Page 11 of The One You Chose

“Lina, you’re finally here! You said noon!” Hands kneading a ball of dough, my mother shot me a disapproving look. “Your cousin Jason had to roll the Russian tea cakes and his balls are too small.”

At the table, Jason looked up from his phone his mouth gaping in outrage. Suppressing a laugh, I walked over to press a kiss on my mother’s cheek. “Sorry Mom. I got held up. I’m sure Jason’s balls will be fine.”

“Can everyone stop talking about my balls?” Jason grumbled. I gave him a mock salute and Jason flipped me off, narrowing his eyes at me.

My mother pointed me to the sink to wash up, reminding me to wash the back of my hands as well, as if I was still five. At the counter Aunt Cathy was beside Aunt Bea. My Yia-Yia liked alphabetic naming for her girls. Agnes; my mother, then Bernice, Catherine, and the perpetually late Dorothy. Aunt Dottie would show up in an hour when the cookies were almost done and help herself to the spoils.

Despite being adept at baking, when my mother and her sisters were in their mode, I was relegated to fetching ingredients and little else. Each year, the sisters baked cookies in the same order; thumbprints with jam, Russian tea cakes, chocolate peppermint crinkles, a basic sugar for decorating and caramel squares. I dug the cocoa powder and peppermint extract out of the back of the cupboard.

“Lina, you’ll never guess who was asking about you at work?” Aunt Bea asked. Before I could answer Bea answered. “That nice boy, Matt Hanson. You know the one, his family owns the hardware store.”

“Yes, I know Matt.” I hedged.

“He said he saw you at the Skol House the other day. He said you looked like you’re doing well.” Bea wiggled her brows at me to emphasize her point.

As I set the ingredients down, I turned to her. “Theia, you know Matt Hanson just got divorced, right?”

“Well, first marriages don’t always work out...” Bea nodded her head toward Cathy who was on her third husband.

“But do they normally end because he got his wife’s best friend pregnant?”

“Relationships are complicated, you are in no position to judge others, Evangelina Grace.” My mother interrupted.

I grabbed a hot cookie off the cooling rack and stuffed it in my mouth. My family meant well, but there was no way they could be serious about me dating Matt Hanson.

“Don’t eat the good ones, if you’re going to snack, eat the broken ones.” My mother chided, swatting at my hand as I snagged a lopsided thumbprint and held it up for my mother’s approval. She nodded with narrowed eyes.

“I’m not dating Matt Hanson.” I shoved the crumbly goodness in my mouth.

“Of course you can’t date him. All Bea was pointing out is there are single eligible men in this town. This is the time to meet someone. While you still have your youthful radiance.”

“What does that even mean? Youthful radiance,” I snorted, shoving another cookie in my mouth. Holiday treats were dangerous.

“It means your ass and tits haven’t fallen down.” My Aunt Dottie came through the door.

“For goodness sake, Dottie.” My mother said.

Dottie ignored her older sister, pressing a kiss to the top of Jason’s head then mine. Setting a bottle of wine in the middle table Dottie unwrapped the scarf around her neck, draping it over the back of a chair. Bea walked behind her, grabbing the scarf and hanging it on the coat rack, tutting while she moved.

“Alright, Kazan girls, what gossip have I missed?”

“Mom was trying to set Lina up with Matt Hanson,” Jason said, his words garbled with cookies.

“That philander? No, our Lina can do better than that asshole.”

“Dorothy!” Cathy admonished.

Jason snorted beside me. I shot him a warning glare.

On the floor in the dramatic play area, I held the plastic plate in my hand as two of my student's bustled around me cooking a wooden watermelon slice and a rubber steak in a baking pan. My eyes scanned the classroom as I was being served, doing a head count of the students. My co-teacher had left to take her break. While I was in ratio, when you’re the only teacher in the room, you have to always be looking for situations to diffuse before they escalate. In the block area, a boy was building a tower almost as tall as himself and a girl was at the table gluing what had to be over fifty pompoms to paper. I made a mental note to be the one to get that piece of art off the table and not have the child do it, lest the glue and pompoms would fall off the paper and someone would cry. Likely her. Possibly. Sticky glue and oatmeal were the worst to get off the floor.

The door opened and in walked the uncle of one of my little chefs, Kylie. The same guy who stood me up the week of Thanksgiving.

“Uncle Chad!” Kylie yelled as she dumped the wooden watermelon and rubber steak on my lap. Chad picked up his niece, swinging her around. I set the fake food in its wicker basket before standing to walk over to the doorway.

When I approached, Chad set Kylie down. “Oh, hey, Lina.”

“It’s Ms. Lina, Uncle Chad.”

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