“Let’s make sure your hands are dry,” she said, wiping Olivia’s fingers with a towel. “You’re in charge of mixing.”
“What do I do?” she asked.
“Put your hands in the bowl. Then, wiggle your fingers until it’s all mixed up.”
Olivia put her hands into the bowl of dry ingredients. “Oh!” she said. “It’s soft!” She wiggled around, sending a cloud of flour into the air.
“Perfect. You’re doing great! Keep going!”
“But what will I do?” David said, his lips twitching downward in disappointment.
“Not to worry, you get to be the river maker.”
“The what?” he asked, his face lighting up.
Carrie set the milk down in front of David, along with an egg and some butter. “You’re going to make a river in Olivia’s mountain of flour. A milk and egg river. Have you ever cracked an egg before?” she asked him.
He shook his head.
“Okay then. We’ll need to practice.” She pulled out another bowl and three more eggs from the fridge, setting them in front of David. “Still mixing over there Olivia?”
Olivia had so much flour in her hair that it looked like cotton candy. “Yes!” she said as a clump of flour sailed overboard onto the counter.
“Excellent. Now, David. Here’s an egg. Tap it along the side of this bowl until you see a crack in it. Give it a good whack.”
David tapped. Then harder. And harder, his little toes pressing against the chair in concentration, until he yelped, the yolk drooling down the side of the bowl. His fingers were yellow and dripping, and she handed him another egg.
“Try one more time. You’ve almost got it.”
Once they got the wet ingredients all into David’s bowl, she showed him how to spoon them in, making his river. David was a serious little boy, but this made him laugh. As they mixed the batter, Carrie asked, “What would you like for Christmas, Olivia?”
“I’d like Daddy to take us ice skating.” David seemed to perk up at the mention of his father.
“Has he taken you before?” Carrie had taken kids ice skating quite a bit in the winter, and she’d seen a Richmond outdoor rink online when she’d researched the area.
“One time he said he would, but his work called, and he forgot.”
Carrie felt the disappointment that Olivia had probably experienced that day. She couldn’t imagine not keeping her word with a child. How would they ever grow up to be trustworthy adults if they weren’t taught what trust was? She hoped that something out of his control pulled Adam away from her request, and he really didn’t forget, because that would just be terrible. “Would you want to go with me?” she asked.
Olivia seemed to be contemplating the question, her lips pressed together in thought. “I want to go with Daddy because he can skate with David. I want to skate with Snow White.”
“Oh!” Carrie chuckled. “I didn’t realize that Snow White was part of your Christmas wish.”
“Yes,” Olivia said, her face serious as if her request were completely feasible. “I want to go ice skating with Daddy and Snow White.”
“And I want to skate with Daddy,” David said.
“Well that would be a lot of fun,” Carrie said with a smile.
The counter was full of bowls, raw egg, and flour, the children wrist-deep in it all, their faces so intent on their tasks, smiles on their lips. Carrie stopped for just a moment to take it all in. How could these children have been denied experiences like these? It was clear that they’d never done anything like this in their lives. This—right here—was what she was meant to do with her life. It didn’t make her feel important or overly successful in a business sort of way, but it made her feel like she was doing something real. Something meaningful. And she didn’t want to give it up, as much as she knew she’d have to if she ever wanted anything more.
“Good morning.” Carrie nearly jumped out of her skin at the sound of another adult voice in the room. Once she’d recovered, she looked toward the double doorway to the kitchen where Adam was standing. She could see the shape of his strong shoulders through his pressed shirt, the masculine quality of his hands as he fiddled with the cuff, pulling it over his watch. She caught herself staring at him, and internally, she was begging herself to get it together, but there was something about him that was so magnetic, so handsome, that she couldn’t look away. She smiled instead.
“Did you sleep well?” he asked, looking at her in a way that she swore made him seem like he wanted to say something other than just that. His face was curious, as if he were surveying the entire scene around him without having to take his eyes off her. She nodded, trying to ignore her assumptions and take the question at face value. Why would he want to know anything more than how she slept? She was reading into things. The way he looked, standing in front of her, she could hardly help it. Carrie wondered if he ever let himself go. Did he ever walk around the house in socks, scruff on his face, flannel pajama bottoms? She wished he would.