Just a Taste by Deirdre Martin

untouched slice of pie in tinfoil. “Surprise me.”
     
    “A nthony had never been a fan of unexpected guests, which was why, showing up at work the day after Vivi’s apple pie ambush, he almost turned around and walked right out when he saw his brother sitting in the dining room with baby Angelica. Three visits in one week! First Little Ant, then Vivi, now Mikey. Mother of God. Did he have an invisible sign over his head that read, “Please feel free to interrupt me at work”?
    “What the hell are you doing here, Mike?” he asked his brother, bending down to kiss his youngest niece where she slept in her baby carrier atop a small table in the dining room. Michael was wolfing down the remainders of a tart. Vivi’s tart.
    “I was driving around trying to get Angelica to sleep, and thought I’d stop in,” Michael mumbled, his mouth full of food.
    “Lucky me.” Anthony knew that sometimes the only way his brother and sister-in-law could get the little one to sleep was to drive around. But Anthony couldn’t understand why, once the objective had been achieved, Mikey couldn’t just drive back home and deposit Angelica back in her crib. Mikey knew what it was like at the restaurant. Did he really think Anthony had time to just shoot the breeze?
    Oblivious to Anthony’s annoyance, Michael tapped his plate with his fork enthusiastically. “Mmm. You make this? This is the most amazing apple pie I’ve ever tasted.”
    “Gimme that.” Anthony grabbed the fork from his brother’s hand and gouged a piece of tart for himself. “It’s good, not great.”
    “You’re wrong,” Michael disagreed with a chortle, taking back his fork. “This pie is fucking great.”
    “Shut up, Mike.”
    “What?” Michael’s eyes were wide and his mouth full. “I thought you’d be happy.”
    “I would if I’d made it. But I didn’t.”
    “Who made it, then?”
    Anthony just scowled until Michael figured it out.
    “Ah, Vivi.”
    “Ah, Vivi,” Anthony mimicked, stealing another bite of tart. Okay, it was great. But he still thought a little more brown sugar could make it even greater . He couldn’t sleep last night, trying to figure out what he could make to prove his baking skills rivaled, if not exceeded, hers. So far he’d drawn a blank.
    “I guess she really believes the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach,” Michael ribbed.
    Anthony frowned. “She’s not interested in my stomach, or any other part of me unless it’s my head on a plate, and I feel the same way.”
    “Sure you do.”
    Anthony rolled his eyes. “Stop trying to create something where there’s nothing, will you, please? The woman is a major pain in my ass, showing up here whenever she pleases, kinda like someone else I know.”
    “Might I remind you I’m half owner of this place?”
    “Might I remind you our agreement was you’d keep out of my hair?”
    Angelica stirred restlessly in her baby seat, and for a moment, Anthony and his brother held their breath, nervous she might awaken and start to bawl. Both sighed with relief once it became clear she was just getting comfortable.
    “Why don’t you take her home so she can sleep in her own crib?” Anthony asked.
    “She’s sleeping fine.” Michael glanced around the dining room. “Look, I’m actually here to ask a small favor.”
    “What’s that?”
    “Could you put together some dinner for me that I can heat up later? You know, some spaghetti and meatballs? Something Dominica and Little Ant will eat?”
    “The househusband thing is really working out for you, huh, Mike?”
    Michael looked defensive. “It’s working out fine,” he insisted. “It’s just been a crazy day, and I haven’t had a chance to figure out dinner.”
    “So you had to come here?”
    “That a problem?”
    “Not yet. But it could be.”
    Anthony ignored the dark look his brother threw him as Michael wolfed down the remainder of the pie. Maybe doing all that homemaker stuff wasn’t as easy as he