Page 46 of All Twerk, No Play

“Incredible, isn’t it?” Alexander said, opening the front door and rattling off all the specs he knew I would want as I climbed stairs to the wrap-around porch. “Built in 1882. Six bed, four bath, 4500 square feet. My aunt and uncle wanted to keep it in the family when they moved to Florida. Quitclaim deed, clean title, cash payment, no mortgage.”

I entered a simple foyer with hardwood floors and crown molding.

“It’s Grace’s dream home,” he said as he took the basket and hung my jacket. “Mine too. Come on in, I’ll give you the tour.”

We started in his office off the foyer. The room was messy, with draft contracts spread on the antique desk. The dark wood furniture was more ornate than I would have selected, with a Persian rug, heavy drapes, and an executive desk that screamed,‘I’m a lawyer with a God complex!’

But what drew my attention were the three framed photos on the bookshelf.

The two of us with his family at our law school graduation.

The two of us as second-year associates, being recognized in the California Bar Association’s Young Lawyers on the Rise.

Alex, Grace, and Ruby standing out on that front porch.

I picked up the event photo from six years ago. I’d been so confident that we’d be running Hamilton & Houghton by now. I ran a finger over my strained face, noticing bags under my eyes.

When I looked up, Alexander was leaning in the office doorway. Self-conscious at his soft smile, I put down the photo. “What?”

“We got off to a rocky start, but I’m glad you took a chance on me. I know you never saw yourself …” He gestured out the window.

Not wanting his pity, I let my gaze track out to a giant oak tree. “Let’s see the rest of this place.”

He led me through a family room, mudroom, formal dining room—mercifully bypassing the bedrooms. As we approached the kitchen, a squeal of delight rang out, followed by a joyful laugh, then a gasp. “Ruby, no, not yet!”

Loud whirring cut off the laughter. Alexander rushed ahead, blocking my view. I pushed him aside just as a slap stopped the mechanical sound.

Chocolate frosting splashed over the butcher board island and stainless range hood of their gourmet kitchen. It covered the face of a precocious girl, mouth agape in shock, her rainbow chiffon dress splattered with chocolate.

I froze at Alexander’s side, considering what would have happened when I was growing up: a nanny would have hustled me away before my parents’ guests could see, shushing me in fear that she’d get reprimanded by my father for the kitchen’s chaos.

But my memories halted, interrupted by Ruby’s sobs. Her face contorted in a horrified expression at her soiled dress, her little body shaking with tears.

Grace swept her into a tight hug, destroying her knit sweater. Alexander rubbed circles on her back. I stayed in the doorway, feeling like an interloper.

After a moment of soothing words, Ruby’s bawling slowed to long gasps. She tried to wipe her tears but Alexander intercepted to prevent frosting in her eye, swiping a smudge off her cheek and popping it into his mouth. When he told her it needed more sugar, Ruby licked her lips in agreement.

After a gasping cough, Ruby said, “You said Miss Victoria would want to see my prettiest dress, but I ruined it.”

Alexander squatted to her height. “Now you can show off another one, ok? Fashion show.”

Her expression lightened and she took his hand. As they passed me, she said, “Hello, Miss Victoria. I’m sorry I ruined your surprise cookies.” She slapped a chocolate-covered hand over her mouth. “Oh no, I wasn’t s’posed to tell you!”

“She would have found out soon.” Alexander squeezed her hand. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

By the time I turned back to the kitchen, Grace was bent over, scrubbing down the counter with a rag.

Grace didn't lift her head. “Sorry, I planned to have everything baked and decorated before you got here, but Ruby wanted to help. She overpoured the corn syrup in the first batch of frosting so we had to start over, well …” she gestured to the stand mixer before dropping her head to wipe the counter.

My grandfather always expected me to carry on the family legacy—hell, if he had his way I would have teenagers by now. But I never considered how reckless they were, throwing careful plans into complete disorder.

Feeling restless, I stepped confidently around the island to pick up a cleaning rag, lifting onto my toes to wipe off the range hood.

“Oh no, you shouldn’t—your blouse, I don’t want—”

“It’s fine." My voice came out harsher than I intended, but I wasn’t willing to backtrack. We cleaned in silence for a few moments before I asked in a friendlier tone, “What were you baking?”

“Um, black and white cookies,” she said, glancing down at her icing-stained sweater. “Alex said they were your favorite growing up, but you couldn’t find a San Francisco bakery that got the frosting right. I found a gluten-free recipe for the cookie part, and the frosting should have been done already, but…” She ran her palms nervously over her legs.

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