Hundred and Sixty Six

Hundred and Sixty Six
I was sprawled on the couch listening to a suspicious amount of clattering in Declan’s kitchen.

I had been banished to the living room with strict instructions: “No peeking, Mommy. It’s a surprise.” Which, in Noah-speak, meant some kind of impending disaster. As far as I knew, Declan couldn’t cook too much either. I could only imagine the state of the kitchen when they would leave it. 

I perched on the couch, listening as drawers slammed, utensils hit the floor, and Declan muttered something under his breath that I was ninety percent sure I wasn’t supposed to hear.

“Careful with the eggs!” Declan barked.

“I am careful!” Noah shouted back, followed immediately by the unmistakable sound of an egg hitting the floor and breaking.

I buried my face in my hands, already laughing.

“Five-second rule!” Noah announced proudly.

“Not with eggs, bud,” Declan groaned.

Another crash, followed by Noah’s voice: “Okay… maybe we don’t need this bowl anymore.”

I peeked over the back of the couch, unable to resist. Declan was standing in front of the stove, sleeves rolled up, hair falling into his eyes as he frantically tried to keep a saucepan from boiling over. Noah was beside him, wielding a whisk and looking around. There was flour on both of their shirts, streaks of tomato sauce on Declan’s shirt, and something suspiciously green stuck in Noah’s hair.

“What,” I called, biting back laughter, “exactly are you two trying to cook?”

Declan looked up, flushed, but determined. “Dinner.”

“Dinner!” Noah echoed proudly, waving the whisk. “For you, Mommy. To show you why we should all live together. Because we’re a team.”

My heart clenched, but I could only giggle at the circus. 

Declan caught my eye and shrugged helplessly, but there was a softness in his expression that told me this wasn’t just Noah’s idea. 

“Fine,” I said, raising an eyebrow. “But I’m staying here. I want to be properly surprised by whatever… edible thing you’re making.”

“Edible is the goal,” Declan muttered.

“Just in case, should I get some takeout?” I teased.

“No!” Came their collective yell. Nonetheless, I began to look for good restaurants near me. I had a feeling we would need to order some pizza.

The next half-hour was chaos. I heard Noah narrating everything like a cooking show host: “Now we add the mystery spice! It’s brown! I think it’s pepper!”

Declan’s response as he laughed, “That’s cumin, Noah. Cumin!”

“That’s what I said!”

More banging. A very suspicious smell wafted into the living room. It was half-burnt, half-sweet, and very, very confusing.

Finally, Declan appeared, holding a plate in each hand. His hair was sticking up, his shirt splattered with what looked like three different sauces. Noah trailed behind him carrying a breadbasket with the pride of a Michelin-star chef.

“Dinner is served,” Declan announced with mock gravity, setting the plates down.

I looked. And blinked.

The pasta was… interesting. Half the noodles looked overcooked and mushy, the other half crunchy. The sauce looked vaguely pink, probably the result of Noah dumping milk into the tomato base. And there were mysterious black flecks everywhere.

“What… are the black bits?” I asked carefully.

Declan coughed. “That would be… garlic. Slightly toasted.”

“Burnt,” Noah corrected cheerfully. “Declan burned it, Mommy!” He looked at Declan, who was frowning, “But I like it crunchy.” Noah added, to soften the blow.

I burst out laughing, doubling over at the table. Declan tried to look wounded, but the corner of his mouth twitched. Noah grinned so hard his face could’ve split.

“You’re really trying to bribe me into moving in with you through pasta?” I asked, still giggling.

Declan leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Pasta and bread. Can’t argue with carbs.”

Noah shoved a piece of garlic bread into my hand. “Mommy, you have to say yes. Please? We’d be the best family ever. Look at this bread! Families who eat bread together stay together.”

I laughed so hard tears pricked my eyes. “That’s not even a saying, Noah.”

“It is now,” he said firmly, stuffing a piece of bread into his own mouth. “I made it! Declan told me you can invent things!”

I shook my head. Of course.

Declan smirked. “He’s got a point.”

I looked at the two of them - my cute little son, with sauce smeared on his cheek and pure joy radiating from him, and Declan, trying so hard to win us both over with this ridiculous dinner.

And something inside me just gave way.

“Fine,” I said softly.

Both of them froze.

“Fine what?” Declan asked carefully.

“We’ll move in,” I said, smiling through tears I hadn’t even noticed falling. “We’ll try it. The three of us.”

Noah shot out of his chair so fast it nearly toppled. “Yes!” He launched himself at me, hugging me so tightly I almost lost my balance. “Mommy, we’re gonna live with Declan! It’s gonna be the best thing ever! It will be like a sleepover that will never end!”

Declan exhaled, his shoulders dropping as he sighed. His eyes met mine across the table, shining and bright.

“Really?” he asked quietly.

“Really,” I whispered back.

Noah started doing a victory lap around the kitchen, arms raised, running at a speed that I was sure he would trip soon. “We’re a team! Team pancakes! Team bread! Team Pasta!”

Declan chuckled, rubbing a hand over his face. “God help us, we’re living with this energy full-time.”

I laughed, wiping my eyes. “You asked for it.”

Declan’s gaze softened. “Yeah,” he said, almost to himself. “I did.” He took my hand, and kissed my wrist, “I can’t wait for it, dove.”