15. Tasha
CHAPTER 15
Tasha
S unday morning after the early service at St. Mary’s, I hummed to myself as I boxed up the sugar-free dirt cake I’d baked for Nana Booboo. I’d had a glorious morning to myself, choosing to skip family brunch at my grandparents’ house. Monty had left early, leaving a note behind that he was going to the Plex to work out before his private coaching sessions.
Good for him. He’d been irritated since yesterday afternoon. I sometimes wondered if the reason he was so built was because of vanity or working off steam. When we were younger, the more his parents neglected him, the more time he spent in the gym.
Maybe it was a mix of both.
And he didn’t seem to like Vlad. Surprising, because the whole team seemed to love him. Zaki hadn’t even pranked him.
“Stay away, Barfy!” I yelled to the cat, who’d moved from his perch at the bar to the counter where my frosting bowl sat unattended while I’d been boxing up individual slices of cake for Nana and her friends.
“Mew!” he protested as I gave him a squirt with the spray bottle. “Sorry, but chocolate isn’t good for cats. Even the fake kind.”
He glared at me and jumped down, flicking his tail in defiance as he sauntered around the counter and into the living room.
“You’ll thank me later!” I called after him.
Cats.
Funny little things. I wouldn’t admit it to Monty, but I loved his cat. Always had. I even left the door to my room cracked at night sometimes. He slept with Monty all night long, but shared the love. I kind of liked being woken up early with a wet nose pressed to mine.
I sighed. I was dying for physical affection. Maybe Vlad would work out. But if not, Parfait was here for at least a few more weeks.
There had been another delay on the house. The repiping wasn’t scheduled to start until late September now.
It was fine.
Everything was fine.
Twenty minutes later, I checked in at Mountainview’s reception desk. I handed the woman a list of the ingredients in the cake. She smiled and escorted me back to Nana’s room.
The Biddington wealth had bought Monty’s grandmother a private corner room at the back of the building with a breathtaking view of the mountains. I slid my tote off my shoulder and set it on the chair so I could have both arms free to show her what I brought.
“I’m g-glad you took me up on my offer to v-visit. And not just because … I knew you’d bring me … treats.” She grinned, her smile noticeably lower on her weak side.
I returned her smile and peeled the plastic cover off the top container. Her speech was almost back to normal. “Sugar-free dairy-free gluten-free nut-free dirt cake.”
“Did Fyvie … make this?”
“Nope,” I said. I set the other containers down on her dresser and retrieved a plastic spoon from my tote bag. “But you’ll have to tell me if it tastes like hers. I got this recipe from the Creekside Inn. Bailey Dexter-Brewer mentioned Tabbi was the original creator of the bakery’s version, and that she created a sugar-free version for a diabetic regular, so I went over there and asked Tabbi if she wouldn’t mind sharing it. I tweaked it a little, though.”
Nana waggled her eyebrows. “Mission accepted.”
I stabbed the spoon into the cake and used the side of it to push off a small bite-size piece. “Open up.”
“I can … feed myself,” Nana protested. She grabbed for the spoon, and I guided it to place it in her fingers.
“Of course you can,” I replied softly. “But why should you when I can do it for you?”
Her hand shook and I gently took it back before she could drop it. She sighed in defeat.
“Let me get it for you this time. I can tell they worked you hard this morning. This isn’t a therapy session, and you are a queen. Let the peasant serve you.”
The side of her mouth twitched. “You are … far from a … peasant.”
“Well, thank you,” I replied, holding up the spoon. “Ready?”
I was happy that she complied. I carefully placed the spoon on her tongue and kept it there until her mouth closed firmly around it, then scooched it to the left to pull it out on her stronger side.
She chewed slowly and swallowed. I set the container on the rolling tray, then held her glass of water out to her to rinse it down. She sipped at the straw, waving me away after a moment.
I returned it to her side tray. “What’s the verdict?”
“Can’t tell the difference … between that and the real thing.”
“Really?” I cocked my head to the side.
“Yes. You should … put it in your … c-cook … book.”
“I’m not doing a cookbook, Nana.” But I was flattered that Monty thought it was a good enough idea he’d told his grandmother about it.
She set a hard look on me. “I will … invest.”
“That’s sweet of you.” I picked up the container of cake. “More?”
“D-don’t … try to … distract me.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing. Open up.”
She pressed her lips together.
I chuckled. “C’mon, Nana.”
She shook her head.
I sighed. “Okay. I’ll think about it.”
“Good.” She opened her mouth.
I smiled. While I fed her, I told her about the Back-to-Hockey gathering, including getting to know Vlad and detailing Monty’s antics with Ryleigh.
I held the last bite poised while she sipped her water when Monty entered the room with a new backpack slung over his right shoulder. It was … moving?
He shushed the bag and closed the door behind him. “ Nana, I finally found a way to—Tasha, what are you feeding her?”
“Dirt cake,” I said, placing the spoon inside Nana’s mouth.
His eyes widened, and his face turned really red, really fast. “She can’t have that! She’s diabetic! You know that! Why would you—” He pressed his hands to the side of his head and took two long, deep breaths. “Why would you bring that?”
I looked at Nana, who was trying not to laugh, then back at him.
“Quiet, you’ll make her choke,” I chided him.
“But—”
“It’s sugar-free, and I got it approved.” I smiled, satisfied. “She likes it so much she wants to back my cookbook. Isn’t that nice? I didn’t even know I was writing one.”
“She—you—Nana?”
He was almost cute, the way he pulled at his hair and looked to Nana to confirm my words. I did love that he was so protective of her.
“Monty.” Nana pointed to him with her good arm.
“Yes, Nana?”
“A-pologize. Now.”
“I’m sorry, Tasha. I—shouldn’t have assumed.” He unzipped the backpack and turned back to Nana. “I, um, brought the cat.”
Nana’s face lit up with glee. “Puh-puh … Parfait!”
“Mew!”
I slid off the bed to make room for Monty and the cat. He sat the old kitty on the bed, and Parfait immediately set to work sniffing every inch of the bed and Nana before putting his paws on her chest and rubbing his cheek against hers .
It was a sweet reunion. When Nana teared up, so did I. As far I knew, it had been months since she’d seen her cat.
Someday, when I was old, I hoped I had a grandson—or granddaughter—who loved me as much as Monty loved his Nana. This grown man not only loved her deeply, his actions exemplified that love.
I walked around to the other side of the bed. “I should go. It was great seeing you, Nana. I’ll come by again next week.”
She smiled up at me as she stroked Parfait’s back. “You have … a good time tonight … on your date.”
I smiled. “Yes, ma’am.” I bent down and placed a light kiss on her forehead. “Bye.”
With a wave to Monty, I skirted back around the bed, collected my tote, and scooted out.
I had a date with a gorgeous and sweet hockey player to get ready for.
Why didn’t that excite me as much as it should?