him an annoyed glare.

Cynthia nodded to my breakfast. “It’s quite good, I assure you. I can’t do this every morning. I happened to have a cancellation, but I do expect you to eat well.”

All expression left my face. “You know, don’t you?”

Cynthia offered a small smile. “I know everything, Nina, dear. Now, feed my grandchild. I’ll see you at dinner.”

She untied the strings of her apron and hung it over a chair, clicking her heels to the foyer.

I stared at the concoction in the glass. “I officially believe that I will never know what to expect from my mother.”

“That makes two of us.”