6. Mallory
MALLORY
The following afternoon, Mallory stood behind the counter of the bakery, feeling surprisingly nervous.
She had set up a few more of the Christmas things today and the place looked amazing, with garlands of pine boughs strung on red velvet ribbons along the plate rail, and a small cream-colored candle surrounded by a tiny holly wreath adorning each table.
The pine scent mingling with the spice of the gingerbread pound cake in the oven made her feel like it was Christmas already, but the feeling wasn’t all sweetness.
It was hard for Mal to even imagine Christmas without her mother. Lila Fisher had been famous for her holiday spirit. Of course she had loved to bake, but she also brought in lots of decorations for her classroom and treats for her math students.
One of Mal’s favorite memories was delivering plates of Christmas cookies to their neighbors on Oberlin Avenue.
Her own family wasn’t very fancy, and their house was the smallest on the block.
But every kid was jealous of Mal when her parents began the yearly task of hauling the Christmas decorations out of their one-car garage and into the yard.
There were so many that they couldn’t keep a car in there, but her dad said it was worth it to see how happy all those elves, reindeer, snowmen, and the big manger scene made the little kids on the block.
Gingerbread pound cake with a citrus glaze was her dad’s favorite. She planned to stop by tonight and share some of what was in the oven with him. A little family time was sure to get her feeling more like herself again.
She’d also made another attempt at a signature treat today—a simple vanilla spice muffin with a gorgeous candied-ginger topping. But it hadn’t really worked out. It turned out that candied ginger was a love-it-or-hate-it kind of ingredient.
The door opened up, sending the bells jingling and snapping her out of her thoughts. Katie marched in with her Dad right behind her.
“Hi,” Mallory chirped a little too brightly. “Great to see you.”
“Hi,” Katie responded politely.
“Thanks for doing this,” Harrison said.
There was an awkward moment of silence, and Mal found herself wishing that she had Ana’s warmth or Valerie’s brisk energy to fill it.
“My helper is on break,” she said. “But we can pop back to the kitchen and get set up. If anyone comes in, we’ll hear the bells.”
Katie nodded and the three of them filed back behind the counter into the kitchen.
When they stepped into the space, Katie’s eyes scanned the stainless steel, pausing on Mal’s mom’s copper pots hanging over the island. But she didn’t say anything or ask any questions.
“I got the phyllo dough out of the freezer about an hour ago,” Mal said. “So it should be ready to work with. Want to help me gather up the rest of the ingredients?”
There was another moment of silence.
“You’re ready to roll your sleeves up, right Katie?” Harrison said with what really seemed like forced enthusiasm.
Katie nodded again.
“Okay, great,” Mal said, trying not to get frustrated. “You should learn where I keep everything in this kitchen, since we’ll be doing lots of baking together.”
“Sounds good, right?” Harrison said when Katie didn’t answer.
“Yes,” Katie said quietly.
Mal frowned. She and Katie weren’t going to connect very well if her father kept speaking for her.
Harrison wasn’t doing anything wrong, but it was clear that he wanted this to work so much that he was filling the silence.
It wasn’t something Mal had expected of the big, grumpy cowboy, but somehow it was endearing.
Nonetheless, it had to stop. But she couldn’t exactly kick him out.
“Hey, Harrison,” she said, with a sudden burst of inspiration. “I just realized I forgot to bring the donation box over to the Heroes Center this afternoon. Any chance you could run it over for me now?”
“Sure,” he said, looking almost relieved.
She pointed to the box she had packed with treats earlier.
Normally, she brought treats to Carla’s Place in the mornings and the Heroes Center in the afternoon.
The place was just a few doors down, so it would take him no time to get there.
But chances were good that folks were hanging out and Harrison would get invited to stay for a bite.
“We’ll be a while with this,” she told him. “So feel free to stay and socialize if you want. We know where to find you.”
“Will do,” he said, a tiny half-smile tugging up one corner of his lips.
Mal was definitely busted. He knew exactly what she was trying to do.
But he didn’t seem unhappy about it. She watched as he took the big box and headed out with it.
The bells on the door jingled, letting her know he had gone.
“How do you feel about a little music?” Mal asked, turning to Katie.
“Okay,” Katie said, looking up. Her hazel eyes flickered with interest.
“We really only get one station back here,” Mal told her. “And they play all Christmas music, all the time, from November first until the New Year.”
Katie smiled at Mal’s terrible imitation of a deejay.
“I like Christmas music,” she said.
“Me too,” Mal told her as she headed over to the radio.
When she flicked it on, “Christmastime is Here” came on, the gentle piano making Mal think of all the times she and Dean had watched the classic Peanuts special.
“This song is from A Charlie Brown Christmas,” she said to Katie. “My brother and I watched it every year.”
Katie nodded, but didn’t have anything to add.
Mal was dying to ask her if she had seen it, and about a thousand other questions, but she managed to keep her mouth shut. She was trying to meet Katie where she was.
The bells out front jingled again and Annie Williams poked her head in a moment later.
“Hey, Mal,” she said, then spotted Katie. “Oh. Who’s this?”
Mal waited a moment.
“I’m Katie,” Katie said at last.
“Nice to meet you,” Annie said.
“Katie’s helping me with some baklava,” Mal said. “You okay up front while we work?”
“Of course,” Annie said with a big smile as she headed back out.
Annie was a wonderful artist. She often sat at the counter sketching the town and its denizens if things got slow. And when things weren’t slow, she was an eager worker. Mal wasn’t exactly sure what she was going to do without her next Christmas.
“Ready to get into the cooking?” Mal asked Katie.
Katie nodded, her eyes flicking right to Mal’s.
“Okay,” Mal said. “Let’s do it.”
“Can we make enough to share?” Katie asked, her voice an unexpected, but bright note in the kitchen.
“Like just enough to bring a plate to school for your teacher?” Mal asked. “Or were you thinking about making enough to bring to Carla’s Place or the Heroes Center?”
“Both?” Katie said, her eyes down on her hands, like she was sure Mal would say no.
“Absolutely,” Mal told her. “That’s a really nice idea, and lucky for you I thawed out plenty of dough.”
Katie looked up with an expression that was almost a smile.
“But,” Mal said, “this means tripling the recipe we’ve got.”
“Okay,” Katie said, grabbing a pencil from the cup by the bulletin board before Mal could say another word.
Mal watched as the little girl swiftly adjusted every measurement and noted it down neatly in the margins, turning teaspoons to tablespoons without a second thought, and even getting the fractions right on the cups.
“Wow,” Mal said. “You’re really good at math.”
Katie shook her head, her energy pulling back into herself instantly.
“Of course you are,” Mal said. “Do you know any grownups who could triple three fourths of a cup to two and a quarter cups without even stopping to think about it?”
Katie’s eyes lifted to hers again.
“I don’t,” Mal said.
“It’s not the same at school,” Katie said softly.
Mal wanted to ask why, or encourage the girl, but she managed to keep her mouth shut and wait while Mariah Carey belted out what she wanted for Christmas over the radio.
“The teacher always wants you to go up to the board if you’re good at math,” Katie said after a minute.
Mal nodded. She remembered being called up to the board to solve problems. She had hated it too, but mainly because she was not good at solving math problems. She suspected for Katie it was more than that.
Does she freeze up in front of her class? Do the other kids tease her?
Katie turned back to the recipe, so Mal grabbed a big mixing bowl and placed it on the counter so they could begin.
She did her best to keep up a quiet running commentary of tips and alternative recipe items as they prepared the honey syrup. But she also let the kitchen go silent except for the music fairly often, hoping Katie would chime in with something.
Katie hadn’t filled any of the silences yet, but one of these times she would, Mal was sure of it.
Meanwhile, the serious little girl was showing herself to be really good in the kitchen. For an eight-year-old, she was surprisingly deft at the various measurements, even managing to pour the honey without spilling a drop.
Before too long, the syrup was ready, and they chopped up the walnuts and added the cinnamon. Classic Christmas songs played on the radio the whole time, but Katie didn’t so much as hum along.
That was just fine with Mal though. There was a warm feeling in the bright space as they worked together, pre-heating the oven and preparing the pan.
As they buttered and layered on phyllo, carefully counting out sheets between layers of cinnamon walnuts, Katie visibly relaxed. Something about the detailed work of building the delicate dessert had focused her on something outside herself.
It was all too familiar to Mal, and caused a pang in her own heart. When her mom first passed, Mal had thrown herself into the bakery, chasing that same feeling of flow she could sometimes enter when she was preparing something detailed and special.
Katie seemed more comfortable than Mal had ever seen her, and that was a good thing. She was feeling really good about how things were going when a buttered sheet of phyllo slipped out of Katie’s hand.
“Oh no,” Katie said, her relaxed expression vanishing.
“Hey, that’s okay,” Mal said. “We’ve got plenty.”
But Katie was disappearing again, her eyes far away, like she didn’t want to engage anymore.
“I’ll just clean it up,” Mal said, quickly grabbing spray and a rag. “Actually, would you mind doing it? I’m getting thirsty.”
Katie took the spray bottle and rag without a word and bent to grab the sheet of phyllo.
Mal waited until Katie had deposited it in the trash can and was spraying and scrubbing the floor before she pulled out two mugs and the plastic pitcher of cold water with lemons she kept in one of the refrigerators.
It was a pity to do it, but drastic times called for drastic measures.
Setting the pitcher on the edge of the opposite counter, she turned to grab the mugs and knocked it down with her elbow.
The pitcher hit the tiles, sending lemon-infused water splashing all over the floor.
I had been meaning to give that grout a good scrub tonight anyway, Mal told herself as she gave out a little yelp that she hoped sounded surprised.
“You did that on purpose,” Katie said accusingly, her voice ringing bell-clear across the kitchen.
This kid didn’t miss a beat.
Mal opened her mouth and closed it again.
“I, uh,” she stammered. “I…”
But she just couldn’t bring herself to lie.
“I guess I’m a pretty bad actor,” she admitted. “It just seemed like the right thing to do at the time.”
For a moment, the only sound was Dean Martin crooning on the radio.
Then Katie started laughing—small at first, but quickly gaining speed and weight like a snowball rolling down a mountain.
Katie’s laughter was so surprising and infectious that the next thing Mal knew, she was helplessly laughing right along with her.
“Hey, how’s it going back here?” Harrison’s deep voice boomed. “Oh.”
Somehow, his expression of dismay at the two of them bent over cackling in the middle of a giant puddle of water and lemon slices only made them laugh harder.
“I’m s-sorry,” Mal gasped. “I s-spilled s-some l-lemon water. C-careful.”
“She spilled it on purpose,” Katie yelled, clearly delighted. “She spilled it on purpose.”
“I’m sure she didn’t,” Harrison said, frowning.
“No, she’s right,” Mal said, shaking her head.
“Why?” Harrison asked, looking truly perplexed.
“It seemed like the right thing to do at the time,” Mal repeated, then lost herself to more laughter.
“She was being polite, Dad,” Katie said firmly, stepping over toward Mal, as if to defend her. But she slipped on a lemon slice before she made it and lost her balance.
Mal snatched her out of the air before she could fall, and the two of them clung to each other, trying to stop giggling.
“Well, I guess you guys are doing okay back here,” Harrison said, his frown finally disappearing.
The song on the radio ended and The Beach Boys’ “Little Saint Nick” began.
Harrison got a funny smile on his face and the next thing Mal knew, he was singing along.
She watched, completely gobsmacked, as the big man crooned and then started dancing. His voice wasn’t half bad, and his movements were surprisingly graceful.
Katie turned to Mal and started laughing again as soon as their eyes met.
Mal felt warmth spread in her chest. What did this remind her of?
But she knew already. It felt like family, back in the days when she and Dean had laughed their heads off while Dad did silly things trying to make Mom laugh too, and almost always succeeded.
For just a second, Mal felt like she was a part of this little family.
And she was surprised at just how good that felt.