Page 43 of The Rebel
I had my hands in the oven mitts, about to pull out the steaming hot lasagna dish. “Huh?” I looked up to see Ollie and Valencia smiling at each other.
“I told you he’d say no,” Ollie smirked at her. Valencia nodded back in agreement.
“It’s a school night,” I retaliated in exasperation. “Oliver knows he isn’t allowed. It’s Mom’s rules.”
“But what if I finish my homework? Could we, Jade?” Ollie pleaded.
I shook my head, resting the dish on the stove top.
“Hey! I could take him,” Valencia injected herself back into the debate. “It’s a great night for sledding.”
I inserted the spoon into the dish and stuttered a reply as if performing two tasks at the same time was beyond me. “O-Ol, n-n-no, he know, knows...”
“This is one of the best sledding days,” Valencia stated. “And Oak Brook Hill has lights. We could go straight after dinner, just stay for an hour or so. I’ll watch him.”
“Can we please, Jade?” Ollie begged again. “Look, I’m nearly done with this.” He pointed to his worksheet where he’d written a couple of lines. “And I’ll do the washing up.”
“Ollieeeee,” I seethed, his defiance matching Valencia’s, both of them ganging up against me. “Like you don’t remember what happened last time you two went sledding,” I added in sarcasm.
Oliver’s downturned mouth got to me and to appease him, I said, “Hey, you can come snow tubing with us on the weekend, okay?”
Ollie’s eyes popped and his head bobbed up and down almost comically. “Yep. Okay then. But promise?”
“Yes, promise,” I said, pleased I’d managed to keep control, though Valencia stirring him up hadn’t helped. “Now, set the table and let’s eat.”
Ollie, thankfully, did as he was told, closing up his book and laying out three placemats and cutlery. Valencia asked what she could do and Ollie gave her the job of carrying the water jug and glasses. I started to dish up for Ollie and me, but was too afraid I’d offend Valencia by either putting too much or too little on her plate.
Silly how I needed to pluck up courage to ask that simple question. I directed Ollie to carry his plate over and to dish up his own portion of salad. Meanwhile, Valencia had followed him, awaiting her own plate.
“Uh...say when,” I said as I scooped a medium size spoonful onto her plate.
“When,” she said.
“Is that enough?” I asked. Compared to my plate, it was minuscule.
“Yes, it looks good.”
“Make sure you take some salad,” I said.
Valencia rolled her eyes. “Are you always this bossy?”
I was about to protest, but Ollie piped up from the table. “Can’t you tell? Yes, he is.” And they both giggled.
I shook my head at their juvenile jesting. “Someone has to be the adult,” I mumbled, bringing my own plate to the table.
Oliver instigated the thanks, reaching out his hands. My heart jittered and my palm seemed to seep sweat as I held Valencia’s hand.
“I’m thankful for the sledding hill and wish I was sledding now,” Ollie said.
Valencia loosened her grip with me, affirming that my sweaty palm was gross, and piped up, “I’m thankful for the snow and the sledding hill too.”
They both giggled again, partners in crime, deliberating goading me.
“I’m thankful for this delicious meal Mom took the time to make and leave for us,” I said in an uppity, English accent, hoping it would make them see how mature I was and how childish they were.
Their sniggers stopped and maybe in shame, Ollie pronounced, “Yeah, thank you Mom.” And he pulled his hand away with an extra loud, “Amen.”
“Amen,” Valencia and I answered at the same time, but I don’t know if it was my imagination or wishful thinking but as she drew her hand away, I swear she gave it a squeeze.
