#PartyBoss isn't a term Tulip Carpenter coined herself but she wears it with pride. Her life is a party, she's doing what she loves, creating mindblowing celebrations for the happiest moments in people's lives. But when the baby she put up for adopt...
Orange juice extracted from the best navel oranges grown in Florida, as stated from the summary on the back of the jug, was filled to the glasses' rim. The hash browns on the platter next to the empty plate on the island were golden and crispy, still hot from the oil. The serving was a little light from the batch she seasoned with sea salt and black pepper because she had to taste one to make sure they weren't overly salted.
Fine, she devoured a second one but the first one was so tasty she had to make sure it wasn't a fluke. The eggs were yellow fluff of clouds of soft sponginess next to the hot sauce; a condiment she wasn't sure if Sydney was familiar with using. The French toast resting in a Pyrex dish was heavy with cinnamon and light on sugar. She didn't want to rot Sydney's teeth out. Plus, there was maple syrup next to them.
Tulip marveled at the setup as she waited for the oil in the cast iron skillet to get hot for the eggs. She wasn't a great cook by any means. She over fried chicken had been defeated by water while cooking rice, and undercooked pizza dough. However, breakfast was the one thing she could whip up with limited hijinks and certainty that it would be scrumptious.
She had practice preparing the first meal of the day early on in her life. She was her mom's sous chef during those easy, slow Saturdays beating buttermilk into the dry ingredients to make a silky smooth batter to kiss the hot, greased griddle. Pancakes, waffles, biscuits were all concocted in the sanctity of the kitchen as her mama told her of stories when she was a kid herself exploring the Mississippi landscape with her best friend down the street. Bike rides to the railroad and licking ice cream while trying to touch the sky on the swings were the moments her mama passed down to her through oration and they were moments she wanted to create with her own daughter.
With Sydney.
Just as she cracked the egg's shell on the side edge of the stove Sydney emerged from around the corner. Her big brown eyes searched the environment like an infant getting the first glimpse of neon colors.
"Good morning, Syd!" Tulip exclaimed just before dropping the egg in the piping grease. The egg whites sizzled instantly
Sydney's stoic appearance didn't change as she slid on the bar chair by the island."Je m'appelle Sydney King." Her nose tipped up as she inhaled the sweet, succulent aromas wafting around.
"Uh..." Tulip's eyes narrowed towards the little girl as she thought, recalling the board on Pinterest she created dubbed 'French It Up.' A smirk ticked up her glossed lips remembering the pin she snapped just before the delivery guy knocked on the door. "I am Sydney King."
Sydney's eyebrows almost shot up to her small widow's peak.
"I know things," She sprinkled salt and pepper on the frying eggs before taking them out. "I may not be a genius but I for sure ain't dumb." She carried the bowl over to the other dishes of food, "Bon appétit!"
Sydney placed her hands on her lap then soberly peered at her, "Est-ce que c'est sans gluten?"
Tulip didn't comprehend the majority of the words but one did stand out, "Gluten. Why are you worried about gluten?" She clenched her bare waist, her hot pink sports bra matched the jogging shorts excellently even though they weren't the same brand and one came from the sales rack. "Nor do you have celiac disease."
It was a fact she was sure of. Before getting lost in the world of Pinterest, she devoured all the information that was in the binder Lola gave her. She studied all the paperwork as if the governess was going to put up and quiz her. She knew Sydney had been on the honor roll ever since received letter grades. She was allergic to amoxicillin, something that was learned after she'd been given the drug for a strep throat and broke out in hives. She played golf with her mom every Sunday and wanted to join the country club's juniors golfing team in the fall; the application had somehow found its place in the back pocket of the binder. She also wanted a dog, the persuasive letter Sydney wrote was in the envelope with all of her school records.
Tulip had to put the damn thing away quickly because the ten-year old's words were almost swaying her.
"French toast made with Texas toast is the shit...er I mean it..." Tulip's brain froze as she tried to come up with another word that described breakfast bread soaked in eggs and cinnamon then fried in butter. "Exquisite. Your taste buds will have a fete."
It was another word Tulip learned from a pin. Thank God for Pinterest.
"Une fête?" Sydney peered at the thick-cut slice of bread Tulip put in the plate in front of her.
"Yes," She handed her a fork. "You've never had this before."
"Maman dit que la farine d'avoine est un bon petit déjeuner."
"Uh," Tulip laughed to herself. She really thought she was winning until this very moment. How the hell was she going to translate the onslaught of french words that were just tossed at her with such quick ease? "I got none of that."
Sydney faintly shrugged then cut into the toast with her fork. Tulip watched her move the utensil to her mouth as if she was watching the child take her first breath. She slowly chewed the corner of the decadent bread. Her eyes widened with amazement and her mouth ticked up a smidge. It was a sight Tulip bathed in, lauded in, wanted to recreate every day until her last day on earth. It moved her enough to imagine herself whipping up another meal that didn't happen in the morning.
"Yum." Sydney harked going in for another bite.
"Yum?" Tulip raised a cup of orange to her lips. "Is that French for good?"
Sydney nodded as she chewed on the clump of bread pushing out her cheek like a chipmunk.
Tulip slowly swallowed her juice knowing two things to be certain. One, yum wasn't a damn French word. And two, she was going to need a cookbook.
"You're going to need to go change."
"Pourquoi"
Tulip knew that one, "Because of that little J. Crew dress." She pointed to the girl's popsicle apron dress. "As cute as hell as it is ain't fit for a football field."
Sydney's thick eyebrows wrinkled as she stuffed another piece of toast in her mouth.
"Sunday mornings we play football." She held her waist. "You're on my team and we always win. You need sneakers. Not sandals."
Shock claimed Sydney's face. Her full mouth opened and one word came out, "Football."
How do you think Tulip's football game will turn out? Will she win like always or will Sydney hold her back?
What do you think it means that Sydney has fluctuated between English and French this morning?
Why do you think Sydney clarified that her hand is Sydney King and not 'Syd'?
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
