"No, smooth thrust," Benjamin argued, bent over me and sweating. "Come on, baby. Easy does it."
"It's stretching too fast," I hissed.
"Hush, just hold still." He concentrated, guiding it straight to the center.
"Benjamin, I can't," I huffed.
"There it is, baby," he encouraged. He pressed the tip of his needle right above the strange, green lump where the frog's eye should be. He squeezed the syringe, injecting a small black dot for the eye.
"Not too much," I whispered, my arms shaking while I held the gelatin mold at an angle.
Benjamin was hunched over me, his arms around me and his eyes concentrated on the bizarre frog thing we had somehow created in a half dome of clear gelatin. Wehadsucceeded in setting the gelatin, for one thing. That was a miracle in and of itself. And then we had heated the liquid concoction that we dyed the right colors and brought down to the correct temperature before putting them in syringes and injecting them in "artful" blobs to suspend the frog sculpture in the clear gel.
It was, objectively, a grotesque imitation of what a frog should look like. But it was still closer than I ever thought we'd manage. Benjamin withdrew his needle—I should have predicted that he'd be good at precision needlework—and stepped back. I gently set the plate with the mold in its center on the counter, and we both took a step back to survey our work. A bulbous, comically squished-looking green and gray frog floated in the middle of the clear gelatin mold, wobbling slightly.
I cocked my head. "He's a very humble frog."
"Distinguished in the face of his deformities," Benjamin agreed gravely.
I held up my hand, and he gave me a high five, both of us still admiring our hard work. I looked at the messy counters with a touch of chagrin. "See, this is why I retired this hobby. It makes too many dishes."
"Look at that and tell me it's not worth it," Benjamin insisted, gesturing to our frog.
"It's true. Now, what one does with a gelatin art formation, I'm not sure. Do we let it melt on the counter? Do we keep itin the fridge and only admire it when we are getting a snack?" I went to the sink and started rinsing some of the pots we'd used.
"I think we're meant to eat it, right?" Benjamin said uncertainly. I pulled a face. He mirrored it. "Give it to Nan."
"Now that has merit," I agreed, swirling soap into the pot and running it under warm water. "She'll love it."
"Problem solved." Benjamin's watch buzzed, and he checked it before pulling out his phone. "Just a second, I'll take this and help you clean up." When he answered, his voice changed, becoming clipped and professional, "Dr. Frost."
I mocked him soundlessly, mouthing, "Dr. Frost," with a surly glare, and he pinched my ass, fighting a smile as he listened to whoever was on the other line.
"Is it open or closed?" Benjamin asked, his eyes shimmering with humor as he watched me. He listened again, sighing. "Finchey is the only attending there? If the mom is asking for me, maybe Jacobs can—" he paused, his eyebrows drifting together. "No, I'm on a," he glanced at me again, "remote assignment." He paused, pacing away, and then said, "I can advise on orientation and closure if you put Finchey on a video call. Yeah, that's the best I can do. Tell the mom I'm overseeing remotely and maybe that will put her mind at ease."
I finished washing the pot and turned off the water. I wasn't going to bang around in the kitchen cleaning if he needed to consult someone over video call. Wiping my hands on a kitchen towel, I waited for Benjamin to hang up the phone before saying, "I'll take this over to Nan while you make your call."
He threw me a grateful glance as he opened his laptop at the table. "I appreciate it. You probably don't want to see a dog bite to the face on a kid, anyway."
I put my hand on my chest, my eyebrows tilting up. "Oh my God."
"Yeah, it's a complicated wound. Mom wants to make sure it doesn't scar too badly." He clicked away on his computer, putting in the password and pulling up his email.
"I'll be back in a bit, then," I offered, picking up the wobbly creation. "And I'll make sure Nan knows you were the mastermind."
"Careful, she might fall in love with me if she knows I can make ugly frogs in Jell-O," he grinned.
I think I fell in love with you long before the damn frog, I thought with a touch of melancholy. We'd spent all morning and the better part of our afternoon working on our silly project, and it had gone by too quickly. Time with Benjamin operated on its own universal clock that sped by at twice the rate it should. Because every minute, every hour consisted of his teasing, his crinkle-eyed smiles, his little touches, and the masculine scent of him near me. Every moment was becoming steadily etched into my memories with permanent, deep grooves.
Internally chastising myself for getting too attached to him, I left my house and followed the winding stone path to Nan's cottage. A bee buzzed by me, checking out my sweet dessert before moving on, and I took a deep breath of aromatic air, relishing in the gentle heat of the spring sun on my skin.
I had plenty of beautiful, joyful things here on the farm. Maybe I was being too greedy, wanting more time with Benjamin. Maybe his time with me was like the lifespan of a worker bee, fleeting but brimming with fulfilling energy.
I went through the little, white gate that led the garden in front of Nan's cottage, and then I was opening the door, entering the cool, herb-scented kitchen. Nan was at the table where she always was in the afternoon, reading one of her novels and sipping a cup of jasmine tea. She gave me a welcoming smile, and then her faded blue eyes fixed on the thing in my hands. "Well, what do we have here?"
I held it aloft with an apologetic smile. "Gelatin art."
"You used the kit," she chuckled. She took her reading glasses off and held out her hands. "Let's see it."
