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December 6
“Hey, Molly, you busy?”
Noemi stuck her head around the doorway to the kitchen, her bright eyes twinkling. As Molly was bent over the oven, carefully pulling out two trays of cookies one at a time and setting them on the island behind her, then sliding two new trays in, she didn’t respond. In fact, considering the low stream of cursing coming from that direction, she probably hadn’t heard. Schrodinger, however, looked over at her, then hopped down.
Can I help? Molly’s not happy right now. It’s not a good time to bother her.
Giving the situation a look, Noemi realized he was probably right and backed carefully out of the kitchen. Schrodinger followed her.
She knelt down and stroked his head. “Issues with cookies?”
No. Schrodinger leaned into the caress, a purr rumbling up from his throat. She’s just having a bad day. And she doesn’t like not knowing who SA is.
“Do you know who he is, Schrodinger?” Noemi asked, scratching him under the chin. “You’d tell her, right?”
Of course I would. He pulled back from her, an offended look in his eyes. Why would I keep that from her?
“Sorry,” Noemi said soothingly. “I know you would.” She sighed. “What happened today?”
Tom came in. Asked her something – I was asleep in the kitchen, but she came stomping in and woke me up. Wouldn’t even let me love her – just started making cookies. The purr died. I hope Tom isn’t her Christmas present. Is that bad?
“No.” Noemi didn’t mention that most of them hoped Tom wasn’t Molly’s secret admirer, although what she’d found out did seem to point towards him. The breakup between the two of them had done some serious damage to Molly and her confidence. Noemi was sort of hoping it was gentle, quiet Luke herself: he was content to remain in the background for most things, but he knew how to treat a lady. And that, as her grandmother liked to remind her, was important. “No, it’s not bad. It means you love her.”
She was still sitting there, stroking Schrodinger, when Margie came through. “Noemi! What are you doing on the floor?”
“Thinking of how to beard Molly in her den,” Noemi said, and then saw the red envelope in Margie’s hand. “Oh no, another one?”
“Yes.” Margie looked amused, not worried, and breezed into the kitchen. Schrodinger and Noemi exchanged looks, then followed her.
“I’m busy.” Molly’s voice was curt, and full of barely-repressed rage, quite at odds from the steady hand and delicate meringue she was frosting the cookies in front of her with. Around the kitchen were trays in various stages of completion: some raw dough, ready to go into the oven; some cooling on racks; and some fully covered in meringue and arranged on silver trays . Noemi was a bit awed by the sheer volume of cookies, and wondered how she could filch one without pissing Molly off even more.
“And I’m wondering what happened,” Margie said. “I appreciate that you two kept your voices down, but I had four separate patrons come through the door telling me you and Tom had a spat in the fantasy section. What happened, and do I need to ban him from the store?”
Molly threw her spatula into the bowl of meringue. “No, you don’t need to ban him,” she said crossly. “He knows better than to cross me twice now.”
“What did he do?” Noemi asked.
“He asked me to the Snow Queen’s dance,” Molly snapped, and then, when both Noemi and Margie started to chuckle, glared at the two of them. “This is not funny!”
“You…got mad…because he asked you out?” Noemi asked, and then burst into full-blown peals of laughter. “Seriously?”
“I don’t want to go out with him!” Molly shouted, and then made a conscious effort to calm herself down. “Not only that,” she continued, in a lower voice full of venom, “he didn’t exactly ask at first. He breezed in and told me he had tickets for the two of us for the 19th, and what color dress was I wearing?”
“Oh.” Margie swallowed her chuckles. “I see he hasn’t learned much. But he’s excited to see you again, Molly.”
“I haven’t gone anywhere,” Molly said, picking up her spatula again. “I wasn’t the one who took the assignment I couldn’t tell my girlfriend about, disappear for three months, and then show up and ask her to forgive me, then marry me. And then be surprised when she flips out. So I don’t see why he gets to be excited.”
“But you are excited,” Margie said. “Or else you wouldn’t be this pissed at him.” When Molly glared at her again, she laid the red envelope down. “This came for you today. Maybe it will put you in a better mood.”
She left, and Noemi sighed. “I might as well tell you,” she said reluctantly. “And don’t hate me.”
“What?” Molly said. “What bad news do you have for me?”
“Tom bought two boxes of Christmas cards the night he got back,” Noemi said. “With red envelopes.”
The envelope Margie had laid on the counter sat between, a silent accusation. Molly finished her tray, put the spatula back into the bowl more gently than she had before, and moved the tray to the sideboard to join the three others there. Then she picked up the envelope and opened it, dumping the CD along with the standard scrap of paper. She looked at the note, then growled something and stomped out.
Once the kitchen was silent, Noemi picked up the note. It said, “Molly, just like the song says, I’ve been chasing you for a while. I’m hoping this way, I’ll be able to catch up to you by Christmas Day. That would be the best present ever. SA”
Today, SA sent Molly my friend Bob’s favorite carol ever. It’s one of my favorites too. Do you know who SA is yet?
And because you’ve asked, here’s the first of the recipes Molly’s been making! This one looks amazing, and I might have to break down and try to make meringue, because it sounds awesome! This is what she made today.
“Hey, Molly, you busy?”
Noemi stuck her head around the doorway to the kitchen, her bright eyes twinkling. As Molly was bent over the oven, carefully pulling out two trays of cookies one at a time and setting them on the island behind her, then sliding two new trays in, she didn’t respond. In fact, considering the low stream of cursing coming from that direction, she probably hadn’t heard. Schrodinger, however, looked over at her, then hopped down.
Can I help? Molly’s not happy right now. It’s not a good time to bother her.
Giving the situation a look, Noemi realized he was probably right and backed carefully out of the kitchen. Schrodinger followed her.
She knelt down and stroked his head. “Issues with cookies?”
No. Schrodinger leaned into the caress, a purr rumbling up from his throat. She’s just having a bad day. And she doesn’t like not knowing who SA is.
“Do you know who he is, Schrodinger?” Noemi asked, scratching him under the chin. “You’d tell her, right?”
Of course I would. He pulled back from her, an offended look in his eyes. Why would I keep that from her?
“Sorry,” Noemi said soothingly. “I know you would.” She sighed. “What happened today?”
Tom came in. Asked her something – I was asleep in the kitchen, but she came stomping in and woke me up. Wouldn’t even let me love her – just started making cookies. The purr died. I hope Tom isn’t her Christmas present. Is that bad?
“No.” Noemi didn’t mention that most of them hoped Tom wasn’t Molly’s secret admirer, although what she’d found out did seem to point towards him. The breakup between the two of them had done some serious damage to Molly and her confidence. Noemi was sort of hoping it was gentle, quiet Luke herself: he was content to remain in the background for most things, but he knew how to treat a lady. And that, as her grandmother liked to remind her, was important. “No, it’s not bad. It means you love her.”
She was still sitting there, stroking Schrodinger, when Margie came through. “Noemi! What are you doing on the floor?”
“Thinking of how to beard Molly in her den,” Noemi said, and then saw the red envelope in Margie’s hand. “Oh no, another one?”
“Yes.” Margie looked amused, not worried, and breezed into the kitchen. Schrodinger and Noemi exchanged looks, then followed her.
“I’m busy.” Molly’s voice was curt, and full of barely-repressed rage, quite at odds from the steady hand and delicate meringue she was frosting the cookies in front of her with. Around the kitchen were trays in various stages of completion: some raw dough, ready to go into the oven; some cooling on racks; and some fully covered in meringue and arranged on silver trays . Noemi was a bit awed by the sheer volume of cookies, and wondered how she could filch one without pissing Molly off even more.
“And I’m wondering what happened,” Margie said. “I appreciate that you two kept your voices down, but I had four separate patrons come through the door telling me you and Tom had a spat in the fantasy section. What happened, and do I need to ban him from the store?”
Molly threw her spatula into the bowl of meringue. “No, you don’t need to ban him,” she said crossly. “He knows better than to cross me twice now.”
“What did he do?” Noemi asked.
“He asked me to the Snow Queen’s dance,” Molly snapped, and then, when both Noemi and Margie started to chuckle, glared at the two of them. “This is not funny!”
“You…got mad…because he asked you out?” Noemi asked, and then burst into full-blown peals of laughter. “Seriously?”
“I don’t want to go out with him!” Molly shouted, and then made a conscious effort to calm herself down. “Not only that,” she continued, in a lower voice full of venom, “he didn’t exactly ask at first. He breezed in and told me he had tickets for the two of us for the 19th, and what color dress was I wearing?”
“Oh.” Margie swallowed her chuckles. “I see he hasn’t learned much. But he’s excited to see you again, Molly.”
“I haven’t gone anywhere,” Molly said, picking up her spatula again. “I wasn’t the one who took the assignment I couldn’t tell my girlfriend about, disappear for three months, and then show up and ask her to forgive me, then marry me. And then be surprised when she flips out. So I don’t see why he gets to be excited.”
“But you are excited,” Margie said. “Or else you wouldn’t be this pissed at him.” When Molly glared at her again, she laid the red envelope down. “This came for you today. Maybe it will put you in a better mood.”
She left, and Noemi sighed. “I might as well tell you,” she said reluctantly. “And don’t hate me.”
“What?” Molly said. “What bad news do you have for me?”
“Tom bought two boxes of Christmas cards the night he got back,” Noemi said. “With red envelopes.”
The envelope Margie had laid on the counter sat between, a silent accusation. Molly finished her tray, put the spatula back into the bowl more gently than she had before, and moved the tray to the sideboard to join the three others there. Then she picked up the envelope and opened it, dumping the CD along with the standard scrap of paper. She looked at the note, then growled something and stomped out.
Once the kitchen was silent, Noemi picked up the note. It said, “Molly, just like the song says, I’ve been chasing you for a while. I’m hoping this way, I’ll be able to catch up to you by Christmas Day. That would be the best present ever. SA”
Today, SA sent Molly my friend Bob’s favorite carol ever. It’s one of my favorites too. Do you know who SA is yet?
And because you’ve asked, here’s the first of the recipes Molly’s been making! This one looks amazing, and I might have to break down and try to make meringue, because it sounds awesome! This is what she made today.
