“Sometimes food looks a little weird before it’s cooked. I promise it’ll taste good.”
“I don’t know.” Her hesitation elongates the words.
“I’ve been your nanny for almost a month. Have I made anything gross for you yet?”
She shrugs. “I guess not.”
“Trust me, kiddo. You’re going to want seconds. Now I need to wash my hands, so you stay away from the heat until I get back, okay?”
Only once I have her full agreement do I walk inside. I wash my hands and watch her from the window. She throws a ball for Merit and practices her dance moves while she waits for the dog to bring the ball back. She’s so full of life and laughter, I find myself wistful for a simpler time. Not that my younger years were simple. Living with type 1 meant even the easiest outings had the cloud of diabetes hanging over them.
Before I rush outside, I need to give myself insulin for dinner. Rice is one of those tricky foods I struggle to get quite right, but I wanted to make something easy for Nellie to prepare. I’ll take the challenge if it means she gets to succeed. I set my units to ten in an extended bolus with 60 percent now and 40 percent being delivered later. I hope that’s enough to deter the later glucose spike. At least until after I get back home.
There’s a stack of plates and silverware I forgot on my first trip out waiting on the counter. Picking them up, I head back outside and deposit them beside my phone on the picnic table.
Nellie skips over upon my return. “What do we do now?”
“Now we put the rice on to toast it. Go ahead.”
Her movements grow more confident the longer she helps. I hand her the soy sauce and she pours on a moderate amount. Dinner might be a tad salty, but she looks proud as she replaces the cap and sets it back on the table.
“Now we mix.”
“Can I try?”
“Of course you can. This is all yours, kiddo. I’m just supervising.”
The promotion to head chef produces a beaming smile.
Her tongue pokes out the side of her lips as she carefully stirs the rice and veggies together. I hold the sides of her waist, not wanting her to fall onto the hot griddle. It might be overkill, but her overprotective dad has me going the extra step to keep her safe.
“Now make a hole in the middle of the whole thing. Yep, like a volcano. Just like that.”
The screen door opens to the house, and I jump, pulling Nellie back into my chest. My heart thunders wildly against my ribs.
“Jesus, Sutton. You scared me.”
He wears his dark reflective shades, hiding his eyes. “What’s going on out here?” His tone is unreadable. It’s always on this side of grumpy and authoritative, but without his eyes, I can’t decipher his mood.
“I’m making dinner. It’s almost ready,” Nellie announces.
Sutton takes an exaggerated sniff. “Smells delicious, Buttercup. You did all that yourself?”
She squints her eyes at him for questioning her skills. “Miss Alice cut up the chicken and put it on the grill, but I did most the rest.”
My breathing returns to normal, and I loosen my grip. “We have to crack in the eggs now. I’ll show you how and you can do the rest.”
Her eyes remain steady on my hands as I show her how to crack an egg and separate the shell without making a mess.
Sutton stays quiet, watching us as she takes her turn.
“Yes! Just like that.” I shake her shoulders in celebration.
“I got some on my hands.” She holds out her hand, glistening with egg white residue.
“Go ahead and wash them. I’ll stir this up, and it’ll be done.”
“I did it? I made dinner?” She turns to her father. “Are you going to eat it?”