“Mom?” I said tentatively. It looked like Cookie Monster heaven. Seemingly endless rows of cookies lined every available surface of counter space in the kitchen.
“Yes?” she asked, turning to look at us with flour streaked across her face and down the front of her I’d rather be shopping apron we had gotten her last Mother’s Day.
“What are you doing?” I asked, walking slowly by all the cookies.
“I decided it was time to make it feel like Christmas around here. I was just going to make a batch of one of your father’s favorites, but as I was flipping through all the recipes, I kept finding others he loved. And well, that’s how all of this happened,” she said, sweeping her hands out to indicate all the different types of cookies.
Megan joined me as I paused in front of each different flavor. Every cookie evoked different memories for me. During this time of year, our house always smelled like fresh baked cookies because Dad would bake practically every day and you would always find him munching on them.
“A cookie a day, keeps the doctor away. Besides, my metabolism is like a furnace,” he would boast when my mom would tease him about over doing it.
A stray tear escaped down my cheek. I swiped at it with my knuckles, not wanting to upset Mom or Megan.
That’s when I glanced down, realizing Megan had left my side and was standing in front of the snickerdoodles, Dad’s all-time favorite. My heart clenched as I watched silent tears creep down her cheeks. Megan and Dad had been two peas in a pod, doing everything together, and baking cookies was just another item that topped the list. I’d wasted all my time climbing the social ladder at school to care at the time.
“I’m sorry, Peanut,” Mom said, rushing to Megan’s side and pulling her in for a tight hug. “I’ll get rid of them. I should have realized how painful it would be. It was selfish of me to let my desire to remember him overshadow your feelings,” she said, releasing Megan so she could reach for the trashcan.
I wanted to stop her. Seeing the cookies was painful, but in a good way. It almost felt like he was here with us.
Megan grabbed Mom’s arm as she was scooting a row toward the open trashcan. She shook her head to the side.
“You don’t want me to throw them away?” Mom asked confused.
Megan shook her head again.
Mom looked at me questioningly.
“Neither do I,” I finally choked out. “It almost feels like Dad is here. He would have been in hog heaven with so many cookies laid out.”
Megan nodded her head, giving her approval to my statement.
“So we keep them all?” Mom asked, finally taking it all in.
“Yep, I’ll get out the gallon-sized Ziploc bags,” I said, feeling weirdly lighthearted.
“I guess I kind of went overboard,” Mom said, laughing slightly.
“In a good way,” I said, giving her a sideways hug as Megan continued to walk by each variety. I smiled when I saw her take a small nibble out of several different ones.
“Juice, Peanut?” I asked, opening up the refrigerator.
She grinned around a bite of a cookie and nodded her head. I wished she would come out of her protective shell and talk to us. I was dying to know what she was thinking.
I could tell from Mom’s expression she felt the same way.
“What’s on the agenda today after we bag up a lifetime of cookies here?” I teased.
“What would you like to do?” she asked, wrapping the chocolate chip cookies with wax paper.
“Truthfully?” I asked.
“Yes, truthfully,” she said, shooting me her sarcastic “mom” look.
“I’d like to go to Mickey’s Very Merry Christmas,” I said quietly, hoping I wasn’t opening a can of worms.
“Really?” she asked incredulously.
“Would that be okay?” I said, directing the question at Megan who answered by throwing her arms around my waist. Going to Mickey’s Very Merry Christmas at the Magic Kingdom was a tradition Dad had started the year Megan was born. I went that first year, but claimed it was for babies after that and never went again. I had been thinking a lot about all the traditions I had missed out on after my conversation on Friday with Mrs. Leighton. I was afraid to reinstate any of them, but Mom baking the cookies seemed like a sign that maybe we could handle it.