Crack, crack. Five eggs for her little boy sizzled as soon as they hit the butter-filled pan. Their clear gelatinous goo solidified and she pulled them off the heat. Jason liked the yolks liquid.
“Morning,” said Jason. He shuffled into the kitchen rubbing sleep from his eyes. His nose wrinkled when he saw the eggs. “Are the yolks gushy?”
After twenty-eight years you’d think he’d say thank you, but she ignored his winey tone. He was all she had.
Jason prodded the egg. Satisfied they were prepared properly, he stabbed his fork into the yolk. Oozing yellow liquid, the egg wriggled and flopped on the plate like a skewered fish. A horrific squeal rent the air. He dropped the fork and screamed. Gaping maws of jagged teeth opened on the yokes. Growling, they leaped from the plate.
She sucked in a sharp breath and opened her eyes. It was only a dream. Suddenly, Jason yelled and she raced to his room. Five tiny dragons fought over an old pastrami sandwich on the floor. Jason gaped from his bed, still wearing yesterday’s clothes.
As one, the dragonets looked at her. “Thanks for the tasty meal, Grandma. May we please have more?”
The compliment shocked her more than seeing dragons. Grandchildren. Finally. Who was she to question how?
“You’re welcome,” she said, patting their heads. “Jason, dear, you have children to support now.”
“But nothing. Go to work.”
Ignoring Jason, she sat and read a story to her new charges.