Page 99 of Cooking Up My Comeback
“Really?”
“Really. I understand why your grandmother never wrote it down. This tastes like liquid magic.”
“The secret ingredient is patience.”
“I can taste it.”
“Can I ask you something?” Brett says eventually.
“Sure.”
“This morning, when we argued... were you testing me?”
I consider the question. “Maybe. I wanted to see if you’d back down when I pushed back.”
“And?”
“You didn’t. You stayed and fought with me instead of shutting down or walking away.”
“Is that good or bad?”
“Good. Chad used to just... disappear when things got difficult. Emotionally, I mean. He’d agree with whatever I said to end the conversation, then resent me for it later.”
Brett processes this. “I’d rather fight with you than ignore you.”
“I’m starting to figure that out.”
“Mom!” Tally calls from the living room. “Mason’s building a fort with the couch cushions again!”
“Forts are awesome!” Mason calls back, abandoning his Lego castle for apparently bigger architectural ambitions.
“Boys are weird,” Tally declares with seventeen-year-old authority. “Why do they build things they can’t actually live in?”
“Practice,” Brett calls back. “We’re planning for when we need real forts.”
“For what?”
“Zombie apocalypse. Alien invasion. Your mother when she finds out I taught Mason how to whistle.”
“You did what?” I demand.
Brett’s expression turns innocent. “Nothing. Hypothetically.”
From the living room comes the sound of Mason’s newly acquired whistling skills, off-key but enthusiastic.
I start to get up, but Brett stops me.
“Let me,” he says. “I should practice mediating family disputes. And maybe teach him how to whistle quietly.”
He heads to the living room. I hear him negotiating peace treaties about designated fort-building times and sacred cushion boundaries, his voice patient in a way that settles warmth in my chest. Then I hear him quietly teaching Mason the fine art of indoor whistling volume control.
I sit in my kitchen, listening to the man I’m falling for mediate between my children while giving whistling lessons, and think:This. This represents what I want. Not romance alone, though the way he kisses me makes my toes curl. But this easy partnership. This sense we’re building something bigger than either of us alone.
My phone buzzes with a text from Janet:Heard the fishing trip went well! Can’t wait to try that chowder at the restaurant.
Brett returns, looking slightly frazzled but triumphant. “Crisis averted. Mason gets fort time until dinner, when cushions will need to return to their designated furniture afterward. Also, he now knows the difference between indoor and outdoor whistling volume.”
“You’re getting good at this.”
