Chapter 19
Miller
In the week following, I spend almost every hour of my day in Kai’s house. Either in the kitchen or with Max, and when Kai gets home from work after the games I don’t take his son to, I find ways to linger a little longer even though inspiration has yet to strike.
Clearly, it’s a me thing if not even a stunning, state-of-the-art kitchen with brand-new tools can make me create.
But today is the day. I can feel it buzzing through my fingertips. Last night, while I was lying in bed, I saw it in my mind, visualized every step—my take on a deconstructed banana flambe.
In the high-end world, you’ve just got to list something as “deconstructed” and it’s automatically double the price, which really makes no fucking sense if you ask me, but I don’t make the rules.
One time I created a dessert simply called “flavors of a banana split.” I served a deconstructed banana split spread across the entire table. Hazelnut chocolate on one end, strawberry mousse on the other. You had to put in work to get yourself a single bite, but the presentation was stunning, and I earned an award for what was essentially a giant, messy banana split.
Today though, I’m taking on the banana flambe.
At least that was my plan before Max decided his plan was to be clingy. He crawls as quickly as I walk over to the stove. I meant to work during his nap earlier, but there were so many things Kai needed help with around the house, I didn’t want to ignore them. Even though he’s for sure going to be annoyed I did the laundry and may or may not have given one of his used T-shirts a deep inhale.
The guy smells good. Sue me.
I look down at the floor, next to my bare feet. “Max, baby, what’s up?”
He sits on the kitchen runner, both hands reaching up towards me. “Nana,” he says.
I’ve come to learn that whatever that noise is that starts with an “N” sound and ends with a bit of mumbling is his version of asking for a banana. I’ve got a whole bunch sitting next to the stove that I bought a few days ago. They’re on the brink of going brown, which is why today is the day I need to use them.
Peeling one, I get down on my haunches and break him off a piece. “Here you go, Bug.”
His blue eyes are shining, his hair is still a little sweaty from his afternoon nap, but gosh dang it is he fucking cute.
The stovetop is heating up, but there’s no way I’m working on this type of dessert with him so close. Seeing as a flambe requires me to set a fire, we’re officially done with that idea for today.
Max chews on his banana while he contently sits on the ground, his brown hair all over the place.
“Maxie, do you want to go play with your blocks?”
He shakes his head.
“Should we maybe go outside and blow some bubbles?”
Another no.
“Okay, do you just want to hang out with me in the kitchen?”
Looking up, he smiles, mashed banana all over his baby teeth.
I chuckle, picking him up. “All right, my guy. Let’s put you to work then.”
I flip off the burner before standing him in the small contraption that keeps him upright and at counter height.
Leaning down on my forearms, I make myself eye level with him. “What should we make?”
“Nana!” he yells.
“You’ve still got your banana.”
“Nana!”
“I can’t make that banana dessert with you in the kitchen. The flames are big and hot and oooh—” I tickle his belly just to hear his laugh. “Kind of scary. So, we’ve got to think of something else with bananas.”
“Nana!”
Dear God. Big banana fan today.
“How about—” I look around the kitchen for ideas. Bananas, flour, sugar. A Bundt pan too. I face him again. “Should we make banana bread?”
This sure as hell isn’t going to count towards any of the work I need to get done, but I haven’t made something as simple as banana bread in years.
Max claps his hands.
I guess we’re making some motherfucking banana bread.
There’s an old recipe floating around in my mind, one that I used to make my dad when I was a little girl. This bread is almost like a cake with the moist center and sweet add-ins.
Washing my hands then Max’s, I load the counter up next to him, letting him see and touch as much as he wants. Unhinging the base to the mixer, I set it up right in front of him.
“All right. First up. We’ve got to mash these bananas.”
I peel and toss them in the bottom of the bowl, but Max reaches in at one point to take a handful before smashing it into his mouth.