by Elise Faber
I shuddered. It was a favorite of kids everywhere. Pasta and fake, powdery cheese that tasted like socks.
It was also probably the single meal that I had enough energy to make at that point in time.
“Deal,” I said.
“Woohoo!” Allie streaked from the kitchen and launched herself onto the couch. “Bubble Guppies and mac and cheese!”
Max glanced up from his iPad—yes, they both had an iPad and don’t judge, I’d bought them on sale last Black Friday. But they had literally paid for themselves that afternoon alone. “Bubble Guppies is stupid.”
“Is not!”
“Is too.”
Distraction was key when a parent was sick and alone.
“Max, pick a new app to download,” I interrupted. “Allie, what episode?”
And with Rob working long hours—
“Really?” Max said. “I can?”
“I want the parade one,” Allie said and danced around. “I love Bubble Guppies!”
“Pick one from your wish list,” I told him, not wanting him to spend the entire episode deciding. “Allie, it’s starting,” I said after deftly scrolling through the On Demand program and choosing the correct episode.
“How about this one?”
I glanced at the price—$4.99—and grimaced. I hated paying for apps, let alone that much. Still, I really wanted twenty-three minutes of peace and quiet.
And so I caved.
Ten seconds later, it was downloading and I was closing my eyes on the couch.
“Mom! It’s over!”
My eyes flew open. Why were my kids always shouting?
“Want to watch another one?” I asked, voice gravelly as I struggled to sit up.
“No,” she said. “I’m hungry!”
My sigh was pathetic. I knew it was. It still didn’t have any effect on my kids.
“I’m hungry too,” Max announced.
“You still have to pass the puke test.” I shoved myself up from the couch.
He giggled. “You said puke.”
“Yup.” I smiled and smacked a kiss on top of his head. “We’ve had a lot of puke all over the place today.”
Wiry arms wrapped around my middle. “I love you, Mommy.”
And my heart melted. “Come on,” I said, hugging him back. “Let’s go cook up some cardboard.”
The bed dipped, and I rolled over to see Rob sitting on the side of the bed.
“Is there anything for dinner?” he asked.
“Not today,” I said. “We were all sick.”
His dark brows pulled down. “You were? Why didn’t you call me?”
“I texted you three times.”
“You did? I didn’t get them.” He pulled out his cell and unlocked it. The little green box had a red bubble with a three in the upper right corner. He tapped it and, lo and behold, my messages were there.
Any chance you can come home early? The stomach plague has hit.
I’m feeling really lousy, could use some help.
So much puke. I need backup.
“Shit,” he muttered.
I reached over him, tapped the lower case “i” on the right side of the screen, and swiped off the mute function.
“Maybe don’t put your wife on Do Not Disturb?”
“Oh, I didn’t realize—”
I sighed and flopped over to my side, facing away from him. My heart felt fragile, ready to shatter into a million pieces. I kept telling myself that I was crazy, that things were fine and we were going through a rough patch.
But . . .
This didn’t feel like a rough patch. It felt like—
I bit my lip hard, stopping the thought before it could completely materialize.
We’d worked through tough times before. Every couple had ups and downs. What made us different was that we could talk to each other about anything.
Or we used to, anyway.
I turned my head so I could see him over my shoulder. “Not realizing things seems to be the theme with you lately, Rob. Can we talk about what’s going on? It’s not like you to be so detached.”
Silence.
He sat six inches away from me, eyes on his phone, and he didn’t even look at me.
He. Didn’t. Look. At. Me.
In that moment, I felt ten years old again. Begging my mom to see me. To want me. To value me.
And in that moment, I hated my husband for making me feel that way.
I wasn’t that little girl any longer. I knew my own worth. I—
Didn’t beg for love. That came internally. I loved myself.
Because Rob had given me the strength to learn how.
His touch made me jump.
It was a gentle caress, one soft brush of his thumb beneath my eye to collect a drop of moisture I hadn’t realized was there.
“Miss, I—”
His phone rang. He glanced down at it, and I held my breath, waiting for him, wishing he would decline it.
He didn’t.
His finger swiped across the screen.
“Hello?” Rob said and walked from the room.
7
“Bye, Mom!” Max yelled the next day as he jumped out of the car and headed for his classroom.
“Love you!” I called through the open window.
“Love you, too!” he called back.
I smiled and pulled out of the drop-off line, soaking up the sentiment even as I recognized that the little boy I was raising wasn’t so little anymore.
“You’re next, Allie.”
“Okay, Mom,” she said, then went right back to humming the ABCs.
“Feeling all better?”
“Mmmhmm.” A pause. “I miss Daddy.”
“I know, honey,” I said, even as my heart squeezed tightly. I missed her dad as well. “But he’s working hard to keep everyone safe.”
“From the bad guys?”
“Yup.” I nodded, and when we stopped at a signal—one of five in the entire town—I met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Daddy has an important job, but he loves us very much. Did you know he snuck in after you were asleep last night and tucked you in?”
She smiled, brown eyes widening. “He tucked Mr. Tails under my arm.”
Mr. Tails was the rainbow stuffed cat Allie carried with her everywhere. She’d had it since she was a baby and though it was definitely tattered, she loved it.
Mr. Tails was also currently buckled into the seat next to Allie.
Safety first, in our family.
“He sure did, and he always puts your blankets just right, doesn’t he?”
“Yup.”
The light turned, and I pulled forward. “Should we sing a song before your school?”
“The Silly Pizza Song!”
I groaned. “Again?”
“Again!”
I laughed, but since this was our routine, the song was already cued up on my phone. I pressed play, and the song blared through the car’s speakers.
We sang about crackers and candy and banana-topped pizza until it was time to drop Allie at school.
Back at home, I finished throwing the kids’ sheets and blankets that remained from the previous day’s Operation Plague into the washer before sitting down with my laptop and a cup of coffee in the kitchen. I pulled up my blog, replied to comments, checked that the next several posts were cued up to publish automatically, and wrote a quick check-in about the drama of the previous day.
At least being sick had the benefit of providing me blog material.
I shared my latest recipe video to Facebook, then a pretty and stylized shot of the finished product to Instagram.
When the business part was done, I finally got to do my favorite thing.
Cook.
In honor of yesterday, I made soup.
Not standard-issue, bland chicken noodle soup, but hearty, filling, and a little-bit-spicy-sweet potato with rice, carrots, and kale chicken soup.
It was delicious, and I found myself sampling, then breaki
ng down and heating up a loaf of homemade sourdough to go with it. I scooped up a large helping, buttered several slices of bread, and ate my first peaceful meal in what felt like an eternity.
Each bite brought something slightly different to my palate. The creaminess of the cooked sweet potatoes, a little explosion of brightness when parsley landed on my tongue. Salty, tangy, savory, the crunch of the sourdough’s crust when I dipped it in the soup, and just a hint of sweetness when I got a bite with everything all at once.
I ate the entire bowl. Plus, half the loaf of sourdough.
My phone chimed as I was styling a bowl for photographs.
“Hello?” I answered, distracted as I sprinkled an artistic arrangement of crumbs next to the spoon. I’d taken a bite from one last slice—someone had to do the hard work—and placed it on a pretty blue plate next to the bowl of soup. That way I could link both recipes on my website.
“Miss!” My sister’s panicked voice exploded through the airwaves.
My stomach clenched, mind reeling at what could have happened. Was Abby okay? “What is it?”
“I burned dinner!”
I laughed, relief coursing through me.
“It’s not funny.”
“Kel, you always burn dinner.”
“Well, I have no backup plan and Rosa is on vacation.”
“It’s only one o’clock,” I said, adjusting the angle of the bowl and spoon before snapping a few photos. “You’ve got hours. Order a pizza. Or defrost something from the freezer. I know Rosa stocked it for you.”
Rosa was Kelly’s husband’s housekeeper. She’d been with the Roosevelt family since Justin was a child and was an awesome cook. She was also getting very close to retiring, which meant that those days were coming to an end.
“I can’t,” Kel said.
“Why not? Or have Justin bring something home.”
Kel sighed. “He offered, and I got all mad.”
I snorted. “Kel . . .”
“I know. I know I can’t cook, but then he got all superior about having someone cater this, and I just lost it.”
My phone between my ear and shoulder, I took a few more shots then put my camera down. “Cater what?”
“Justin has work people coming over tonight, and I—”
“Wanted to impress him?”
Kel huffed. “Yes.”
“You know you already married him, right?”
I felt her eyes roll through the phone. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to impress him.”
Yeah. I knew the feeling.
“Okay, I have to grab the kids, but as long as you don’t mind the monsters coming with me, I’ll bring by some ingredients and we can cook together.”
“Are they recovered?”
“We’re more than twenty-four hours in the clear, but if you’d rather not risk Abby getting sick, I can just drop by some stuff for you to heat up.”
And hopefully not burn.
“Hmm.” Kel was quiet for a moment. “No, I’d probably ruin that too. If the kids were well enough to go to school, I’m sure they’re good to come.”
“Sure?” I asked.
“New mom jitters,” Kelly said. “I’m sure.”
“Okay.” I did a little jig in the kitchen. I was going to cook for new people, and that made me happy. “How many and any allergies?”
“Six people including Justin and me, and, um . . .”
“You don’t know about allergies?” I asked, filling in the pause.
“I didn’t ask.”
“Okay, ask. And then text me. I’ll stop by the store on the way over.”
We hung up, and I bustled around the kitchen, packing up the soup, downloading my photographs from the memory card and onto my laptop. I’d bring my camera with me, knowing this too would give me good material for a blog post.
How often did I cater events?
Never.
Not that cooking dinner for six people really counted, but I was excited for the chance to try out some new things.
I portioned the soup into containers and put them in the freezer before running out the door to pick Allie up from school.
“Did you have a nice day?” I asked while we meandered back to the car. We had thirty minutes before I had to get Max. Enough time to do . . . basically nothing.
“Uh-huh.” A pause. “I’m hungry.”
My lips twitched at the familiar exchange. She wouldn’t dish on the details of school until she had a little food in her belly. “I’ve got a snack for you in the car.”
“Yay!”
Hunger forgotten, or perhaps more acute, Allie picked up the pace and sprinted for the car.
Minivan.
It was a minivan.
I’d gotten to the point in my life where I drove a minivan.
Rolling my eyes at myself, I pushed a few buttons on the key fob to remotely start it and then opened the side door.
Minivan or not, those perks were good.
Allie found the thermal pack I’d put on the floor in front of her car seat and quickly unzipped it.
“Swatermfelon!” she shouted before shoving a piece into her mouth. “I rofe swatermfelon!”
Of course I had to translate that—“I love watermelon!”—since her mouth was full, but I knew my baby girl.
And she loved all fruit, most especially watermelon.
“We’ll get Max, stop at the grocery store, then head for Aunt Kelly’s, okay?”
Allie paused in her inhalation of the melon. “Did she burn something again?”
I laughed as I buckled her in. “What do you think?”
“Definitely.”
8
“So what are we making again?” Kelly asked, her eyes wide as she surveyed the mass of bags on her kitchen counter.
“It’s basically chicken, rice, and veggies,” I said as I unpacked ingredients and began lining everything up.
“Oh.”
“It’s fancy chicken, rice, and veggies, okay?”
Kel sighed in relief. “Okay.”
I peeked out the kitchen window, watching the kiddos play with Henry, who was Kel’s best friend from high school. He was also a very good chef in his own right and worked at the local restaurant his family owned.
“You sure Henry doesn’t mind watching Max and Allie?”
“Nope. He wanted some time away from the diner, and the kids are a good distraction.”
I raised a brow at that very nondescript explanation. Kel put her hands up. “Not my story to tell.”
“Hmm.” I gathered the canvas shopping bags, folding them up and setting them on the counter. “And why didn’t you hit him up to cook?”
“I did,” Kelly said. “He wouldn’t bail me out.”
I bumped her shoulder, nodding at the sink so she could wash up. “I see how it is, I’m second best?”
“That’s not—”
“Second best,” I sing-songed, walking over to where Abby was stacking blocks in a playpen in the corner of the kitchen. It was shoved between the wall and a wood table and chairs, one of which looked a little lopsided. “Just like this chair,” I said as I pushed it out of the way and smacked a kiss on Abby’s head.
“Your eyes”—emerald green just like her daddy’s—“are gorgeous.”
The water turned off, and Kelly came over, drying her hands with a towel. “They are. I thought she might look like Rex, and then . . .”
“Justin is her dad, Kel. Not Rex.” I put an arm around her shoulders. “You have the papers to prove it.”
“I wish I hadn’t—”
“You made a mistake, but you got something precious and valuable from it, yeah?”
Kel nodded, and I went for levity.
“Plus, it’s good you chose to make a mistake with twins because it makes explanations a lot easier.”
Kel had previously been in a relationship with Justin’s twin, Rex, and had ended up pregnant and alone . . . at least until Justin had showed up in Darlington.
&nb
sp; They’d hit a few bumps but had eventually figured it out. Or I’d thought so anyway.
“Are you unhappy?” I asked, taking in her pale face and the lines around her mouth. “You don’t have to stay with—”
“I’m not unhappy,” Kel said. “I’m freaked out.”
Abby had been thoroughly entertained with her wooden blocks, but at the sound of her mom’s worried voice extended her arms. “Up, mama.”
“Why?” I asked as Kelly swept her from the playpen.
“I’m pregnant again.”
I shrieked. “What?”
“I know.” Kelly hugged Abby tightly before the little girl squirmed to be put down.
“But—but how?” I shook my head. “Okay, don’t answer that.” I crossed back to the kitchen island and began washing vegetables.
Kel giggled. “No details?”
I wrinkled my nose as I began chopping onions. “No, thanks.”
My sister corralled Abby in the kitchen as I moved on to chopping carrots and lettuce. I peeled some potatoes, trimmed some asparagus, and then set all the veggies to the side. “So are we celebrating?”
“Justin doesn’t know yet,” she said, biting her lip. “I—uh . . . we moved so quickly with Abby and the wedding and now . . .”
I put the knife down. “That’s not what has you worried.” I fixed her with a glare. “Spill.”
“What if he loves her less?” Kel asked. The question was quiet and almost drowned out by Abby’s babbling of “Ma! Ma! Ma!”
“Oh, Kel.” I crossed around the island and sat down on the floor in front of Abby. The sweet little girl crawled into my lap and tugged at my hair. “How could anyone not love her?”
“She’s not his. Or not entirely anyway.”
“Bullshit.”
Kelly and Abby both stared up at me with wide eyes. I sent up a silent prayer that the little parrot wouldn’t pick that moment to begin mimicking me.
Her first curse word courtesy of Aunt Melissa. Yeah, that would be awesome.
“Justin loves her. He loves you.”
“But what if he thinks it’s too soon.”
“He won’t.”
Kel sighed and sat back onto her heels. “How do you know?”
I smiled. “I know.”
