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"But I already 'let go and let Nate.'"
"That's blasphemous," said Nate. "Better make restitution. Now if you don't mind, I have six ambassadors waiting here in my office while I talk to a cookie-bakin' mama."
"Such a lie," she said. "You never let ambassadors talk to you personally."
"Bring me a cookie. I want proof that you baked them."
"I'll burn one just for you!" She hung up.
"So who's tending us tonight?" asked Lettie.
"I'm thinking maybe I'll put Mark in charge."
"No!" said Mark. "Don't do that to me! When I'm in charge, they take off all their clothes and run around the neighborhood naked and then I have to lie to you and pretend that they were good so you don't feel guilty about leaving them with me."
"It's not true," said Lettie. "He just sits and plays computer games and orders us to do stuff."
"She's confusing me with Nick."
"I know the difference between you and Nick," said Lettie. "He wins his videogames. You just sit there swearing at the screen."
Mark pressed a cinnamon-covered dough ball onto the base of her nose.
"Gross!" said Lettie. "You got some of my snot on the cookie dough!"
"The germs will all be killed in the baking," said Mark.
"I'm not allowing that cookie into my oven," said Cecily.
"Not even to become the cookie you make for Nate?" asked Mark.
"Mister Ogzewalla to you, buster," said Cecily.
"Sorry," said Mark. Then he reached over, took the slightly snotty dough out of Lettie's fingers and stuck it into his mouth, licking the residue off his fingers.
"I'm going to throw up," said Lettie.
"No, I'm going to throw up," said Mark. "But I couldn't bear to see any of Mom's precious, hard-earned cookie dough going to waste."
"It was bad enough being nauseated the entire time I was pregnant with the two of you," said Cecily. "Nobody told me the nausea would continue as long as you lived in my house."
"How did I get included in the morning sickness?" said Lettie.
"It was your snot," said Mark.
"It's not like I put it up my nose myself," said Lettie.
"I'm going upstairs to change clothes. Put the first batch in the oven and set the time."
"How long?" asked Mark.
"Oh, can't you read a recipe?" asked Cecily.
"Oh, it's a research project!" cried Mark joyfully. "Lettie, Mom has decided to homeschool us!"
Cecily smiled all the way up the stairs. She looked into the room Nick shared with Mark and saw her second son actually doing homework—though there was a save screen for a game on the computer, so he had probably been playing until he heard her footsteps on the stairs. But Cecily didn't mind—Nick's grades were excellent and he had played games obsessively before his father died, so she didn't have to worry about it as a concealed grief response. Unless it was after all, in which case she could think of a lot of worse things he could do in order to help him deal with his father's death.
She changed into her serious clothes. She had developed her policy-wonk wardrobe years before and, because policy-wonk clothing never, never changed styles, and because she hadn't gained any weight since then—a God-given gift for which she did penance to all her thickening friends ("Five children and you haven't gained an ounce!")—it all still fit.
