Little Miss Maisy

Chapter eleven: This Sh*t is Bananas!

Complete Rewrite: Number Unknown

"Hello?" Miles held the banana up to his ear, glancing around as if his baby sister wasn't giggling on the counter in front of him. His arm close to her to make sure she couldn't fall. "Hello? Is anyone there?"

"S' me, Miles!" Maisy couldn't contain her laughter as she used both of her hands to hold a banana to her ear. She has such a silly brother.

"Maisy?" Miles feigned shock at the sound of her adorable voice, tearing the banana away from his face just to look astounded at the browning peel. "How did you get a phone?!"

This was just too funny, enough that Maisy couldn't play along anymore. The only thing that left her mouth was a long fit of laughter, causing her to clutch her stomach. Too much laughing made her tummy ache.

"I wonder where Amber is," A smile lingered on his face as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, amused the affects of his hilarious joke. After sparing a glance to the microwave clock, he realized she was supposed to be here by now.

Today was a special day. Well, sort of. Maisy begged and begged Amber to do something together, so they came up with an amazing idea. A day of baking banana bread.

With a whole bunch of browning bananas, it seemed like a perfect idea. And because someone finished off the brownie mix last week.

"Hm . . ." Miles' smile faded when he read the text from his girlfriend. She's stranded at her apartment until the smell of gas is located in the building. A fun day for every tenant.

"Huh?" Maisy still had a big smile on her face, not understanding the slightly glum look on Miles' face. It wasn't that he didn't want to bake with his sister, but he was relying on his girlfriend to chaperone most of the activity.

She knows her way around a kitchen, mostly through a key ingredient of common sense. Which, some days Miles seems to be missing.

Around the house, he's famous for being a god-awful cook. Never trust him to make you a meal without thorough guidance.

"Uh—" He scratched the back of his neck as he broke the news. A little less enthusiastic now. "—Amber's not going to be here for a little while."

Maisy's cheerful mood didn't waver, even with the bad news. Although she loves and adores Amber a great amount, that didn't ruin her day. "S' okay! We can make it!"

"Us?" Miles gestured to himself, the lousy cook—Then to his sister, the child. "You and me? Make a loaf of banana bread all by ourselves?"

Maisy bobbed her head. How hard can baking be? There's millions of reality TV shows showing how simple it is, right?

"Alright," Miles went along with it. It couldn't hurt to try. Besides, maybe his days of being a bad cook are over. "Your call, boss."

•.

"Bread . . . Banana bread . . ." Miles muttered to himself as he stared into the cabinet full of baking supplies, contemplating what possible ingredients went into the loaf they were trying to construct.

On the counter, sat a giant metal mixing bowl filled with milk, three eggs, a splash of oil, four squished bananas, and chunks of an un-softened stick of butter. So far, so good.