Chapter 12 Gabriel
Chapter twelve
Gabriel
When I married Natalie the plan was simple. Protect custody. Stabilize the house. Get through the legal mess without my ex trying anything dramatic.
What I did not plan for was coming home after practice and hoping the kitchen light would be on because Natalie might be in there.
Jenna usually handles kid stuff like school projects and last minute cupcake emergencies. She’s organized. Calm. Efficient. I am grateful Natalie is willing to step in and help Maddie with this one.
Earlier this morning Jenna texted me.
Her mom is doing better.
Really better.
She thinks she can come back in a week or two.
Relief hit me immediately. Maddie adores Jenna. And honestly I have missed having someone who understands the difference between glitter glue and regular glue.
My mom also offered to help in the meantime if we get stuck.
So the crisis is basically over.
And Natalie volunteered to do the cupcakes today.
She said it like it was nothing.
"I haven't baked them in years. How hard can cupcakes be?"
I pull into the driveway looking forward to being home.
I push open the front door and immediately hear mayhem.
Maddie talking a mile a minute about something.
Daisy barking.
The electric whine of the mixer.
Something metallic clattering across the floor.
Then a small cloud of flour drifts through the hallway like a snowstorm escaping the kitchen.
I stop.
Blink once.
This can't be good.
I walk into the kitchen and find an absolute disaster.
Flour coats the counter.
Egg shells are everywhere.
Sprinkles have somehow migrated to the floor, the cabinets, and the dog.
Natalie stands in the middle of the room with a wooden spoon in her hand and flour across her cheek like she lost a fight with a bakery.
Maddie is standing on a chair wearing an apron that says LITTLE BOSS.
Daisy is licking something suspicious off the floor.
"Daddy!" Maddie shouts.
"We're baking cupcakes."
Natalie sighs.
"We are currently in the middle of a cupcake situation."
I lean against the doorway and cross my arms.
"Looks like the cupcake power play is going great... or not."
Natalie points the spoon at me like a referee about to call a penalty.
"You want to chirp," she says, "or do you want to get off the bench and help?"
"I am assessing the play," I say.
"Well the play involves flour and an extra pair of hands," she says.
"Uh oh," Maddie says as she points toward Daisy.
Daisy trots proudly past us carrying a full stick of butter in her mouth.
"Daisy! Hey! Come back here!" Natalie calls.
She jerks her chin toward me. "Gabriel, get the dog and the butter."
"This feels like a trap," I say, but I move anyway.
Daisy darts toward the hallway like this is a professional sport.
"Go Daddy go!" Maddie shouts. "Get the butter!"
Maddie is laughing so hard she almost falls off her chair.
I finally catch the dog and rescue the butter, holding it up like a recovered puck. "What a save by Shelly," I announce.
Natalie exhales in relief. "Thank you," she says. "Good thing I bought extra."
Maddie giggles.
Natalie starts laughing too, and a second later I am laughing with them.
A few minutes later, when everything seems back under control, the mixer suddenly sputters and flings batter onto the cabinet.
Natalie yelps.
"Okay that one might be my fault," she admits.
I bite the inside of my cheek trying not to laugh.
"Okay," Natalie says, clapping her hands lightly. "New plan. Maddie, we are lining the cupcake trays and getting this batch into the oven before anything else in this kitchen rebels."
We manage to scoop the batter into the cupcake liners with only minor casualties. Natalie slides the trays into the oven and sets the timer.
"Step one," she says, brushing flour off her hands. "Cupcakes successfully contained."
"Step two," Maddie says eagerly, bouncing on her chair. "Frosting!"
Natalie grabs a bowl and sets it on the kitchen table. "All right, Chef Maddie. What color are we making first?"
"Pink," Maddie says immediately. "The pink ones are the happiest ones."
Natalie squeezes food coloring into the bowl while Maddie stirs with intense concentration.
"More pink," Maddie instructs.
"That’s already extremely pink," Natalie says.
"More," Maddie repeats.
Soon the bowl looks like a bubble gum explosion.
Natalie hands Maddie the spoon. "Congratulations. You have invented the most aggressively pink frosting in the state of Tennessee."
"Good," Maddie says proudly. "Next we make purple."
Natalie reaches for another bowl while Maddie carries the pink frosting like it's a priceless treasure.
She mixes the red and blue food coloring together while Maddie narrates the process like a cooking show host.
"Now we add the magic colors," Maddie explains.
"Very scientific," I say from the counter.
Natalie starts stirring.
"Look," Maddie says excitedly. "It’s turning purple!"
At that exact moment Daisy appears beside the table.
Before anyone can react Daisy sniffs the edge of the table and bumps the spatula we used to mix the pink frosting. The spatula flips, smacks right into the top of her fluffy poodle afro, and leaves a bright pink streak before it hits the floor and she immediately starts licking it.
"DAISY!" Natalie shouts.
The dog jerks back, startled, and now her entire muzzle is bright pink.
She shakes her head and pink frosting sprays through the air like confetti.
For one stunned second we all stare at the dog.
Daisy sits there proudly in pink, wagging her tail.
Maddie collapses into giggles.
"She looks like a cupcake!"
"Nobody moves," Natalie says quickly, holding both hands up. Daisy sits proudly, licking frosting off the spatula like she just invented dessert. "If that dog walks through this kitchen, everything she touches will turn pink."
"Great," I say. "The dog is armed with frosting and we are all standing in splash range."
"Daisy," Natalie says in a very calm voice, "stay."
The dog tilts her head.
"Stay," Maddie repeats dramatically, holding up a dog treat like a bribe.
"Good strategy," I say. "Negotiation with snacks."
Natalie grabs a damp towel and creeps toward the dog like she is approaching wildlife.
"Don't startle her," she whispers.
"She has frosting on her head," I whisper back. "She already looks startled."
Maddie is laughing so hard she can barely breathe.
Natalie gently wipes the pink streak off Daisy's afro while the dog keeps licking the spatula.
"Okay," Natalie says, concentrating. "If we get the head and the mouth we can still save the kitchen."
"The kitchen appreciates the effort," I say.
I grab Daisy and hold her still while Natalie wipes the pink frosting off her muzzle and Maddie holds the bowl of pink frosting safely out of reach.
"Operation De-Pinkification," Maddie announces.
"Strong name," I say.
Finally Natalie pulls the spatula away and wipes Daisy's face one last time. The dog looks deeply offended but significantly less pink.
"Crisis contained," Natalie says.
"Mostly," Maddie says, pointing at one remaining pink puff on the top of Daisy's head.
Natalie sighs. "That one might be permanent."
Daisy sneezes and trots away like nothing happened.
Natalie straightens and looks at the purple frosting bowl.
"All right," she says. "Back to purple before the dog invents another color."
Maddie hugs Natalie around the waist and nearly knocks her off balance.
"She’s way more fun than you, Daddy," Maddie announces.
I put a hand over my chest.
"I’m extremely fun."
"You make me do math," Maddie says.
Natalie snorts. "Fair point," she says.
The oven timer suddenly goes off. Natalie jumps up and pulls the first batch of cupcakes out of the oven, setting the tray carefully onto a cooling rack while Maddie peers over the counter to inspect them.
"Okay," Natalie says, already reaching for more batter. "Round two."
They line the next tray while the first cupcakes cool.
While pouring the batter, they are both concentrating like this is brain surgery.
Maddie is explaining the decorating plan in intense detail.
"After they cool, we frost them," she says. "Then we add sprinkles. Then we make them sparkle."
"Sparkle is important," Natalie agrees seriously.
"Extremely," Maddie says.
I watch them for a minute.
Natalie listens to Maddie like she is the head chef of a Michelin restaurant.
She lets Maddie make decisions.
Lets her stir.
Lets her explain things.
Maddie absolutely glows under the attention.
I stand there watching them longer than I mean to.
When I married Natalie it was supposed to solve a problem.
A strategic decision.
A protective move.
But watching her kneel next to my daughter in a flour covered kitchen while her dog looks like a pink mustached clown is not something strategy can explain.
Natalie fits here.
Not awkwardly.
Not temporarily.
She just fits.
Like she has been part of this house longer than a few weeks.
Natalie wipes flour off her cheek.
I step closer.
Look at her for a second.
Then swipe a streak of flour across the tip of her nose.
She freezes.
Slowly lifts her eyes to mine.
"You did not."
Maddie screams with laughter.
"He flour-attacked you," she shouts.
Natalie grabs a handful of flour and throws it at my chest.
"War," she says.
"Natalie," I warn.
Too late.
Maddie joins immediately.
Daisy barks like this is the best day of her life.
For thirty seconds the kitchen becomes a battlefield.
Flour everywhere.
Natalie laughing so hard she can barely stand.
Maddie launching tiny handfuls like a glitter cannon.
Eventually we all stop because the oven timer dings again.
Natalie stares at the oven like it might explode.
"Moment of truth," she says.
We pull out the tray.
Most of the cupcakes look surprisingly good.
Golden.
Puffy.
Like actual cupcakes made by people who know what they are doing.
Except one.
One of them is leaning sideways like it had a rough night.
Maddie gasps in delight.
"They are perfect," she declares. "Except the leaning one. That one just wants to be friends with the cupcake next to it."
Natalie high fives her.
"We are culinary geniuses," Natalie says.
"When we finish them," Maddie says, "they will be Sparkle Power Cupcakes."
"That sounds dangerous," I say.
"They make you strong like broccoli," Maddie says, "and happy.”
"Hard to argue with that," I say.
Daisy sits beside her with faded pink whiskers and hopeful eyes.
Maddie hands the dog a tiny crumb.
"You can be the official taste tester," she tells her.
Natalie laughs and bumps her shoulder into mine.
"See," she says quietly. "We survived."
I look at the flour covered kitchen.
At the pink faced dog.
At my daughter proudly frosting her cupcakes.
At Natalie standing beside them both with flour in her hair and a bright, unapologetic smile.
And I realize something simple.
This house used to feel like Maddie and me against the world.
Now it feels like a team.
A messy team.
A loud team.
A kitchen-disaster team.
But a team all the same.