7 | Pasta A La Dessert

Their fridge was like a mini-grocery.

Seriously. Our fridges in the shop and in the house were nothing compared to this. It was loaded with practically everything. I could make twenty dishes with these ingredients and it would still appear full. Okay, maybe I was exaggerating, but emphasis was important.

The Dales' refrigerator was a sleek and shiny black and white one. It had those fancy double doors to allow more space, a freezer, chiller and everything. And they stocked up in different goods: from eggs, milk, butter, different meats to fresh vegetables like lettuce, cabbage and spinach.

I licked my lips, thinking about the menu tonight. I could already smell it.

"Mommy!"

I rolled my eyes. What's up with Brennan now? Last I left that big baby, he was watching Disney on the couch.

My questions were answered when I saw two people walk in the kitchen. One was obviously Brennan, and the other I figured was his mom.

Maira Dale didn't turn out as I expected her to be. Her hair was curled perfectly and pulled up in a bun. She wore a black dress that showed off her figure and a matching pair of heels. She didn't give off that strict and uptight aura I always imagined her in.

My eyebrows rose quickly. I couldn't believe this woman could clean a mansion, babysit two idiots and look pretty at the same time. I mean, she's got to be insanely blessed with mom powers. And, well, the Dales continued to surprise me.

I snapped out of my thoughts when I heard my name. "Uh, sorry?" I looked at Brennan and Maira, who were staring at me.

"I said you must be the new cook, Oliver," Maira smiled kindly at me.

I nodded, "Yeah, that's me."

I glanced at the fridge, which I realized I left open. I quickly scrambled to close it. Mom always scolded me not to leave the fridge – or any fridge – open because it was a waste of electricity.

I remembered Maira saying in her note that she'll be home before dinner. But I actually haven't started dinner yet. It was only seven.

"Phineas and Ferb, I'm coming back for you!" Brennan gave his mom a quick peck on the cheek before he went back to his show. Such immaturity. If only his life was a reality TV show.

Maira headed to the counter and put her purse on it, "Did the boys behave?"

"Sure," I lied for Brennan's sake, "They were like angels." Except for the time when one of your sons choked on a chocolate ball, the other one at fault.

She cocked an eyebrow, "Really, like I'd believe that."

Ah, so she did know her sons well. Well enough to not believe that they'd never not cause trouble. I smiled sheepishly, "They behaved well, yeah. In a devilish sort of way."

"And where's Jackson?"

I shrugged, "In his room studying, I guess." He hadn't come out of his room since that little episode.

A knowing smile appeared on her lips as she shook her head lightly. "And what's for dinner?" she asked.

I wiped my hands nervously on my apron (or the apron I found around here, whatever). I wasn't used to be polite to my bosses, mainly because my only boss before this job was Mom. "I haven't started dinner yet. But . . . I'm thinking of chicken stew and beef dumplings."

Maira nodded, "That's alright. Do you need any help?"

"No, thanks," I said, "Please let me impress you with my cooking skills."

"I'll be back," she picked up her purse, "Knock yourself out with the ingredients." Then, she disappeared to the other entrance, the one leading to the stairs.

I think I was going to like Maira Dale.

I had already brought out a knife, the cutting board and a bunch of vegetables and started slicing and dicing them when Maira came back, casually dressed now. She sat at the counter and set the laptop she brought on it.

"I'm sorry again that Walter and I weren't here to welcome you," she told me while opening her laptop and turning it on.

I turned my head a little to have a peek, "It's okay. To see Brennan dancing on the countertop was a good alternative. Though, slightly disturbing." I finished chopping up another vegetable. I hoped these boys ate their veggies. I'd love to "share" mine with them. By share, I meant give all of mine to them so that I didn't need to eat any.

Teenage boys would eat anything these days.

"You have to excuse my sons and their troubles," Maira said.

"No, no, I can handle them. But I think you need to clean your countertop. I think it's tainted with Brennan's dance moves." I cleaned the countertop a while ago, but the stench of egomaniac wouldn't come off.

She laughed, "I'd clean it twice!"

I made a "tsk" sound, getting more comfortable with her. No offense to Mom, but I'd trade her in anytime. "You need to buy leashes for them, Maira." Women now always insist to be called by their first names, especially moms. So, why bother calling her Mrs. Dale or ma'am?

"I already have. They're at the garage."

I hoped she was kidding. Could the boys (or just Brennan, maybe) be that wild? I mentally laughed at the thought of Brennan in a leash and I'm walking him down the sidewalk.

"You have no idea how hard it is to get them to do their chores," Maira said.

"And here I thought they're complete sloths."

"Trust me, they are," she said as I finished with the vegetables and went off to the fridge to grab the chicken. I tried to cook as fast as possible, but still make the food taste great.

"How can I survive them? Oh how?" I said dramatically. Thanks to Mitch, I learned a thing or two about being a drama queen.

Maira chuckled, "I'll be home most of the time. You don't need to look after them, Oliver. I pay you to cook for us, after all. If you do need to babysit, I pay you extra."

As if I'd babysit those two.

But I'd be willing to stay on the sidelines and watch them. Watch the humiliation.

"Thanks so much," I told her. "Maybe you can teach me how you tolerate them."

"You just need to get on their good side," she winked at me. "Especially Jackson. I decided to hire a teenager so they'll be more comfortable with you."

Comfortable, huh.

"But you can tell me if they're treating you badly."

"Well," I dragged the "e", "Brennan did call me servant and peasant and things like that." Ha, tattletale Ollie.

"That sounds like Brennan, alright. I'll have a chat with him." I quietly fist-pumped. Yay for Maira Dale.

♫ ♫ ♫

At eight fifteen, the hot chicken stew and a plate of beef dumplings were set on the middle of the dining table with three plates and utensils surrounding them. There was also a glass of iced tea for each plate. I felt proud of the food. They were like my masterpieces.

Brennan didn't need to be called. The smell of dinner wafted to the living room, and that's what sent him running towards the dining room, claiming that his mouth was watering for my cooking. Yep, I was a good chef.

Maira was the one who called Jackson down for dinner. She and Brennan sat down on the table and she slapped Brennan's hand before he can reach for a dumpling. She told him they need to wait for his brother. Brennan pouted and just stared at the food.

And when Maira called Jackson, she didn't go upstairs to his room. She simply shouted his name and assured me that he'll come. I hung by a wall of the dining room, leaning back with my hands on my back.

Not long after, Jackson came down to the dining room but he avoided anyone's gaze. I was sure Maira noticed but she didn't say anything. She was as observant as Mom.

They all sat down, but I realized they hadn't begun eating. They were all looking at me expectantly. "Uh, is something wrong?" I asked, uneasy.

"Well?" said Maira, "Aren't you joining us?"

I pointed to myself, "Me?"

"No, not you," Jackson scoffed. Turns out I was not the only one who could be sarcastic.

"I thought I was eating after you guys," I said.

Maira snorted, "Yeah, right. Grab a plate, spoon, fork and drink and come here." I did as I was ordered and unfortunately landed on a seat next to Jackson.

"Oliver," my gaze turned to Maira when she called my name, "When you're here, don't put yourself down. You're not any lesser than us. Do you understand?"

I nodded mutely then looked at Brennan, who was already greedily devouring the beef dumplings and his stew. Good thing I made sure there were enough dumplings for us.

"So, Ollie," Maira started while I shoveled some stew into my plate, hopefully avoiding the mean vegetables. "May I call you that?"

I shrugged, "Everybody calls me that."

"Okay," she said, "You're eighteen, aren't you? A senior like Jackson?"

"Yes, but I go to Clevemore. You know, the public school," I replied, sneaking a glance at Jackson.

"Have you decided on a college yet?"

I knew this topic would come up.

"I, uh, actually want to go to Bridgeshade," I told her. Yeah, so, my dad's sending me there if I spy on you guys.

She nodded, "Jackson wants to go there, too, don't you dear?"

Jackson didn't look up from his plate. He just answered with a grunt.

"Did I raise a son or an animal?" Maira scolded. I kept in a laugh.

I saw Jackson roll his eyes. Maira turned back to me, "This is your first job?"

I shook my head. It wouldn't hurt to tell them a bit of myself, would it? Plus, Brennan doesn't know about my deal with Dad yet. "I actually worked – or work – at the sweet shop downtown. You've heard of Sweet Moments, right?"

"I think it sounds familiar," she tried to recall, "Why did you get this new job?"

Liar, liar, pies on fire.

"I realized I needed to make more money for college. My boss was only paying me half of what she pays the other workers."

Maira gasped and her hand flew to her chest, "Goodness, why would she do that?"

I managed a small smile, "Because she's my Mom. Apparently, my salary is considered 'allowance'". I shoveled a dumpling into my mouth, "And every time I complained, she'd just say that I didn't even need the money that much. Which isn't exactly false."

"And she allowed you to get another job?"

I chuckled, "Truth to be told, I don't think she minds. I've tried to steal something from the ice cream station once." That earned a snicker from Brennan.

"What about your father? What does he do?"

I tensed up. No, Ollie, steer away from that topic. Far away.

Brennan gave his mom and brother a look, "Don't you know? She's – "

He stopped when I kicked him under the table. I shot him a glare when he looked at me. Thankfully, he got the message. But I knew we'll talk about it eventually.

I faced Maira, "Um, he and my mom are divorced. We don't talk about him much."

She smiled apologetically, "I'm sorry, Ollie."

I waved her off, "It's fine."

She cleared her throat to start another topic, "The food's amazing. Did your mom teach you to cook?"

"Yep, but sometimes, I learned by myself. I was born to cook after all." Brennan made a sound of agreement at my words.

"Amazing cook," he literally licked his fingers, "What's for dessert?"

"There's no dessert," I deadpanned.

"Aw, but Ollie!"

"Shut up with the but," I held up a finger, "I didn't have time to make dessert, okay?"

Brennan pouted and slumped on his seat. He alone screamed childish. And so, like a child, he thumped his fist on the table, "I want a dessert now!"

"Brennan Brutus G. Dale!" Maira yelled. Brennan's eyes widened and he shut up immediately. I could see the smirk from Jackson.

I couldn't help it. I laughed, "Brutus? Brutus!"

"Mom, why?" he whined.

"You were the one acting immature, mister."

"But – But – but – "

I laughed harder, "Brutus!"

"Shut up," Brennan mumbled weakly.

I could also hear Jackson chuckling beside me. I guess that was enough payback for him. "How come I've never known your middle name, Brutus?" I teased Brennan.

He groaned, "I tried so hard – I begged – my manager not to ever let the public know about my middle name. Ever."

He glared at me, "So please just drop it, Ollie."

I chuckled, "Sure. Sure."

Oh, he was serious now. As if he hadn't laughed at me a billion times. My unlucky encounters, and all.

Once the table fell into a long silence again, I whispered the faintest I can, "Brutus."

♫ ♫ ♫

I stared up at the ceiling, clasping my hands on my stomach. The pajamas Maira lent me weren't too tight or too loose, but I can feel the tag at the back of the neckline digging into my skin. It itched like a mother.

And what in the name of chocolate was I doing here?

That was simple. It all started after dinner, right after I washed the plates (because I volunteered to). I announced that I was leaving and Maira started thanking me and hugging me but there was Brennan.

Brennan.

He didn't want me to go. He begged and pleaded that I should stay and cook breakfast the next day, and also their lunches for school and work. I told Brennan that I have school tomorrow and I can't cook for them all the time because I have a life, too.

"You can survive with your mother's cooking," I had said firmly, "Stop being a baby."

He shook his head vigorously, "Of course not! I couldn't! We couldn't!" That had gotten him a glare from his mother.

"Brennan," Maira had said to him, "Oliver needs to go."

"Never!"

Jackson had been sitting nearby, an impassive look on his face. Unlike his brother, he seemed too eager on letting me leave.

I had tried to ignore Brennan and walk to the door, bringing my bag with me. But the boy wouldn't give up. He got on the floor and held onto my leg.

"Please stay here, Ollie."

"God, Brennan!" I had tried to pull my foot loose but he had a tight grip. "Brennan, stop!"

"I'd have midnight snack tonight."

And in that exact moment, my phone had rung. I had answered it and talked to Mom. She had told me Dad was at the house, looking for me to ask about the job. Mom had spoken to him, saying I was still at work. It turned into a big fight between them and about me. She had told me Dad wouldn't leave until he saw me and she knew I don't want to talk to him. After he put me in this stupid deal.

Mom then asked me if I could stay at the Dales' tonight.

And when I did ask Maira, I told them the story – but I did leave out a few details. Dad was at home and he was fighting with Mom so she thought it was best for me to stay here. Of course, Maira welcomed me to stay the night and Brennan was enthusiastic but still skeptical about Dad. He didn't ask anything, though. And Jackson's reaction was opposite but he didn't protest.

Maira decided that we sleep early so we can get up earlier. I could cook breakfast and the boys' lunches the next day. Brennan then will drive Jackson and me straight to school. I told Maira I didn't have clothes with me. Brennan volunteered to lend me some, but Maira shushed him and said I could choose from her closet.

She still had her old teenage clothes which fit me snugly. I picked out the pajamas and Jackson showed me the guest room where I'll be sleeping.

Now here I was, an hour later and I couldn't sleep a wink. Maybe it was the crazy events today that's keeping me from sleep. Or maybe my body was craving for something sweet and wouldn't let me rest until it gets something. Or else it could be the fact that I have lots and lots to spill to Mitch tomorrow.

Speaking of Mitch, I sat up the bed and got my phone. I sent a quick text to Mitch, saying I won't need a ride to school tomorrow and it was a long story why. Before I locked my phone, I looked at the time. It was exactly half an hour since I lied on this bed and hoped to get some sleep.

For who knows how long after, my eyes were closing.

"Oliver."

"Oliver."

"Ollie."

I groaned and turned to my side, "Just a few more hours, Mom."

"Oliver!" The voice wasn't Mom's. And whoever was waking me up was shaking me.

I opened my eyes to see Brennan hovering by my bed. He was in his nightwear, also known as only sweatpants. The lamp was turned on.

I fought hard to keep my eyes open as I grabbed my phone from the nightstand. 12:41a.m., the time read.

In the dim light of the lampshade, I saw Brennan grinning. I set my phone down again then aimed a punch on his chest, "Are you crazy, Brennan? It's late at night."

"Well, technically, it's already morning."

"Urgh!" I punched him again. "You prick, what do you want?"

"I told you I'd get a midnight snack, didn't I?"

I was about to ramble on plotting his murder and everything, but I stopped myself. I'd only give myself less time for sleep if I argue any further with Brennan. And I don't want to wake up Maira. She'd already done so much for me.

Silently, I followed Brennan out of my room, down the stairs, and into the kitchen. I realized the light was turned on there.

"What's jackass doing here?" I stared at Jackson, who was at the counter. Also in his "nightwear".

Jackson shrugged nonchalantly, "I couldn't sleep and Brennan suggested a midnight snack so . . ."

I groaned.

As Brennan took a seat on the counter, I asked them both, "What do you guys want?"

"Ooh, ooh!" Brennan raised his hand, "You know the show iCarly? I want those spaghetti tacos that they make there."

He's got to stop watching children shows.

I turned to Jackson, who said, "I'll have whatever he wants."

What was this, McDonald's?

I don't work twenty-four seven, but they forced me if they have to.

I decided to just make the spaghetti tacos Brennan's talking about. I decided to cook the pasta first, then the sauce later and then add the taco shells. While I prepared the pasta, they remained quiet, except for some mumbles here and there. I didn't follow their conversation because dang, I was sleepy. I could only hope I didn't burn myself.

The pasta was already cooked minutes later. It's time to make the sauce now.

"Ollie."

I turned around tiredly to face them, "What?"

"I don't want spaghetti tacos anymore," Brennan complained.

I threw my hands in the air, "I already made the spaghetti!"

He gave me a blank look and remained quiet. Scowling, I turned to Jackson, "Are you sure your brother's not mentally ill?"

"I have my suspicions."

I sighed, "What am I going to make now?"

Jackson leaned forward on the counter, "You have the pasta, right?" I nodded. "Well, how about make another sauce?"

"What do you want, then? Carbonara? Bolognese?"

"I think Brennan here wants dessert. Something sweet, instead," Jackson gazed at me, "Surprise us, Oliver."

Brennan didn't protest or even react at all, telling me that he likes the idea. And it turns into MasterChef now. Great.

I looked around desperately. Make pasta dessert? But suddenly one bottle caught my eye. But not just any bottle of chocolate. It's theoh so precious Nutella.

Lightbulb.

♫ ♫ ♫