Page 64 of Bringing Home the Bacon
“Very good, Amaya. I love this book because it teaches us that problems are a part of life. They happen to everyone. Even cute little penguins like Mortimer. It’s totally okay that Mortimer expressed all those grumpy feelings in the beginning of the book, right? We don’t want to keep those feelings inside, but it’s important to see the good parts of our lives too, like the warm sun on our feathers, the yummy food we get to eat, and the family and friends who love us. We’ll never get rid of problems altogether, but if we’re grateful for the good parts, things might just be okay.”
A boy with silky black hair raises his hand. “Miss Bedd?”
“Yes, Simon.”
“I agree with everything you just said except for the part about enjoying the sun on our feathers. I don’t have feathers.”
“You don’t? I do!” Colleen jokes.
The kindergarteners squeal and laugh just as the bell rings, signaling the end of the day.
“Alright, everyone. You heard the bell. Please grab your backpacks from your cubbies and line up in the hallway. Our helper, Miss Kim, will take you out to the blacktop to meet your grown-ups. I’ll see you tomorrow, friends!”
Colleen rises from the little reading stool where she sat and spots me. “What are you doing here?” she beams. God, she’s beautiful. She’s wearing a dark yellow dress with navy stripes, and at just over twenty weeks along, her belly is big and round now. The doctor told us with Colleen’s small frame and the fact that she’s carrying twins, we should expect her belly to grow fast. He wasn’t kidding. And I love every second of it.
The kids scurry past me into the hallway, too excited about reuniting with their parents to pay me any attention.
“Good day, milady,” I say and present the bouquet from behind me.
“You’re so sweet.” She double-checks that the kids are out of sight before giving me a soft kiss on the lips.
“That’s not at all.” I hold up the keys to our new space and dangle them midair.
“We’re in?” she squeals.
“We’re in. I am here to escort you there so I can officially carry you over the threshold.” We hug, and one of the twins immediately gives a little kick. “Whoa! Getting strong in there, huh, kiddos?”
“You have no idea.” Colleen sighs.
“Have I thanked you today for carrying our children?”
“You have,” she says as she moves to the kids’ painting station and fills a pitcher with water.
“And have I apologized for being such a large man, thus co-creating two large babies that will need to be birthed from your very small body?”
“Yes.” She laughs. “You have.”
I watch her arrange the flowers at her desk.
“You realize that was my first time seeing you teach?”
“Hm. I guess it would be. Were you positively dazzled?” she jokes.
“I was, actually! You’re amazing with them.”
She bats her hand in the air and stays focused on fixing the flowers.
“You are. And it gave me an idea.”
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
“Teach cooking classes with me.”
“What?”
“Teach cooking classes with me,” I repeat. “It will be a few months until the restaurant can officially open and even longer until it starts turning a profit, but we can still bring in some money and press right now for your farm. Between my culinary skills and your teaching skills—not to mention your brilliance with lesson planning—we could create one hell of a cooking workshop for families. Parents, grandparents, and little kids all cooking together. How great would that be? We could do it on-site at the restaurant while it’s still getting on its feet. All we need is a big, clean space, and we’ve got that. We can start promoting now and be operating within a month.”
“How long have you been brainstorming this?” She chuckles and meets me in the center of the classroom.
