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25 - ADDISON
Iwant spaghetti with hotdogs.”
“No. I want butter noodles.”
“I don’t care what you want.”
“I don’t care more.”
The little voices continued to argue back and forth, Ava’s platinum hair swishing around her shoulders as she shook her head while Emma stomped her foot and clenched her tiny fists in anger.
The call came from Nana Kelly that morning, waking me from a dead sleep between Jenna and Annaleigh. Olivia had apologized repeatedly for not staying over, but she needed her J-pillow and husband snuggles to sleep properly. Being seven months pregnant and the size of a small planet, I hated that she showed up, but she pinned me with a Mom-glare that had me mumbling, “sorry,” as I held the door open for her to come in.
The condition of Beth’s chemotherapy port got worse, turning severe fast, and the doctors opted for surgery to remove and get rid of the infection. I didn’t pretend to understand a fraction of Nana Kelly’s words, but I understood them not wanting the girls stuck in the hospital waiting room.
It was the least I could do after Nana swooped in and annihilated Brad and the fuckers who enabled his behavior. The arrest warrants were issued within a day, and the article ran in every major news outlet in the city. Stacy refused to take full credit, but at least she handled all the on-air interviews, leaving me to wallow in peace.
“Have you ever made octopus spaghetti and rainbow noodles?” I said, bending down with a groan that made me sound much older than I was and removing four small pots from a cabinet beside the stove.
“Where does Mommy keep the baking supplies?”
“Over here,” Emma said, taking my arm and pulling me toward the pantry. The pots dropped with a clatter on the stovetop, and I swiped the food coloring from between the vanilla and shortening as Ava opened the fridge and took out a package of hotdogs, dropping them on the floor and walking out of the kitchen.
“Young lady, come here, please. I need your help. Your rainbow noodles will take three people to make. Can you help?”
“Kay,” Ava said, looking at me with wide eyes and an eager expression.
“Go straighten those pots for me, please. I’ll fill them up in a minute. Emma, can you bring a cutting board and a box of spaghetti to the table?”
She nodded, still quiet except for the occasional outburst since she found out her mom had headed into surgery. I could see the intelligence in her eyes and couldn’t imagine how her little head was handling the situation.
“Okay, here’s the plan.” I took a knife and opened the hotdogs, cutting them into small pieces and dividing them into two piles. “Take a piece of hotdog and a spaghetti. How many pieces do you think we need to put through each hotdog piece?”
“Eight,” Ava hollered, grabbing a fistful of spaghetti.
“You got it. And what colors should we make the noodles, Emma?”
“Purple, pink, blue….”
“And black,” Ava hollered again, banging her tiny fist on the table and causing a lone hotdog piece to roll off and onto the floor.
Oh, that’s going to make the hotdogs look extra appetizing.
“Help me with the food coloring, Emma.”
She stood with me and waited while I filled the pots, then followed the directions on my phone, adding the correct number of drops to each pot to turn the water—and noodles—the right color. Taking a chance that she needed the distraction because her brain was going into overdrive with worry, I searched for information on port infection surgeries and texted Nana for an update. Her messaging skills weren’t the greatest, but I’d settle for one-word answers and fill in the blanks later.
“Did you know the normal time for this surgery is between one and two hours?”
She looked at me and shook her head like she was waiting for me to go on.
Good.
“And some of the instruments the doctors use have funny names. Where do you think the names come from? From the men who came up with the design?”
“Or women.”
Damn.
