Page 121 of Pucked Up Plans
Lennon shrugs, as if it’s no big deal. Which I’m grateful for. I never want her to feel like Aubrey or I are trying to steal her dad away from her or that he’s giving us too much attention and she feels left out.
Kneeling in front of the chair where she sits, I speculate, “Do you maybe want to help us make donuts today? They aren’t your favorite, but maybe if you help us make them, you’ll want to at least try them.” I don’t have any expectations she’ll agree.
“Is it going to take a long time?”
“No longer than one episode ofLittle Einsteins.”
Her eyes travel to each of us, the three of us eagerly awaiting her answer. “Fine. It’s not like I have anything better to do.”
Walsh immediately grumbles, “Jeez, Squirt. Don’t let us twist your arm.”
“Yay,” Aubrey cheers. Her good mood instantly sours. “But she needs an apron too.” She examines the one she’s wearing, the wheels turning in her head, the conundrum more than she can handle.
“I’m good. Mimi can wash my clothes if they get messy. She’s better at it than Keeley.”
“I would argue, but the girl’s got a point.”
The laugh I held in earlier reappears, and this time, I set it free.
Once I’ve calmed down a bit, I say, “Okay, troops. Time to make the donuts.” It goes over their heads. Even Walsh’s based on his perplexed countenance. “Really? You don’t know the saying?” I’m not even sure where I picked it up since it’s from a Dunkin’ Donuts TV commercial from the eighties.
“Um, no. I don’t make donuts. Just eat them after buying them.”
Shaking my head, I usher them to work, assigning each one an appropriate task. My girl gets the most difficult, the only one who can handle anything without having to be asked more than once.
About ten minutes in, we lose Lennon, who ventures somewhere else in the house. I don’t take it too harshly. The kitchen isn’t everyone’s domain, but her effort while she was here was decent.
Amidst preparing the batter, the kitchen looks like a tornado hit. Millie appeared in the doorway once, raked her eyes over the mess, but left us to it. I assured her we would clean it when we were done. She mumbled something like “Keep teaching him skills, I’ll do the cleaning.” Millie Keeley is a good egg. What’s one more Keeley family member to love?
The last of the donuts in the pan, I put them in the oven and set the timer. Aubrey’s chowing down on her second donut hole, enjoying it immensely. Walsh sits next to her, relishing his. They engage in some sort of conversation about donuts, whispering as if they’ve known each other forever. I can’t help but whip out my camera and snap a picture of the image of their heads together. There’s no doubt my girl has fallen for him, just like her mother.
The doorbell rings as the last batch comes out of the oven. Thinking nothing of it, I set the pan to cool and turn off the oven. The recipe I found online is a keeper, and my new donut pan came in darn handy. Donuts are at the bottom of my list of sweet treats, but apple cider donuts are palatable.
An unknown pregnant woman materializes in the kitchen's doorway. Her mousy brown hair is matted down and in need of a good washing. Her makeup is subtle but doesn’t hide the bags under her eyes.
“Walsh, this young woman is here to speak with you,” Millie voices, an edge to her tone, one contrasting her easygoing demeanor and causing goose bumps on my arms.
Walsh pulls his attention from Aubrey and scrutinizes the woman.
“Hey.” The girl’s voice is shaky, as if she’s nervous to be here.
“Hi. Can I help you?”
“I hope so.” She steps nearer to the table, her eyes bouncing between Aubrey and Walsh. “Is this your daughter? She’s adorable.”
“He’s Lennon’s dad,” my girl clarifies. “I don’t have a dad.”
If she’s fazed by Aubrey’s comments, she doesn’t let it show. “But your daughter, she’s about her age, right? I think that’s what I remember you telling me six months ago.”
A light bulb goes off for Walsh. “Oh. Raquel. From the bar.”
“And the hotel.” She giggles. Fuckinggigglesat the mention of the hotel. Walsh’s face pales instantly.
“Ma, can you bring Aubrey to see what Lennon’s up to?” Walsh grits out, his laser focus aimed at me.
“I’ll do it,” I suggest, not wanting to be privy to anything this girl has to say to him. But he shakes his head. As much as I want to flee the room, I give him the courtesy of staying. Tension coils tightly in my abdomen, but I put on a brave façade.
Millie quickly ushers Aubrey—who thankfully has no inkling what’s going on—out of the kitchen. Before Millie goes, there’s a definite glare shot in the girl’s direction.
