“Yes, love.” Mom pops around the corner.
“Lorien says you’re baking.” He rubs his hands together. “Can we have chocolate chip cookies? His eyes do the thing that the orange tabby cat does inShrekwhere they go all puddly soft and beg.
Grrr. I got played.
“You know what else sounds good? Rum balls. But with Whiskey.”
My eyes go wide and I turn on him. “That’s too much to put on Mom. You can tell she’s hurting, can’t you?”
“Lolo, come on. I’ll sit with you. I miss baking with my babies.”
“Coming, Mom,” I call as I glare at my brother behind my mom’s back so he knows my displeasure.
“I have his number,” he mouths to me, and I freeze.
Whiskey Balls!
Breakfast comes and goes.
Baking is in full swing, with Mom being overly directive with all of the instructions. There’s no need for such a level of detail when I make her recipes all the time. But, alas, I hear it for hours. Hours.
The kitchen is a wreck, but the whole house smells like spun sugar. I wish I could bottle it. The flavor, not my thing,but the smell is my childhood, and I miss it more than I can explain.
Sam and Billy take off for the airport with Strider dropping them off. I wish she’d gotten one-on-one time with our brother. I sort of wish she’d gotten some with me too. Not that I know what we would’ve discussed but still. This adulthood thing requires learning a whole new skill and this one should be at the top of my list.
Well, maybe not the tippy-top.
First, I need to hone my oral skills. And figure out how to handle Liam’s girth and that barbell. Nice down there but maybe not on the roof of my mouth. Would that trigger a gag reflex or stimulate something? We’ll see.
“Lolo?” Mom calls, as Strider walks through the front door.
Um. Dang it. “Yeah?”
“Are you getting overheated?”
I fan my face with my hand and lie. Again. “I must have. That’s weird.”
“How are those chocolate chip cookies coming?” my brother asks as he drops a kiss on Mom’s cheek.
“They’re resting now.” I swat his hand with a potholder as he reaches for one on a cooling rack. “They’re not ready. You have to wait.”
“But I’m the birthday boy.” He fakes one way, reaches another, and has a whole cookie in his mouth before I can stop it.
He sputters a little and makes a face.
“You are not. That was yesterday. You don’t get to claim multiple days.” I smack him on the shoulder with the potholder as he chokes. “Seriously, dramatic much?”
He looks at me wide-eyed.
“Do I need to do the Heimlich maneuver on you?”
He shakes his head, but stares at me before finding a glass of water and drinking the whole thing down.
“I hope the chocolate burns your palate and you notice it when you drink your coffee tomorrow morning. Speaking of, are you working tomorrow?” I can’t help the sadness in my tone.
I love being here, but I love being at home too. I just wish myfamily and my home were closer together. And not closer like in Peoria.
“Yeah. You leave in the morning anyway. By the time you do the check-in and boarding, I lose the whole day with you anyway. But I can have breakfast and get a late start?” He turns to Mom. “You cooking tomorrow?”
