Chapter 25 – My Flying Drunken Guest
Liam
Rosalie’s in the kitchen cooking when I get home on Friday afternoon, and she crooks a finger at me, drawing me over to the counter by the fridge where she’s chopping onions on a cutting board.
The household sound system is on, playing something that was probably once in a Disney Channel original movie.
Callie’s lucky they share a love for bubblegum pop.
Rosalie’s wearing a pair of cutoffs and a big T-shirt, showing off the strap of a swimsuit underneath.
Her hair is slightly damp and wavy. They must have gone to the community pool again.
For someone who cries over cat food commercials, she has eyes of steel when it comes to onions. My eyes are watering just standing next to her.
She takes pity on me and pulls a pair of science goggles out of a drawer. “Have at it, Dr. Frankenstein.”
“I’ll be fine.” As I’m saying this, tears are starting to run down my face, and she has half an onion left to go. I reluctantly take the goggles and put them on, knowing I look ridiculous.
“You’re home early,” she says.
“Traffic was good.” I’m not about to admit that seeing her car in front gave me a little bit of a thrill. This morning, I had to leave as soon as she arrived. “Where are the rascals?”
“Playing foosball in the den. Wyatt has been so patient with Callie. He deserves an extra helping of chocolate pudding.” She smiles, knowing how much I love her chocolate pudding dessert. It might be my favorite thing she makes.
“You made chocolate pudding? What’s the occasion?”
“Wyatt lost a tooth.”
“Another incisor?” Every time Wyatt loses a tooth, I find myself looking up the children’s tooth chart to make sure it’s normal for his age. I have this deep-seated fear that maybe he just ate something extra sticky and decided to wiggle it out. I’m itching to pull out my phone right now and check.
Rosalie has no such fears. She treats things falling out of people’s mouths like a major holiday.
“Yeah, it’s the other incisor on the top. Toothless, handsome boy. So, um…” Whatever she’s about to ask me doesn’t come out because, at that moment, we’re discovered.
“Dad!” The kids run at me for hugs, and Callie steals the goggles off my face, along with what feels like a chunk of my hair. And then they’re gone again.
“Ow.”
Rosalie puts down her knife, silences the music, and comes over to smooth out the side of my head like I’m one of the kids. She smells like sunscreen and sunshine. Onions, too, but I don’t mind it.
“I probably have lines carved into my face from those goggles anyway,” I murmur.
“You do.” But she stops herself from smoothing those out too, taking her hands back and cupping them together under her chin. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you.”
“Because of your onion hands?”
Her face reddens and she turns back to her task. “Yeah. Because of my onion hands. Will you grab a couple of freezer bags out of the drawer? I’m not going to use all these right now.”
“Sure.” I get out a box of quart-sized bags and pull two bags out, handing them to her. “What were you going to ask me?”
Wyatt runs back in, grabs a sheet of paper off the back of the printer, and runs back out.
Whatever the question is, she obviously doesn’t want him to overhear, so I move in closer, holding one of the bags open for her while she scoops chopped onion into it. My eyes burn, but I just keep them closed as much as I can until the onions are sealed in the bags.
“What did he do this time?” I whisper.
“He said your tooth fairy gives out twenty bucks a tooth? I thought it was a dollar.”
“He was with Esther when he lost his last one.”
“Ah.”
“She also left him a big bag of candy.”
“Oh, Liam. What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. What did he say to you? I thought I’d explained that it was the tooth fairy’s birthday last time and she’d had too much to drink.”
Rosalie laughs. “You did not.”
“Well, not the drinking part, but I did tell him it was the tooth fairy’s birthday celebration.”
“You’re a smart man. All Wyatt said was that last time he got twenty bucks for his tooth. I think you’ll be fine going back to a dollar.”
“What’s a dollar?” Callie asks, suddenly appearing.
“My hugs,” Rosalie says, opening her arms. “Want to smell like onions? It’ll cost ya.”
“No!” Callie runs back out, hair flying behind her. She’s got pool hair, too.
Rosalie throws the last handful of onions into a sizzling pan, gets out minced garlic from a jar in the fridge, adds that, and then washes her hands.
I clean up around her, close, but hopefully not in the way.
Rice and chicken stock come next. She’s making Spanish rice, I realize.
My grand plan to keep my distance has bitten the dust. I’ve turned into a hoverer instead.
She did tell me not to be a stranger, but I’m not just hovering.
I’m thinking about her tan shoulders and her messy hair, and it’s all I can do to act like this is just an extension of us exchanging letters.
It is not, at least, not for me. I should probably just leave her be and go check on the kids.
Like she senses I’m about to bolt, she turns and looks at me, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Wanna come here and help me? I don’t smell like onions anymore. Or at least, not as potently.”
When I reclaim my spot next to her, she hands me the can opener and a can of tomato sauce, and I get to work, glad to be assigned a task. She hums as she cooks, probably not aware that she’s doing it.
She turns the heat down on the pan and turns to me, looking contrite. “I need to confess something.”
“Okay.”
Her seriousness is on the level of ate-all-the-ice-cream and not robbed-a-bank, so I’m not too concerned. Maybe she still prefers my irrigation boots, which I’m fine with as long as she’s not traversing stairs in them.
“I can’t keep letting you believe that chocolate pudding dirt cake is an impressive dessert.
It takes me about five minutes to make.” She goes over to the pantry, pulls out a little box, and hands it to me so I can see the chocolate pudding instructions on back.
It does look easy. You just add milk and stir.
“That’s your deep, dark confession?” I ask.
“I never said it was dark. I’m just saying, you could have this every day if you want. It’s not special. I should probably stop pretending it is.”
Simple things can be special, too. “I think it’s impressive,” I tell her. “You layer it with the whipped cream and the crushed Oreos and the gummy worms. The kids cheer every time you bring it out.”
She shrugs. “I know your grandma made the stovetop version from scratch.”
I mentioned it in a letter once, and our gazes both go to the desk where the calendar is. There’s a small gap under the last calendar page, letting me know there’s a letter waiting for me. I force myself to look away.
“My grandma made chocolate pudding a few times, but we usually made JELL-O. The kind where you need hot water and lots of stirring and then a careful trip to the fridge without spilling it all over the newly cleaned tile floor and the entire inside of the refrigerator. Not that I’d know that from experience. ”
She grins. “Well, anyway, there are enough cups of dessert in the fridge for the kids to have seconds. You too, if you want.”
“Are you going to eat with us?”
“I can’t.” She pulls out her phone and wakes it up, making a face.
“In fact, I need to get going so I have time to shower and change. I’m getting fondue with Trey and my sister and her boyfriend tonight.
” She puts her phone away and claps her hands at her sides.
“Okay, so, the rice is simmering. Keep an eye on it. Beans and tortillas are over there.”
“Of course.”
This shouldn’t be awkward. She’s often in the middle of making dinner when we change places, but I just made it obvious I wanted her to stay, and now she looks sheepish about leaving. It’s my turn to smooth things over. It’s a Friday night. Of course she has plans.
“Have fun tonight.”
“I’ll try.” She grabs her bag from the hook by the back door. “Don’t forget to set an alarm for your flying drunken guest tonight.” She taps the side of her mouth.
Ah, the tooth fairy. I’ve been known to forget for several nights in a row that I need to sneak into my kid’s room late at night, trip over stuff on the floor, steal a tooth in the dark, and leave money behind. “Thanks for the reminder.”