First Comes Like #Wattys2020

24

TWENTY FOUR

We have three hours till my Dad gets home from work so I let Dean in through the front door and into the kitchen. I never imagined that a 'No Pinkettes Allowed' rule would ever affect me. In fact, I used to think that we needed one, especially when my mom invited the Pinkettes over for Christmas. 

I still remember my twelfth Christmas, when my mom and Mrs Pinkette purposely made the seating arrangements all wrong. My dad was stuck next to Mr Pinkette and my stockinged leg was pressed up against Dean's trousers. Every time Dean or Mr Pinkette would speak my dad and I would have a silent competition about who could make the rudest faces. Even from across the table, I'd never felt closer to my dad than then.

Almost five years later I have to hurry with Dean so my dad doesn't come home and find him in our kitchen. I've already printed out some 'fortunes' and we get Nina to cut them into strips. 

"I usually charge." She'd said as she trimmed the edges of the first strip into a perfect straight line, "But since Dean is involved, I'll let this one slide." He pulled one of her pigtails playfully. I just shook my head at her. I swear she'd do things for Dean that she'd never do for me (for free).

We lay out all the ingredients we bought on the counter and then I reread the recipe from my phone, while Dean checks and double checks that we have everything we need. Then we get working. I start by mixing the egg whites with the vanilla and other wet ingredients, just like the recipe asks.

"Are you sure this is the right recipe?" Dean peers over my shoulder.

I nod. "It better be." I look down at my bowl of eggs and compare it to the picture. It could be frothier. "If it turns out bad then I'm telling everyone you made it." I tell Dean and I'm only half joking.

"And if it turns out good?" Dean wants to know. He picks up my phone from the counter to look at the recipe. I'm instantly distracted, nervous that somehow he'll find out that we got matched up. He sets it down on the counter again and I relax.

"Then I made it and you helped." I answer him finally. Dean just laughs. He grabs another bowl and we work side by side, silently, mixing and beating, him with the dry ingredients, me with the wet ones, getting the batter perfect. My eggs are finally looking right.

"Would you past me the flour, Valerie dearest?" Dean says, his voice playful. I'm pretty confused by him calling me Valerie, but I say not a word, and hand him the flour. 

"Thank you, Valerie."

"Uh huh. No problem."

Dean pauses and from my peripheral vision, I can tell he's staring at me. "What?" I say, not looking at him.

"You're seriously not going to acknowledge the fact that I called you Valerie?"

I turn to look at him, slightly amused now. "Nope." and then, because I'm just extra I add, "Pinkette."

Dean drops his spoon. "No way." He goes for the flour bag and pours some into his hand, "Say my name, Valerie." Dean threatens with a handful of flour. I narrow my eyes like, I dare you.

"Say it." he raises his hand high.
"No!" I shriek, as I realize that he wasn't joking. I laugh as it gets dumped on my head, covering me in flour for the second time for the day.

It's already evening when we finally pop the cookies into the oven. I set the timer and lean against the wall and Dean sighs and leans against the counter. 

"Four more days till the dance." Dean says and I groan, because I'm tired of hearing it. Dean comes close. "Wait. You're not excited? I thought all the girls were. You should hear them."