“We started a baby mama group chat,” Olivia says. “Angie’s been talking about her craving for weeks.”
My phone chimes with another text from a new thread called Baby Daddies Assemble.
Baby Daddies Assemble
Wilder: This is petty, even for you Jaxy.
Jaxon: If we’re gonna make it out of this alive, we need to stick together.
“How’s operation… what is it called again?” Wilder asks Olivia.
“Denver Coloradough,” she replies.
“Right. That. How’s it going?”
“Your brother is hopeless in the kitchen, but it could be a lot worse.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Livie girl.” I stow my phone back in my pocket and lean against the island. “What’s next?”
Olivia hip checks me out of the way and covers the bowl with a dish towel. “Now we let the dough rest.”
“Seriously? That’s it?”
“Patience, remember? Go find something to keep yourself busy and meet me back here in an hour.”
She wraps her arms around Wilder’s neck, passively dismissing me without another word. I don’t stick around to find out what they’ll be doing while I’m gone, but I can make an educated guess.
I head home to work on clearing out my spare bedroom. It’s full of boxes and storage bins I’ve been meaning to move into the basement. Now’s as good a time as any. We’re almost halfway through the pregnancy, and the baby is gonna need somewhere to sleep.
I return an hour later, and Olivia shows me how to dosomething called stretch-and-fold. It’s a whole lot of slapping and turning.
“See how it’s not as stretchy now?” she asks.
“Sure.” I nod, unconvinced.
She covers the bowl again and sets the egg timer for another thirty minutes.
“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” I mutter.
“Nope. Rule number one.”
I untie the apron and toss it onto the stool. “Patience. Fuck. The things I do for my wife.”
The process repeats multiple times, and by the end, I actually have a decent handle on things. It’s weirdly relaxing.
She covers the bowl once again. “Now we let it sit for a few hours. It should double in size and have a bunch of little bubbles.”
“Liv… How long does this whole process take?”
“Total? Roughly eight to ten hours, give or take.”
I throw my head back and groan. Eight fucking hours. For a loaf of bread.
Olivia laughs. “Did you do any research before you decided to try this?”
I grimace. “Not really. I just assumed it was like making cookies.”
“Oh, you sweet summer child.” She gives my forearm a reassuring squeeze. “Come back in a few hours, and I’ll show you how to shape it.”
