“I … I'll think about it.”
She shoulders past me and disappears into the sliding doors as I let out a deep breathe, my anxiety slipping away with it.
And then I grin. Nice and big.
Bingo, baby.
Making chocolate chip cookies is soooo much fucking harder than I thought it would be. We're like halfway done with the damn things and I've already put thirty dollars into the curse jar (and then secretly taken about fifteen of it back when Kinzie's not looking).
“Jesus fucking Christ,” I curse when I pull the first batch from the oven and find them solidified into small black discs of charcoal. “The recipe said eight to ten minutes until done, not until fossilized. My God.”
“Um,” Bella says as she disappears for a moment and comes back with a stepping stool, pushing the oven door closed and then standing on it. “My grandma said our oven cooks hot. I think you need to turn it down.” She presses the button and adjusts the temperature by about ten degrees. I'm loath to admit it, but the little monster actually kind of looks cute in her apron. If you tell anyone, I will seriously leap out of this book and kill you, buuuuuuut … I'm also wearing an apron. It's pink, sure. And it has … I think they're mice or rats or bunnies or something. Anyway, they're all smiling giddily and they are also all wearing aprons.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
“Do you think we should make the next batch monster chocolate chip cookies?” I ask as I rummage around in the cabinet for some food coloring. I know that shit supposedly gives kids ADD or something, but I ate heaps of it and I turned out fine, didn't I?
I grab the box and drip several splotches of blue and red into the dough as the kids stare up at me with awed expressions. They're like, seriously so fucking gullible. It's the absolute best part about them.
“This is monster blood,” I tell them and Kinzie scrunches up her face.
“Um, no it's not. I saw that Goosebumps episode and it was green.” I pause and lean down, putting my hands on my thighs as I look Kinzie right in the face.
“There are different breeds of monsters, just like there are dogs.” I stand up and point at the ugly row of rat-dogs sitting at my feet, begging for scraps of cookie. “See. Brooke's dog is gross and hairless, and your dogs are gross and hairy.” I pause. “Well, except for the old one. He's just nasty and partially hairless and all around weird. But anyway, different monsters have different colors of blood. Ask anyone.”
I stick my tongue out at her and pick up the spoon to stir the dough.
“My turn!” Grace says, fighting off the evil twins for a spot clinging to my leg. “I want to do it!” I drop the spoon and lift her up, spinning her in a quick circle while she screams with laughter.
“You go for it, chickie,” I say as I deposit her on the counter and let her slap at the dough with the spoon. “Uncle Zay's going to put on some music.”
“Is it the same as what we listened to on the way home from school?” Bella kicks her foot and looks shyly up at me from beneath a fall of brunette hair. Aww. So much fucking cuter than my own niece. Why is the one that's blood related to me such a brat? “Because I liked the pretty song.”
I think for a split second and then snap my fingers.
“What you want is “Sit Still, Look Pretty” by Daya.” I start the song on my iPod and crank up the volume on the attached speakers. “Actually, the moral of that song is not to sit still and look pretty, just so you know.”
Bella and Kinzie both stare at me with circles for eyes. It's almost possible to forget they're devils sent specifically from hell to torment me. Almost.
I hear a crash from behind me and turn to find the cookie dough bowl on the floor, the glass shattered into pieces, dogs gobbling up purple goo from the white linoleum.
Huh.
What was I saying about forgetting? You just forget I ever said that.
Hate kids. Yup. I hate 'em.
Several hours later, I wake with a start, Sadie lying across my chest as I yawn and struggle into a sitting position, clutching the baby to my chest as I breathe deep and watch Brooke slipping inside the house.
She locks the door behind her as I rise to my feet and tiptoe the baby over to the crib.
Shit. Crap. Fuck a duck.
I was supposed to be waiting all naked and sweaty and hard in Brooke's bed. Instead, my hair is plastered to my head with purple cookie dough and I have baby drool all over my neck. I lay Sadie in the crib as carefully as I can, praying to the God of Love and Sex that she'll stay asleep for me.
Cha-cha-ching. Somebody's listening to me.
I look up, across the shadowy living room to where Brooke's standing in her coat, watching me with eyes cloaked in darkness. It's impossible to figure out what she's thinking from over here.