The Friend Zone

Chapter Thirteen: I Think We Always Have

 "How'd the shopping trip go?" I asked as Dad and Taylor walked in the kitchen at seven o'clock that night.

They had gone on their traditional "Oh shit it's Christmas Eve and I need to buy gifts" shopping trip tonight, leaving me at home to make dinner and Christmas cookies before they got home. I didn't mind it though, it gave me time to clean up around the house and make dinner in peace. I'd also been trying to wrap Taylor's gifts for nearly a week now and he kept being nosey and trying to peek at what I had gotten him every time I tried.

"I got the best Christmas pajamas ever," Taylor smirked, bringing a bag into the kitchen.

"You do know that the point of the shopping trip was to buy other people gifts right?" I asked, trying to keep a straight face.

"That's why I got you a matching set," he said, pulling two identical red pajama sets out of a Pure Hockey bag. They, of course, were hockey themed with a Christmas tree made out of sticks, adorned with various types of hockey gear and rows of snowflakes constructed out of hockey sticks. The pants had the snowflakes on them and a Pure Hockey logo on the hip.

"Those are great," I laughed as he handed me mine.

"I knew you'd like it," he grinned, "What's for dinner?"

"Pork chops," I replied, "They should be almost done. I was just getting ready to put some corn on the burner and mash the potatoes in the sink."

"Sounds like a good time to go unload the car," he smirked.

"I can handle it," Dad laughed, "You two can finish dinner."

"After dinner we can frost cookies," I said, "The frosting is in the fridge and the cookies are cooling down over on the island."

"I think they're fine without frosting," Taylor said, walking over to 'inspect' the cookies.

"If you eat one I'll have to cut your fingers off," I smirked, knowing exactly what he was trying to do.

"Damn it," he grinned.

"If you put the potatoes in the bowl I'll mash them," I remarked, grabbing the hand held mixer out of the cabinet.

"Okay," he said, grabbing a bowl from the bottom cupboards and dumping the potatoes in.

"Can you grab the milk and butter?" I asked, plugging in the mixer, "You can pour some in there."

"That good?" he asked.

"Yeah," I replied before turning on the mixer.

I had spent a lot of time in the kitchen when I was growing up. When my mom first went to jail when I was 8, my dad's sister stayed with us for a few months until my dad could find a way to take care of Lisa and I while still working enough hours to pay for everything from bills to my ice bills to Lisa's new dance shoes. My aunt owned a bakery in a town about an hour from Buffalo and we'd spend hours in the kitchen making cookies, brownies, cakes, anything you could think of. I was too young to really realize that she was actually teaching us what Mom never bothered to. She knew that she'd eventually have to go home and Lisa and I would have to learn to do the cooking and the laundry and anything else that Mom had done before she went down the wrong road, Dad couldn't do it all.

"You okay?" Taylor asked.

"Yeah, just thinking," I replied.

"Your mom?" he asked.

"Yeah, whatever," I sighed, unplugging the mixer.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine," I replied.