Imperfectly Delicious (Imperfect Series #6) - Mary Frame Page 0,44
things with her hands, despite, or perhaps because of, the unsteadiness of her fine motor skills.
“I can boil water like a pro. Or at least supervise.” She’s smiling at me and a little bit of tension slips from my shoulders.
“Okay.”
In the kitchen, she leans against the counter as I pull out the pot and fill it with water.
“Are we having fancy mac and cheese for dinner?” she asks.
“No. Nothing fancy, some spaghetti Bolognese. The sauce is in the Crock Pot. You want to stir it?”
She nods and moves over to the small appliance, picking up the wooden spoon set in a spoon rest and lifts the lid. “You use a Crock Pot?”
I shrug. “Anything that will make life easier. It’s functional for things you need to keep on a simmer. That surprises you?”
“I didn’t picture you as the type.”
“What type?”
“I don’t know. I guess I think of people who use Crock Pots as soccer moms and people who use Pinterest.” She stirs the sauce. “It smells good.”
“You think I’m too snobby to condescend to using a Crock Pot?” I stand right next to her, putting the pot on the oven and clicking the heat on.
“Maybe. Maybe I thought that before.” She puts the cover back over the sauce and turns to face me. We’re only a foot apart, close enough to touch.
“Not anymore?”
She smiles. “No.”
“Scarlett, do you like Mr. Bean?” Ava calls from the living room.
Her brows lift. “Mr. Bean?” she asks me.
“It’s one of Emma’s favorites.”
“I’m sure I’ll love it.”
She disappears into the living room and I gaze blankly at the stove, listening to Scarlett ask Ava more questions about Mr. Bean while Emma makes happy sounds as she participates in the conversation in her own way.
I dump the noodles in and then peek into the living room to check out the situation.
Scarlett is on the couch in the middle—my normal spot—with Ava on one side and Emma on the other. Emma shows her something on the tablet.
“Seven minutes,” I tell them.
“Good, I’m starving,” Ava moans.
Ten minutes later we’re sitting at the table in the dining room.
“This is really good.” Scarlett chews up a small bite. “Prego or Ragu?”
I widen my eyes at her. “How dare you.”
We laugh and Emma laughs too, a picture of unrestrained joy.
Scarlett smiles. “You have the best laugh, Emma.”
“I think so, too,” Ava says. “People at my school, they think it’s weird.” She wrinkles her nose.
“Their loss,” I say.
Ava shrugs and pats her sister on the shoulder. “Emma, you’re the best sister in the world.”
Emma reaches for Ava, too, her hand patting her on the back with jerky movements and leaving spaghetti stains on her shirt.
“When we went to Disney World last year, we didn’t even have to wait in lines,” Ava brags.
“That’s a bonus.”
“But people stare sometimes. I don’t like it.”
“They are probably curious,” Scarlett says.
Ava shrugs. “I guess. Can we have cupcakes now?”
I nod. “Fine. But tell Scarlett thank you for bringing them.”
Ava and Emma both scramble from the table to put their plates in the sink. “Thank you, Scarlett!” Ava calls as they’re running away.
They eat cupcakes and we finish our wine and watch one episode of Mr. Bean in the living room before it’s time for the kids to go to bed.
I leave Scarlett by herself in the living room so Ava and I can help Emma get ready for bed and brush her teeth. Emma is energetic, probably a mixture of sugar and having a new person in our apartment making her excitable. She keeps trying to put her toothbrush in my mouth and laughing.
Eventually, the girls are in the room they share and under the covers.
I kiss them both goodnight and cut off the light, shutting their door behind me.
Back in the living room, I find Scarlett standing by one of the shelves, holding a photo of me and the girls at the Museum of Natural History, a giant whale sculpture behind us.
“This is cute,” Scarlett holds it up.
“They love animals.” I walk over to where she’s standing, stopping when I get about a foot away.
She smiles at me and sets the photo back on the shelf. “They’re really great.”
“I think so.”
She faces me again and considers me in silence. “You’re like two different people.”
I shake my head. “Not really.”
“I can’t reconcile this version of you—the family man—with the professional perfectionist who demands the same of everyone and would never let anyone stand in the way of his goals.”