Chapter 6 #3
The dough has turned soft and smooth under my hands the way it says on the instruction card, so I gather it into a ball and move it to the plastic wrap that Mary Lisa sets out.
She wraps the dough neatly and I praise her as I clean off my hands.
Ginger writes our names on a piece of masking tape and sticks it on our dough, then moves the ball to a heating plate.
I vacate my seat so that Yumiko in her dragon romper can take my place and move around the end of the table to where Cynnie’s sitting.
“Cynnie, do you need any help?”
She’s still wrist-deep in dough, which has not turned into a soft, smooth ball. She bites her lips as she looks up at me and spreads her fingers displaying the sticky strands connecting them.
“I think I done it wrong,” she says.
I pull a chair over so I can sit next to her. “It doesn’t look wrong. I think you just need to kneed it more. Would you like me to help you?”
She nods.
I plunge my hands back into wet dough and help her kneed it smooth. To avoid alienating Mary Lisa, I have her do the honors again with the plastic wrap.
Cynnie’s hands are still gummed to the wrist, so I gather up some paper towels as I rise from the table and give the station to Emily and Logan.
“Would you like help cleaning your hands?” I ask Cynnie.
“Yes, pease.”
The tiny lisp stops my heart again.
I towel off her hands, making sure to get around the beds of her short, unpolished nails, and in the webs between her fingers.
Standing, I tower over her. She can’t be much more than five feet.
Smaller even than Emily. But where Emily’s so thin that I worry about her sometimes, Cynnie has rounder limbs.
I can’t tell much about her body because she’s wearing several layers: the floral dress over white lace leggings, scrunchy socks in two different colors, soft pink sneakers, and a pale purple, sleeveless duster over it all.
Everything about her is small and soft and cute and I want to devour her.
“All clean,” I say, once her hands are dough-free. “Do you have any flour anywhere else?”
“Doan know.” She peers down at herself.
I twirl my finger in the air and she obediently turns in a circle. Her dress and duster can’t conceal a round ass. I pretend to dust a little flour off her just to stare at that ass for another moment. Fuck, I’m such a pervert.
“I think we got it all,” I tell her when the feeling of perving on her becomes overwhelming.
“Thank you, Max.”
Three thank yous and my name. I need a cold shower.
Mary Lisa bounces up next to me and that kills my stiffy faster than a blast of cold water. “Max, would you play a game with me while the dough’s rising?”
At least she didn’t touch me this time. “Sure, Mary Lisa.”
My relief’s short-lived when she grabs my hand and drags me over to where the games are set out.
Like I don’t know where I left them. She picks Chutes and Ladders, which I only vaguely remember how to play but how hard can it be?
I sit down across the table from her, grateful to be out of arm’s reach.
Jack and Sammi join us a minute later. Sammi sits down next to me, and I can’t help but wonder if he’s sitting on a full diaper.
The littles turn out to be Chutes and Ladders sharks, scooting to the top of the board in just over a dozen moves, while Jack and I are still sliding around at the bottom of the board.
It’s good fun, though, and I’m feeling less hostile toward Mary Lisa both for touching me and dragging me away from Cynnie.
I can hear her occasionally while we play—mostly giggling, which makes me smile—but I don’t watch her. That’s too creepy, even for me.
Ginger starts calling people whose dough has proved over to flatten out their balls into pies.
Mary Lisa disdains getting her hands dirty again, but Cynnie sits down across the table with a shy smile and starts patting out her dough.
Jack wanders over and shows me how to spin it out into a real pizza base, working it over my knuckles.
That gets him a huge amount of ribbing from the other daddies about his “Italian roots showing,” but no one turns down his help when it comes to spinning out their dough.
Cynnie manages hers and I’m surprised at my level of disappointment that she doesn’t need my help.
Ginger brings out wide, wooden paddles to put our pizza bases on and then we move to the next station to spread sauce over the dough.
Mary Lisa doesn’t want to risk getting sauce on her dress, and choses a white sauce, which doesn’t belong on pizza.
Neither do pineapples, which fill one of the topping bowls.
Happily, Mary Lisa doesn’t pick pineapple to go on the pizza and isn’t as worried about ruining her clothes when she’s placing toppings on the base, although she does use little tongs, and still comes to me to clean her hands off.
She’s assembled Frankenstein’s pizza, with wounds of pepperoni and red pepper, stitched together with cheese over the flesh-white base.
I have zero interest in eating that thing and am happy to see Cynnie has made something more appetizing.
I’ll steal some of hers. Emily and Logan are also in line behind me and I know Emily wanted help eating the “healthy” pizza she’s making so Logan doesn’t eat the whole thing and raise his cholesterol even higher. He’s getting to be such an old man.
That thought makes me snigger and Mary Lisa looks up at me with wounded blue eyes.
Something leaps in my chest. Even though she’s annoyed me today, I don’t want to hurt her feelings.
“That wasn’t at you, girlie.” I lean in and whisper in her ear.
“Want to know a secret? I was laughing at Logan. His cholesterol is a little high and Emily’s got him on a strict diet.
He’s not even allowed to eat a whole pizza. ”
When I lean back, she’s grinning, clearly pleased to share the joke, and the pressure in my chest eases.
Ginger carries the assembled pizzas out of the room, presumably to the kitchen to be cooked. She’s juggling two pizzas at a time and looks a little overburdened. When she returns, I offer to help her.
“Oh, no. I’ve got it. You should be free to meet everyone. Maybe you can get the games going again while the pizzas are cooking?”
That, I can do.
Since Jack and Sammi have sent their pizza off to be cooked, I enlist Jack to help me, and this time I make sure to catch Cynnie’s eye while I’m speaking. “Should we try to reclaim our Chutes and Ladders dignity?”
“Sure.” Jack chuckles.
“Would you like to play with us, Cynnie?”
She nods and bounces over.
“But that gives us an odd number,” Mary Lisa objects.
“That’s not a problem.” I call to the other single little I’ve been introduced to. “Would you like to play Chutes and Ladders with us?”
The cute brunette lights up and skips over to us, getting a hug from Cynnie.
As we head over to the table where the game’s set up, Amy says to Cynnie, “When did you sneak in?”
“I’z so late today,” Cynnie replies. “My phone didn’t remind me. Don’t know what happened.”
Amy huffs. “You know what happened.”
“I really set it this time,” Cynnie protests.
“I meant your grandma.”
I glance back to see Cynnie shaking her head, but her eyes are downcast, and her cheeks are red.
I wave everyone into seats and once they’re down, I ask, “Would anyone like a special drink?”
Four hands go up and I smile at the littles. This is even more fun than taking care of Ty, since they don’t whine like a teenager.
“Everyone okay with milk and bananas?”
Cynnie shakes her head and looks down at the table while the other littles nod their heads.
“Great, three Max specials coming up,” I say before I squat next to where Cynnie’s sitting. “Are milk or bananas the problem, girlie-girl?”
“Milk,” she says with a tiny lisp. “I’m ‘lergic.”
“I’m sure I can find a substitute.”
She looks up, eyes bright again. “You’d do that?”
“Of course.”
“Can I’z oat milk if you can find some? That’s my favorite.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” A thought hits, tightening my chest again. “Wait, you didn’t put any cheese on your pizza, did you?”
Cynnie shakes her head. “Miss Ginger gave me the non-dairy cheese.”
“Oh, good. That’s a—” I stop myself before I say the magic words. I’ve heard Logan say them to Emily so many times. They’re trapped just behind my teeth, but I don’t think I have any right to say them to this woman. As much as I want to.
“Good girl.” They escape anyway.
Cynnie beams.
Fuck.
Rubbing my chest, I escape quickly before I can fall over her any worse.
Ginger’s happy to help me arrange three banana milkshakes and tells me to speak to Mario in the kitchen about Cynnie’s oat milk. I pick up a pair of pizzas and follow her down to the kitchen but am careful to stay on the other side of the divider from where the cooks are working.
A sweaty, skinny guy emerges from near the giant oven when Ginger calls his name.
“Hi, we’ve got a lady up there with a milk allergy. Any chance of oat milk for her?”
Mario wipes his brow with his sleeve. “I’m sorry about this. We know about her and we usually have oat or coconut milk and I forgot to order it this week. Totally my fault.”
I rub my chin. “Is there anywhere nearby that sells oat milk?”
“Yeah, Rite Aid on First, but I’m down two staff today. I can’t spare anyone right now to run over there—”
I hold up a hand. “No problem. I’ll go. I’ll be right back with it.”
Mario looks sweatily relieved. “I’ll hold the rest of this drink order so you can take it up all together. Tell her you went and got oat milk for her and saved the day.” He grins. “Be her hero.”
I’m not a hero. I wave that off and head out in search of oat milk.
Fortunately, Mario’s right. I grab a bottle of oat milk and double-time it back to the restaurant.
Mario’s waiting for me at the front of the kitchen.
He tosses the oat milk in a waiting blender, pours a thin stream of amber liquid over top, and mixes it up.
He decants it into a sippy cup and pops the lid on, before handing me a tray of four sippy cups with a wink.
“I put the oat milk in the pink one so you can tell it apart.”
“Thank you, Mario.” I rub the back of my neck. “So, you know about the, um, group?”
“I’ve heard a thing or two,” Mario admits. “It puzzled me, so I read up online. They’re real cute, the littles. I like having them here. Makes for a happy Sunday afternoon.”
I smile at him and take the tray.
I’m greeted with squeals from all four littles when I return with their “specials.” Sammi jumps up from his seat and tries to hug me before Jack sternly orders him back down. Sammi sinks into his chair with a muttered, “But he brought it for us special.”
“But you ask before you hug anyone, boy. You didn’t ask Max’s permission or mine. You’re not allowed to touch another daddy without my permission, even at playgroup. Do you need time in the corner to remember the rules?”
Sammi looks so crestfallen that I start to step forward to say it’s okay. Surely Sammi shouldn’t get in trouble for the same thing Mary Lisa’s been doing?
A hand on my shoulder stops me.
I glance behind me, expecting Logan. Instead, I see Warrin’s short dreadlocks and white smile.
“Come out in the hall and I’ll explain, but don’t get between them,” he murmurs.
I nod and stay in place.
“Thank Mister Max for your special drinks,” Jack tells the littles and I smile at the chorus of thank yous.
I make sure Cynnie gets her pink cup before I follow Warrin out into the stairwell.