Chapter 24 Vanessa
Vanessa
Ever since Trace started Kindergarten, we’ve made and painted sugar cookies on the very last day of school before Christmas.
I always do the same thing. While the kids are at school, I mix up the dough, which is especially delicious, because I use powdered sugar instead of granulated for the recipe.
The UK sells this awesome kind of sugar called superfine, which is in between our American powdered sugar and regular granulated sugar, and when I try making the dough with that, it’s the best I’ve ever made.
I know, because I tasted it. I’m a bit of a cookie dough fiend.
Then I stick it in the fridge while I prep the ‘paint.’ The paint’s something my mom always did, and although it doesn’t taste the best—it’s not bad, just not amazing—it looks so pretty.
I crack a dozen eggs, carefully separating the yolks from the whites.
I put the whites in a separate container to use for making coconut macaroons.
Sometimes we add chocolate-covered pretzel sticks to them for antlers and stick a candied cherry in the center and call them Rudolph cookies.
Then I put the yolks evenly in eight different bowls, and I mix in the different colors.
Some I leave golden, some I add red dye to, some orange.
Some of the yolks I make blue, some green, and some purple.
Making brown and black are the worst, but there’s a surprising amount of brown and black detail on Christmas cookies.
I do twice as much of red, gold, and green, because of the season.
Then I put them all in the fridge as well.
“You finished that early.” Trish glances at the fridge. “The kids won’t be home for an hour yet, right?”
“It needed time to chill,” I say, but really, I’m just nervous. I’ve been doing this for years, but this year, Jack’s bringing his kids. And more importantly his father, sister. . .and his mother.
When I suggested his whole family come, Jack lit up, so even though I realized it was stupid after I suggested they come, I couldn’t take it back.
“What’s wrong?” Trish narrows her eyes. “Do we not like Quinn?”
“Oh, his sister’s great. You’ll love her.”
“It’s the mother, then.” Her lips compress and her eyes darken. “What was her name? Naomi?”
“Nora.” I didn’t tell her about Jack’s mother or our bad interactions, because Trish loves so fiercely that she might stomp on her foot. “It’s going to be fine. I just really want them to like me.”
Trish crosses the room slowly, which is strange for her. She’s usually quite sprightly for a woman her age. Then she takes my hands in hers. “Vanessa.”
I meet her eyes.
“You are a gift, and anyone who can’t see that is a terminally stupid moron.”
I roll my eyes.
She doesn’t reciprocate. “I mean every word of that. What you’ve brought to my son and our family, it has all been good. I love you. Not just because Jason loved you, but because you’re easy to love.” She smiles. “Today will be fine. No one can not like you, not once they really see you.”
Instead of arguing, I tidy up the kitchen. The last thing I need to do is give Jack’s mother any excuse to criticize. Plus, with her habit of arriving early, I want to make sure I’m ready with plenty of time to spare.
Jack must have the same thought, though I never told him about his mother showing up early and telling me I was late. Even so, he arrives thirty minutes before school lets out with his twins in tow. “Happy Christmas!”
The little babies both cheer.
“No school!” Rory says.
“And Christmas is only four days away,” Ryan says. “Santa’s bringing me a puppy.”
I glance at Jack, who shakes his head and pulls a face.
Then I laugh. I can’t help it. Kids are magical at Christmas. I start rummaging through my cookie cutters. “I think I might have a dog cookie cutter.”
“Does school finish early today?” Trish asks. “Will our three be home soon?”
“No.” Jack shrugs. “These two had a party, and the teacher said we could sign them out. Once my two finished licking the frosting off their cookies, they kept begging to go. I figured it was fine. What are they missing? Playing chase and getting yelled at?” He looks around.
“I thought maybe I could help you set up, but it looks like you’ve already done everything. ”
“Vanessa’s clearly nervous,” Trish says. “So is your mom scary? Or is it your sister? She won’t say.”
Jack’s eyes widen.
“Trish!” I snap. “Go to your room.”
She laughs. “Yes, Mother.” But then she cocks her head. “Which is it, though, so I’m prepared?”
“Oh, it’s definitely our mother.” I didn’t even see Quinn come in—she must have parked around the corner.
“Because I’m a delight.” She’s dressed as cute as ever, with an adorable plaid sweater and tweed pants with cute black boots.
Her hair looks sassy, with the ends curling under a little knit cap, and she’s smiling broadly.
She tugs off her mitten and holds out her hand.
“You must be Vanessa’s mother. You look just like her. ”
Trish looks nothing like me, since she’s not my mother, but she just beams. “Thank you. I am.” She shakes Quinn’s hand.
I can’t help laughing. “She’s my late husband’s mother, but I love her as much as I love my own mother, if that counts.”
“Of course it does,” Quinn says. “And the fact that your mother-in-law loves you is very promising.” She drops her voice to a whisper. “My mum barely tolerates her own children.”
As if she was summoned, Mrs. Shanahan’s black SUV pulls up outside and parks beside Jack’s car.
“Oh, boy,” I say, sounding just like Natalie. “It’s go time.”
“She’ll be nice,” Jack says. “She’s happy to be invited.”
Mrs. Shanahan’s taking everything in as she strolls through the door, every bit as put together as Quinn, but sleeker and more expensive looking. Not a hair is out of place, and she looks more like she’s here to chair a charity brunch than to roll out and paint cookies.
“Maimeó,” Ryan says.
“Nana,” Rory says.
“A stórtha,” Mrs. Shanahan says. “You look as lovely as ever.” She kisses Rory on the head, but Ryan’s already darted back over to the toy corner at the edge of my kitchen. He’s made a huge mess with the play kitchen, but surely she can’t fault me for a mess her own grandchildren made.
“My kids should be here soon,” I say. “I’m so glad you and Quinn could make it.”
“Sadly, my husband’s stuck at work. That happens a lot.” She brushes her hands together as if to clean them off. From what? I have no idea. “What exactly are we doing?” Mrs. Shanahan arches an eyebrow. “Painting treats, no?”
Jack rolls his eyes. “I told you, Mam. They cut and color the cookies. It’s going to be great fun.”
She compresses her lips.
Trish starts to fume. “I’m Vanessa’s mother,” she says.
“Mother-in-law,” I clarify. “She’s my late husband Jason’s mother. She lives with us here.”
“I’ve heard working mothers usually leave the care of their children to others.” Mrs. Shanahan tsks.
“Oh, Vanessa very much cares for her own children in addition to working. I’m here because it’s the happiest place in the world for me, close to my beautiful grandchildren.”
“How nice for you.” Mrs. Shanahan smiles.
And then my kids finally pull up outside, and they come at us like a hurricane of backpacks, jackets, and chattering. “—the cookies without the legs and arms. They always break or overbake.” I can’t tell whether Bryce is sharing his wisdom or arguing with Trina.
“That’s stupid,” Trina says. “Mom would never overbake them.”
Arguing, of course.
“Besides,” Trina says. “The ones with the arms and legs are the best ones, like the Santa Claus cookies, or the stars.”
“Stars don’t have arms or legs, dummy,” Trace says.
Mrs. Shanahan looks appalled.
“We don’t say dummy,” I say.
“No, you don’t say dummy,” Trace says with a grin. “We say it all the time, because it’s better than saying—”
“That’s enough,” I say. “Go wash your hands so we can start making some cookies.”
Trish is already preheating the oven. “They’re in high school. Of course they’re energetic.” Her muttering is cute, like Trace and Bryce need to be defended.
“Alright.” I gesture at the variety of cookie cutters while Trish starts pulling the dough and the paints out of the fridge.
Trina’s already grabbing the kitchen paintbrushes out of the pantry.
“You can pick any cookie cutters you want, but the thicker the dough and the bigger the shape, the longer they take to cook. I usually roll out the dough so they’re consistent in thickness, and we try to cluster the shapes in similarly sized baking pans. ”
Trish points at the pans on the counter by the sink.
“You can pick a partner and share a pan, or you can do your own pan and just know you’ll have to wait patiently for your turn at baking.”
“I call Twina,” Rory says. “She and I will make the pwettiest cookies.”
“With lots of sprinkles,” Trina says. “Right?”
“And the colored sugar,” Rory says, but it sounds like ‘cowuhd sugah.’ Poor thing is really trying. You can tell her speech classes have been helpful. I’ve noticed improvement in her s-es in just the few months I’ve been here.
“On the far side, we have the painting station, then the little decorations are on the side closest to the oven. Once it bings, we’ll be ready to start baking.”
“And what are we doing with all these cookies when we’re done?” Mrs. Shanahan asks.
“Eating them,” Ryan says. “Duh.”
She smiles.
“We often choose some to fill plates for our friends,” I say. “So of course you’re all welcome to take some home as well.”
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.