Infinite (Strange and Beautiful, Book 1) (45 page)

 “Sure,”
I agreed easily. As if I’d turn down a chance to bake and nibble on cookie
dough?

  Mom
had already set out most of the ingredients we’d need for the cookies. “We’re
going to make half batches of four different kinds of cookies,” she informed
me.

“Okay,”
I nodded. “What kind?”

Mom
grabbed a stack of recipes and looked at them as she said, “Sugar, chocolate
chip, peanut butter chocolate chip and snickerdoodles.”

Immediately,
my tummy gurgled at the thought of biting into each type of cooking. I wasn’t
sure if the gurgle was in anticipation of the sweet treats or the inevitable
stomachache that would most definitely follow. It was possibly both.

I
rubbed my hands together in anticipation of getting to work. “What do you want
me to do?”

Mom
gave me the task of preparing the chocolate chip and peanut butter chocolate
chip cookies, because the dough for them would need to chill in the refrigerator
for about thirty minutes before we could bake them, while she prepared the
sugar cookies. 

We
worked quietly for a while as we mixed the ingredients. We only spoke when we
needed something passed our way or when we were singing along with the Christmas
music playing on the radio as we moved about. By the time I’d completed the
dough for the chocolate chip cookies, Mom was scooping spoonfuls of sugar
cookie dough onto the baking sheets.

The
third time I caught Mom sampling the dough, she shrugged with a smile. “It’s
the best part.”

I
couldn’t have agreed more and was delighted when she held out a lump of dough
to me. I took it happily and popped into my mouth.

Once
Mom had dipped out all of the dough onto parchment paper lined cookie sheets, she
put the first two sheets into the oven to bake and cleaned out the bowl she’d
used so she could start putting together the snickerdoodles.

The
kitchen wasn’t huge, but it was big enough for the two of us to work together
in tandem, and all the while I couldn’t help but wonder why Mom and I hadn’t
ever done anything like that before. It seemed like such a trivial thing, but
baking cookies was supposed to be one of those rites of passage every girl had
with her mom.

“Why
is this the first time we’ve done this?” I asked curiously as I poured a small
amount of the dry mixture into the wet mixture to stir. Mom paused and stopped
drying out the mixing bowl she’d just washed. Her light brows were drawn
together and little lines appeared around her eyes, making it clear she didn’t
know what I was talking about.

 “Making
cookies, I mean,” I clarified. “We’ve never done it before.”

“Yes,
we have,” Mom replied. “We used to make them all the time when you were little.
Don’t you remember?”

Confused,
I shook my head.

“We
used to make them as an after school snack for Luke and Sky,” she said. “Of
course, you couldn’t have been but four at the time,” she sighed, shaking her
head and smiling at some distant memory. “I think you probably wound up wearing
most of it.”

I
was surprised I couldn’t remember any such occurrence, but Mom spoke of it so
fondly I knew it must be true. “So why has it taken so long to do it again?”

“Just
been busy, I suppose.” She sounded casual as she spoke, but the frown lines
around her eyes belied how much it troubled her.

I
watched Mom move around the kitchen, straightening odds and ends, as she
prepared to start putting together the mixture for the snickerdoodles. I
realized, watching her, I knew very little about my mother. What little I did
know was information I’d gleaned from her family over the years, but most of it
was bits from back when she was still Leela Sawyer. From what I knew about Mom
pre-marriage, Leela Sawyer and Leela Granger seemed like two completely
different people.

I
knew becoming a wife and mother had to have affected the woman she’d turned
into. I figured someday my children would think of me as an enigma as well.

I
wondered if Mom ever felt sad because her children didn’t really know her and
hadn’t taken much time to try. Did she feel as in the dark about us as we (or,
at least, I) did about her?

It
made me sad, yet at the same time I knew that if I really wanted to know
something about her, or she about me, then all either of us had to do was ask.
Besides, I knew the most important fact of all: my mother loved me
unconditionally.

Since
we were bonding, however, I figured I might as well take advantage of it. As
embarrassing as it was, I clearly needed an outside opinion on the Jackson
situation. I was certain Tegan was never going to give up her “Jackson likes
you!” mantra until this fact was either confirmed or denied by Jackson himself.

As
I stirred the last of the dry mixture into what was fast becoming a thick
mixture of cookie dough, I asked, “Mom, can I get your opinion about
something?”

Mom
was measuring out sugar into the mixing bowl she’d just cleaned. “Sure,
sweetie.”

  I
swallowed back my nerves. “Well, you see, there’s this guy that I’m friends
with,” I began, glancing at Mom. She was watching me, and her eyes seemed to
light up with curiosity. She raised an eyebrow as if to say, “Go on.”

I
bit my lip, trying to decide how to explain the situation. “He and I get along
really well. We have fun when we’re talking or hanging out,” I finally said,
“but Tegan thinks that he likes me as more than a friend, and I’m not sure if
she’s right.”

Mom
smiled a little, knowingly. “Do you want him to like you as more than a
friend?”

My
face grew warm; that was probably answer enough. Still, I said, “Yeah, I do.”

“Then
maybe you shouldn’t wait for him to take the first step,” Mom said decisively.
“You could be up front with him about how you feel.”

I
was surprised Mom would have such a straightforward approach to the situation.
It seemed like a reasonable enough idea, but I didn’t think I could share in my
mother’s guilelessness tactic. There was just too much that could go wrong.

Mom
was watching me, and I must have made some sort of face because she asked,
“What is it, Silly?”

I
sighed, realizing I might as well put a voice to my worries. “What if he
doesn’t feel the same? And what if he doesn’t want to be friends with me
afterward?”

“I’d
say if he’d end your friendship because you care about him too much, then he
wasn’t a friend worth having to begin with,” Mom answered brisk and resolutely.

I
mulled it over, and I knew Mom made sense. I wondered who this sharp-minded and
opinionated woman was because she seemed nothing like the Mom I knew, but I
found I kind of like this side of her.

“How
do you think I should tell him?” I asked curiously. I wasn’t sure I’d actually
follow through with her advice, but it was nice to have her input.

“That,
sweetheart, I think is something you’re going to have to figure out for
yourself,” Mom said, smiling softly. “But just be honest. Guys don’t like
games, or at least they didn’t in my day. Of course, that probably seems like
prehistoric times to you.”

“Oh,
it does not,” I laughed, crossing the kitchen to hug her. “Thanks for the
advice, Mom.”

“Aw,
bonding.” I stiffened in Mom’s arms at the sound of Skylar’s voice. I pulled
away from Mom and looked at my sister, who was leaning against the doorframe
with her arms crossed over her chest.

“I
was just giving your sister some advice,” Mom said as I crossed back to my section
of the counter to add the chocolate chips to the cookie dough.

“About
what? How to act normal?” Skylar scoffed.

“Sky,”
Mom warned. “If you must know, we were talking about guys. I suppose your
sister might have asked you for advice if you weren’t so self-absorbed.”

Skylar
looked dumbstruck. I was a bit shocked as well. Not that Mom was aware Skylar
was self-absorbed, of course, but that she would call her out on it.  Skylar
huffed and threw a glare in my direction, because what Mom said was clearly my
fault, before stomping off down the hallway.

Mom
shook her head. “She always was the dramatic one.”

“Some
things never change,” I smirked. 

Over
the next few hours, Mom and I baked, chatting occasionally as we arranged
cookies on cooling racks on the dining room table or sampling the spoils of our
hard work while we waited for the next batch to finish baking. Once some of the
cookies were cool, I was put to work arranging them on trays to take with us on
Tuesday.

As
we were finishing up, Luke came in to “investigate the situation.” What he
really meant was he’d come to steal some cookies. Mom didn’t seem to mind,
though, because we had plenty.

As
Mom was moving the last batch of cookies from the baking sheet to the cooling
rack, the doorbell rang.  

Since
I was just standing there watching Mom (and contemplating sampling another
cookie) while Luke stuffed his face, I offered to get it. I figured Skylar was
probably upstairs pouting, and when I glanced into the living room on my way
day the hallway, I saw that Dad was fast asleep on the couch.

I
moved my head from side to side to alleviate the cramp that was starting to
form in my neck. I had a feeling my feet were going to be killing me by morning
after standing around all afternoon.

When
I pulled open the front door, I half expected to be bombarded by a group of
Christmas carolers. There was a group from the neighborhood who’d gotten
together each year and went door to door, so it wasn’t completely implausible.
Tegan and I had even joined them one year, but Tegan caught pneumonia and wound
up in the hospital for a few days, so we hadn’t ventured out to carol since. 

Instead
of carolers, I found Jackson. He was bouncing on the balls of his feet as the
snow fell heavily around him. White flakes had already started to gather,
standing in stark contrast against his dark hair and his usually pale cheeks
were a rosy shade of pink. He smiled, his eyes bright and happy as he greeted
me. “Hey.”

That
gorgeous grin warmed me against the cold air blasting in around him. “Hi,” I
said a little breathlessly. I had enough sense to step back, opening the door
wider, though, and motioned for him to come inside. “You look cold.”

“I
am,” he nodded, stepping inside. “It’s like a blizzard out here.”

I
closed the door, shutting out the cold. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m
sorry for not calling first, but I wanted to bring you your Christmas present,”
he said, holding up a thin rectangular gift wrapped in gold paper. He thrust it
toward me, and I fumbled slightly, my fingers brushing his, before I got a good
hold on it.

“Thank
you.” I knew I was blushing. His fingers had been cold as they brushed against
mine, but it had felt like a shock shot up through my arm. It was probably just
static electricity, but I liked to think it was something else. I turned the
gift over in my hands, curious as to its contents. “You didn’t have to come
tonight,” I said. “I thought your family was doing something.”

“We
are,” he nodded. “The house was still packed when I left, but I really needed a
breather.”

“I
can relate to that.” I inwardly cringed, remembering the previous day at my
grandparents’ house.

“To
be completely honest,” Jackson grinned, “I also wanted to see you.”

I
was sure my face turned tomato red then. I bit my lip, unsure how to reply to
that, but Jackson glanced over my shoulder and nodded in greeting, “Hey, Luke.”

I
followed his gaze, turning to look over my shoulder. My brother nodded as he
continued chewing what appeared to be a chocolate chip cookie. Once he swallowed,
he said, “Hey, man, what’s up?”

“Not
much,” Jackson shrugged. “You?”

“Same,”
Luke nodded. “Just sampling the cookies Mom and Sil made. Good stuff.”

“Luke’s
going to eat them all before we make it to our grandparents’ house,” I
commented.

“Am
not,” Luke said as a door overhead slammed.

Immediately
my thoughts went to Skylar. She’d probably heard the doorbell ring. I inwardly
groaned at the thought of Skylar coming downstairs and butting in, as she so
loved to do. I glanced at Luke, and he winked at me before muttering something
about “places to be” before he hurried up the stairs.

“He’s
weird,” I sighed, turning back to Jackson.

“Most
siblings are,” he smiled. “So, did you get anything good yet?”

“Some
gifts cards and a sweater that looks like it was knit by Molly Weasley,” I
shrugged. I studied the gift Jackson had given me again. “This looks too small
for an ugly sweater and too big for a gift card.”

“You
never know,” he grinned. “I could just be trying to throw you off.”

“Sneaky.”

“Oh,
yes,” Jackson smirked. “That’s me.”

I
arched an eyebrow—much in the same way Mom had, I realized. “I don’t know if I
should trust you then,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest and looking him
up and down in mock suspicion. “The sneaky types are the ones you have to be
wary of.”

“In
that case, I’m a very nice boy.” Jackson hunched his broad shoulders and pouted
out his plush bottom lip in an attempt to look innocent.

“I’ve
been told to be careful of them too.”

Jackson
laughed that musical trill that I’d missed so much while we weren’t speaking.
“Who aren’t you wary of then?”

“My
dad wasn’t exactly clear on that,” I shrugged, grinning. “I understood that all
guys are supposed to be distrusted.”

“Except
for him and your brother, I suspect?”

“Well,”
I chuckled, “my dad at least. Jury’s still out where Luke’s concerned.”

Jackson
opened his mouth to speak, but I stiffed when I heard Skylar’s voice drifting
down the stairs.

“Crap,”
I muttered under my breath. I’d been hoping Luke could head her off and she
wouldn’t come downstairs. Things had been a bit better the day before, but I
knew she, Luke and I had probably only banded together to survive the holiday
with Dad’s family. She was probably still in a snit over Mom’s comment.