week or two, but up until then, he wasn’t allowed to work. They didn’t have long left till the yard would be done, and he’d never see Dakota again, and now he’d lost two weeks?
Maybe he was sulking.
“You’re definitely sulking,” Matt said. He peered over his shoulder as Jake reread Dakota’s “hope to see you soon, feel better” message. “We could probably call what you’re doing pining.”
“I’m not pining,” said Jake, turning his phone over so Matt couldn’t see it.
“Sure,” said Matt. He flopped onto the couch next to him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Want to watch the gardening channel?”
“Not funny,” said Jake. “Pull up Netflix.”
Matt put on Netflix and patiently (he didn’t bitch at Jake about it) sat there for the half an hour it took for Jake to make up his mind about what he wanted to watch. Jake settled on Cupcake Wars . “Maybe,” said Matt, “you could become a baker. Look at how pretty these cupcakes are. They’re practically works of art.” He rambled on, providing a steady stream of commentary that had Jake somewhat distracted from his misery. Eventually the TV started to hurt his eyes, and he made Matt turn it off.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do for two weeks,” he said. “Possibly go crazy.”
“The nurse said seven to ten days, that’s not two weeks,” pointed out Matt. “This isn’t the end of the world.” He turned to face Jake. “You could always ask Dakota to come visit you?”
“That’s not professional,” said Jake. “What would I even say? I have a gardening emergency? Can he come check it out?”
“I don’t know what you want me to do,” said Matt. “But I’m going to strangle you if I have to deal with this moping for too long.”
“Let’s bake,” he said. It would take up time, and he’d get to eat his work. That sounded like a win to him.
They turned to Pinterest for recipes and made a list of all the things they would need to buy. It was a really long list. Matt didn’t have even the basics in his house. Jake stayed behind while Matt went to the store. He’d protested at first, but Matt had pointed out that Jake was still sensitive to light, and the supermarket lights were sure to make his head pound. Matt had been gone for all of five minutes before Jake fell asleep.
HE WAS wrist deep in batter that was clinging to his hands in a truly unpleasant way. “I don’t understand how I’m supposed to smooth it out if I can’t get it off me,” he said.
“Hold your hands out, and I’ll scrape the spoon over them,” suggested Matt.
Jake held his hands out, Matt scraped, and the batter clung to the spoon. Matt banged it repeatedly on the edge of the pan, trying to get it to fall off. Bringing his hand up to his mouth, Jake licked off some of the batter and promptly grimaced. “Ugh,” he said. “I hope it tastes better cooked.”
“Go wash yourself off,” said Matt. “You can’t touch anything like that.”
“Yes, Mom.”
As he was washing his hands, his phone pinged with an incoming text. “Who is it?” he asked. His hands were still slick with batter, feeling gross and slimy. The stuff was clumped under his nails.
“Dakota’s texting you,” said Matt. “There’s a picture, and he’s asking what you think.”
“What’s the picture of?” He turned his head, watching as Matt bent so his nose was nearly touching the phone.
“Can’t tell, and I’m kinda busy. I don’t think you want me touching your phone.” He held up his batter sticky fingers and wiggled them.
“Yeah, no.” He’d check in a minute once he got his hands clean.
His phone pinged a second time. “Someone’s getting impatient,” said Matt.
“Is he really?” Jake had yet to see Dakota act impatient; he doubted he’d be starting now. He dried his hands off and checked his phone. The picture was of a partial brick trail in his backyard. The following two messages read: what do you think? and
Maybe he was sulking.
“You’re definitely sulking,” Matt said. He peered over his shoulder as Jake reread Dakota’s “hope to see you soon, feel better” message. “We could probably call what you’re doing pining.”
“I’m not pining,” said Jake, turning his phone over so Matt couldn’t see it.
“Sure,” said Matt. He flopped onto the couch next to him, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Want to watch the gardening channel?”
“Not funny,” said Jake. “Pull up Netflix.”
Matt put on Netflix and patiently (he didn’t bitch at Jake about it) sat there for the half an hour it took for Jake to make up his mind about what he wanted to watch. Jake settled on Cupcake Wars . “Maybe,” said Matt, “you could become a baker. Look at how pretty these cupcakes are. They’re practically works of art.” He rambled on, providing a steady stream of commentary that had Jake somewhat distracted from his misery. Eventually the TV started to hurt his eyes, and he made Matt turn it off.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do for two weeks,” he said. “Possibly go crazy.”
“The nurse said seven to ten days, that’s not two weeks,” pointed out Matt. “This isn’t the end of the world.” He turned to face Jake. “You could always ask Dakota to come visit you?”
“That’s not professional,” said Jake. “What would I even say? I have a gardening emergency? Can he come check it out?”
“I don’t know what you want me to do,” said Matt. “But I’m going to strangle you if I have to deal with this moping for too long.”
“Let’s bake,” he said. It would take up time, and he’d get to eat his work. That sounded like a win to him.
They turned to Pinterest for recipes and made a list of all the things they would need to buy. It was a really long list. Matt didn’t have even the basics in his house. Jake stayed behind while Matt went to the store. He’d protested at first, but Matt had pointed out that Jake was still sensitive to light, and the supermarket lights were sure to make his head pound. Matt had been gone for all of five minutes before Jake fell asleep.
HE WAS wrist deep in batter that was clinging to his hands in a truly unpleasant way. “I don’t understand how I’m supposed to smooth it out if I can’t get it off me,” he said.
“Hold your hands out, and I’ll scrape the spoon over them,” suggested Matt.
Jake held his hands out, Matt scraped, and the batter clung to the spoon. Matt banged it repeatedly on the edge of the pan, trying to get it to fall off. Bringing his hand up to his mouth, Jake licked off some of the batter and promptly grimaced. “Ugh,” he said. “I hope it tastes better cooked.”
“Go wash yourself off,” said Matt. “You can’t touch anything like that.”
“Yes, Mom.”
As he was washing his hands, his phone pinged with an incoming text. “Who is it?” he asked. His hands were still slick with batter, feeling gross and slimy. The stuff was clumped under his nails.
“Dakota’s texting you,” said Matt. “There’s a picture, and he’s asking what you think.”
“What’s the picture of?” He turned his head, watching as Matt bent so his nose was nearly touching the phone.
“Can’t tell, and I’m kinda busy. I don’t think you want me touching your phone.” He held up his batter sticky fingers and wiggled them.
“Yeah, no.” He’d check in a minute once he got his hands clean.
His phone pinged a second time. “Someone’s getting impatient,” said Matt.
“Is he really?” Jake had yet to see Dakota act impatient; he doubted he’d be starting now. He dried his hands off and checked his phone. The picture was of a partial brick trail in his backyard. The following two messages read: what do you think? and
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