AllFreeNovel
Share Us
This morning I attempted to exorcise my biggest demon yet –Alice Truman.
It apparently didn’t work, considering the harbinger of chaos herself steps out of my pantry holding a massive bag of chocolate chips that I didn’t even know I owned, and the expression on her face when she sees me cuts me.
‘Oh. You're up.’ Her eyes look me over from my sweaty scalp to my lacrosse shorts. Shorts I’ve had since my prep-school playing days which I like to wear because, one, they're comfortable, and two, it gives me a sense of pride that my forty-year-old body measures the same waistline as my twenty-two-year-old body did.
‘You've been up.’ For a second, interest lights up her eyes, but it’s gone in a blink.
Which is a problem because even though she’s found pants to wear, my interest does not abate so easily, and I wonder how on earth I found the willpower to step back from her last night.
Her hair is in a messy topknot that lists sideways on her head, her oversized shirt and leggings, that were probably once black but now a faded charcoal, somehow combine with the smear of batter on her cheek to make one very seductive picture. And despite two long hours of weights, cardio and plyometrics, the two thin layers of clingy mesh fabric don’t do anything to hide my reaction.
I step closer to the countertop. ‘I worked out.’
Alice steps out of the pantry, her eyes focusing on my arms, exposed from the sleeveless shirt I’m wearing. ‘Yeah, I can see that.’
Then, as if she hadn’t meant to say that out loud, Alice turns bright red and pulls at the sides of the bag to open it.
‘I hope you don’t mind.’ When she pulls too hard, a few chips spill out on the counter next to an open carton of eggs, a bowl of batter, and an empty butter wrapper – butter residue side down. ‘I thought I’d make pancakes for breakfast.’
Mary, more color in her cheeks than yesterday, goes on high alert from her seat on one of the island counter stools.
‘That’s fine. If you need anything write it on the notepad by the refrigerator and my housekeeper will get it.’
Not meeting my eyes, Alice pours out batter in a large frying pan. ‘Would you like some?’
‘No.’ Stepping alongside her, I procure my blender from the cabinet next to her. ‘No, thank you.’
While Alice uses a measuring cup I’ve never seen before but that goes perfectly with my kitchen decor, I use my blender to make my usual morning protein shake.
Mary’s bare feet kick a tap-tapping pattern on the lower cabinets of the island where she sits. ‘Sit here.’ She pats the stool next to her, her invitation troublesome as I’d planned to retreat to my den.
‘Hmmm.’ I remain still, wondering if I can ignore her invitation as I would if an adult had made it.
The little girl looks over her shoulder at Alice busy flipping the pancakes, then slides a chocolate chip in my direction.
It smears across the white marble.
‘Psst.’ Her little finger taps the countertop near the chip in case I didn’t see it.
Feeling no choice in the matter, I pick up the chip.
When she pats the seat next to her again, I sit.
Mary’s smile is conspiratorial as she watches me chew said pilfered chocolate beside her.
A few minutes later, and five more smears across my counter, Alice lowers two plates of pancakes on the island. ‘Here you go.’ One plate in front of Mary, the other in front of the stool on Mary’s other side.
‘Yesss.’ Mary pumps her fist. ‘Aunt Alice’s pancakes are the best.’
I stare at the three, one-inch-high pancakes that are more chocolate chips than batter.
‘Syrup?’ Alice offers the little girl, holding a jug of imported pure Canadian maple syrup that some Canadian client gifted me and that my housekeeper must have stored on the rare chance I’d have her make me pancakes.
Mary takes the jug, drizzling syrup over her pancakes in a perfect spiral. With much more control than I thought she’d be capable of. Except just as she completes the last rotation her hand slips, pouring a Canadian tsunami of sugar over her three-tiered cake.
‘Oops.’ Mary sets the jug down, looking the opposite of surprised. ‘That’s what you call a happy accident, isn’t it, Aunt Alice?’
Alice’s mouth, having dropped open at the start of the tidal wave, closes with a twist. ‘Uh…’ Alice bites her lip as if holding back a laugh. ‘Yes.’ She pours a glass of orange juice and slides it in Mary’s reach.
