About ten minutes after we get started, Natalie’s crew arrives, along with Sam.My kitchen isn’t massive, but it’s been quite comfortable for us while we’ve lived here.With another five kids added to the mix, it’s a little cramped, but it still makes me smile.Paul and Ryan immediately start sharing a tray, with Bryce and Hannah splitting another.
“I already finished mine,” I say.“Once you finish with yours and they bake, we can pass this tray to the other set of twins.”I smile at Blaine and Amelia.
“I don’t want to share,” Amelia says.“Blaine will yell at me for adding too many colors, and then they run together.”
“Hers looked like Picasso painted them at Thanksgiving,” Blaine says.“And she’s always in a hurry.”
“You can join us,” Bryce says.“I love Picasso.”Hannah waves her over.
Blaine’s sigh is heavy.“I guess I’ll do my own tray again, then.”She’s a little dramatic.I worry about what will happen when she’s a teenager.
“You did these at Thanksgiving as well?”Mrs.Shanahan asks.“Do you do them for every holiday?”
I shrug.“We make them for a lot of holidays.Thanksgiving, when we have time.Easter for sure.Christmas, always.Sometimes Valentine’s Day.”
She frowns.“How special.”
“We’d never done them before this year,” Natalie says.“But my kids want to do them for every holiday now.It’s fun, and I like that when they cool they’re all shiny but they have way less added sugar than frosted sugar cookies.Creativity, plus a little healthier?It’s a win for me.”
“I don’t think you can call cookies healthy, even without frosting,” Mrs.Shanahan says.
“I can call the sky brown and the floor marshmallows,” Natalie says, one eyebrow quirked, “because I’m an adult, and no one tells me what to do or say.”
“Okay,” I say.“Let’s get you a tray for your marshmallow floor and your brown sky.”I grab her arm and steer her to the corner before she can maul Jack’s mother.“Let’s tone it down, Brutus.”
Natalie laughs.“If you won’t defend yourself from that bully, I will.”She frowns.“It would be nice if Jack would.I thought he stepped up with those moms.”
It’s harder with our own family, I think, but now isn’t the time.I shake my head, and whisper, “Shush.”
“I make no promises,” Natalie says.
I’ve barely calmed Natalie down when I notice that Sam’s painting the same cookie over and over.Her tray has six cookies on it.A large gingerbread man, next to a small one.A large Christmas tree, next to a small one.And a snowman next to a mitten.
The snowman and the mitten are probably fine, but the others make me nervous.Also, the fact that all of them are blue isn’t great.Every last one.Sam’s not exactly Thomas Kinkade, but at Thanksgiving, she made the prettiest cookies on the plates.Her turkeys had stunning and defined feathers.Her pumpkin had vines at the top and lines with shaded orange and yellow streaks.
These blue blobs look...depressing.
“Hey, Sam.”I bump her hip with mine.“How’s it coming?”
She startles.“Great.Yeah.”She nods, but she keeps staring at the cookies.I notice her shirt is on inside out.
“Cool, cool.I thought you might want to go for a ride later.”I grit my teeth.“In the new arena.I haven’t done much with Foxy lately.”
She freezes, and then she turns slowly.“Wait, really?”
That worked better than I expected.“Uh, yeah, sure.”
“Tonight?”Her brow furrows.“When we’re done with cookies?”
“Right,” I say.“Yes.As soon as we’re done.”I toss my head.“Are yours almost done?Because they look...”I clear my throat.“Are they almost done?”
Samantha turns back to the cookies, and her eyes widen.“Oh.”
I suppress my laugh.“Yeah, I think you might have gotten a little distracted.”
“Maybe a hair.”She grimaces.“I wonder whether I can fix them.”
“We can fix anything,” I say.“Because Samantha North’s epic, remember?”
