I’m actually not sure if I like fondue, having never tried it, although it sounds delicious. However, saying that would have opened up a conversation I don’t have time for. I have a whole list of things I need to get done before our cooking-class date tonight, starting with laundry so I can wear my good jeans.
Also, since we’re making pasta, I can only assume he’s asking about fondue as a follow-up date. He’s been doing that all week,gauging my interest in lots of different hobbies and foods.
It’s super sweet and hopeful, which only makes me feel even more squirmy about my lack of excitement. It’s not his looks. I’ve tried going back to the picture Kambryn sent me to dredge up some enthusiasm about him because he is, by all standards, very nice to look at. He’s a blond and fit prince charming with dimples and everything. But he’s almost too good-looking, like AI-level-attractive where I’m searching for an extra limb to prove he’s not real. I’d really like to know his skin routine, because mine could use some improvement.
Originally, we were just going to meet up for dinner, but we moved the date to Saturday after he heard about this class hosted by the Scottsdale Rec Center. They had a cancellation for tonight, giving us the last slot.
It seemed like a no-brainer. If it’s a dud for either of us, at least we’ll have freshly made pasta and the skills to make more.
I am totally making pasta with the kids once I learn; maybe as a way to chase away the first-day-of-school grouch in a few weeks. The first day of school is so overwhelming and overstimulating that it’s no surprise when kids melt down around afternoon snack time.
“Wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey!” Kambryn waltzes into our room in her workout clothes, smelling like caramel lattes and unrestrained energy. Aubrey is right behind her, pink-cheeked and bright-eyed. They must have gotten up early and hit the Dutch Bros on the corner before going for a run.
“Why are you so tired?” Kambryn asks. “You were in bed when I got home last night.”
“I get up early all week, so I save up my tiredness for Saturdays.” I also don’t drink coffee or do morning workouts, so I’m a normal amount of tired and they’re just weirdos trying to rub it in.
Although, I guess that makes Liam a weirdo too, because he sneaks in a workout every day before heading to the office. Maybe they’re on to something, but I feel like I get plenty of exercise chasing Wyatt and Callie around all day. Liam even bought a bike for me last year so I could ride with the kids. Callie can’t wait toget her training wheels off. When it cools down, we’ll tackle that milestone.
“How has work been?” Kambryn starts making her bed, and though she’s not facing me, I can sense this is not a throw-away question. Aubrey’s face confirms it. They’ve been discussing me.
“The kids are fine. Wyatt wants a dog.”
“That’s not what I’m asking, Ro.” Without warning, she turns and leaps onto my bed, grabbing a pillow and whacking me with it.
“Make her stop, Aubrey!”
Aubrey just laughs and holds up her hands in a plea of neutrality.
My bed has a plethora of pillows, and I’m reaping the consequences. I grab one to whack her back, but Kambryn’s ready for me and blocks my hit with a different pillow.
“Why do you keep so many pillows?” She punctuates her words with hits, but she’s giggling so hard that her hits are weak.
“I need the orthopedic one for when my neck hurts, but the squishy soft one for when I want to fall asleep fast. I have one that’s great for hugging, and that flat one is for when I lie on my stomach and read.”
“You’re so old.”
“It’s coming for you, Kam.” I duck her next hit.
“Not as soon as it’s coming for you.” Kambryn gets in a good hit, and I fall dramatically back against the wall. Thankfully, I’m cushioned by a pillow.
Our fight has uncovered the book I finished reading last night, and when Kambryn picks it up to look at it, I leap off the bed and throw back her covers so she’ll have to start over in making her bed. She shrieks in outrage. It’s so easy to mess with clean freaks.
Unfortunately, she’s holding my book. An evil smile crosses her face as she reads the title aloud. “Second Sons and Hot Cross Buns?” I’m telling Mom you’re reading trash.”
“It’s a historical novel! It’s referring to the nursery rhyme.”
“So, there’s not a second son of a duke in this with hot buns?”
“No!” I reach out for it, but she, of course, dashes out of the room with all her runner energy. Aubrey flattens herself againstthe doorway so I can give chase, but Kambryn’s on the phone with our mom before I can even rescue my reading glasses that got knocked to the floor.
Kambryn never threatens anything she’s not willing to go through with. Not that Mom is worried about my reading habits. I’m a grown woman. Also, Mom’s perfectly capable of using Google. And after looking up the title and seeing I’m right, and it’s a very tame romance, Kambryn, Aubrey, Mom,andDad team up in making the worst puns about buns you’ve ever heard.
All things considered, it’s a good Saturday morning.
At least until my phone buzzes with another text while I’m loading clothes into the washing machine downstairs.
Mr. Emoji: I have a surprise for you!