On a scale of one to ten of ridiculousness, Cat is almost always a solid ten, but this current predicament (“Not a predicament,” Cat keeps on insisting. “Gosh, Sam, don’t you believe?”) is certainly on its way to tipping the scales.
It isn’t as though Sam hates Christmas, especially since skipping out on her grandmother’s Christmas dinner and spending it at the Shay’s had become a loved tradition of hers, but there are times when Holiday People begin to get on her nerves. Cat, in a completely predictable turn of events, is a Holiday Person. Sam is going to take some of that holiday cheer of hers and shove it up her -
“Sam, come on!” Cat insists, giggling as she cuts cookie dough into random shapes, ranging from ornaments to reindeer to Santa Claus, himself. “Come put these on the tray.”
“Why.” Sam states, annoyed.
“Because we need to make them before Santa gets here, duh!” Cat says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world.
“Cat,” Sam sighs, and there are a million different ways she could handle this, starting with breaking the news that Santa doesn’t even exist, but she takes the easiest route, “do you really think Santa needs these cookies? He’s jolly enough, right?”
“Santa only eats once a year!” Cat cries, aghast. “That’s why everybody is supposed to make cookies for him!”
Sam is pretty sure that’s not the story she heard when she was a kid, but she isn’t sure she should bother trying to break the news to someone as stubbornly full of wonder as Cat. Instead, she groans petulantly, tromping over to where Cat is working on the counter and haphazardly begins picking up cookie dough and dropping it onto a pan Cat took out when the whole ordeal began.
“Be careful, Sam,” Cat chastises, frowning as she fixes a fold in a cookie shaped like a stocking. “You’re supposed to handle these with care.” She fixes Sam with a very serious look, one that doesn’t really match her personality. Sam finds herself snorting, but is very careful when she picks up the Christmas tree shape from the counter to place on the pan.
They work in silence for a while, Cat re-kneading the dough and rolling it out again when she runs out of of spaces to stick a cookie cutter, and Sam waits (a little impatiently) for uncooked shapes to place on the tray, occasionally reaching over to steal bites of dough when Cat is distracted. When they’ve made as many cookies as possible and Sam has finished off the dough, Cat beams, taking the tray from the counter and sticking it in the oven. She hums to herself as she begins to clean, but Sam raises a brow, checking stove clock.
“Um, Cat?” she says, waiting until Cat looks at her before continuing, “you didn’t preheat the oven.”
*
Once the oven is preheated and the cookies are done, Cat places them on a festive paper plate and sets them out with a glass of milk. “There,” Cat says, smiling tiredly. “All done! Santa is going to love this.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sam says offhandedly, considering whether or not to take a cookie off the plate while Cat is still there.
“And Sam?” Cat says, sounding a little shy. Sam barely has the “what?” out of her mouth before Cat leans over and kisses her cheek softly, pulling back with a smile. “Thank you.”
On a scale of one to ten of ridiculousness, Cat is almost always a solid ten, but this current predicament (“Not a predicament,” Cat keeps on insisting. “Gosh, Sam, don’t you believe?”) is certainly on its way to tipping the scales.
It isn’t as though Sam hates Christmas, especially since skipping out on her grandmother’s Christmas dinner and spending it at the Shay’s had become a loved tradition of hers, but there are times when Holiday People begin to get on her nerves. Cat, in a completely predictable turn of events, is a Holiday Person. Sam is going to take some of that holiday cheer of hers and shove it up her -
“Sam, come on!” Cat insists, giggling as she cuts cookie dough into random shapes, ranging from ornaments to reindeer to Santa Claus, himself. “Come put these on the tray.”
“Why.” Sam states, annoyed.
“Because we need to make them before Santa gets here, duh!” Cat says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world.
“Cat,” Sam sighs, and there are a million different ways she could handle this, starting with breaking the news that Santa doesn’t even exist, but she takes the easiest route, “do you really think Santa needs these cookies? He’s jolly enough, right?”
“Santa only eats once a year!” Cat cries, aghast. “That’s why everybody is supposed to make cookies for him!”
Sam is pretty sure that’s not the story she heard when she was a kid, but she isn’t sure she should bother trying to break the news to someone as stubbornly full of wonder as Cat. Instead, she groans petulantly, tromping over to where Cat is working on the counter and haphazardly begins picking up cookie dough and dropping it onto a pan Cat took out when the whole ordeal began.
“Be careful, Sam,” Cat chastises, frowning as she fixes a fold in a cookie shaped like a stocking. “You’re supposed to handle these with care.” She fixes Sam with a very serious look, one that doesn’t really match her personality. Sam finds herself snorting, but is very careful when she picks up the Christmas tree shape from the counter to place on the pan.
They work in silence for a while, Cat re-kneading the dough and rolling it out again when she runs out of of spaces to stick a cookie cutter, and Sam waits (a little impatiently) for uncooked shapes to place on the tray, occasionally reaching over to steal bites of dough when Cat is distracted. When they’ve made as many cookies as possible and Sam has finished off the dough, Cat beams, taking the tray from the counter and sticking it in the oven. She hums to herself as she begins to clean, but Sam raises a brow, checking stove clock.
“Um, Cat?” she says, waiting until Cat looks at her before continuing, “you didn’t preheat the oven.”
*
Once the oven is preheated and the cookies are done, Cat places them on a festive paper plate and sets them out with a glass of milk. “There,” Cat says, smiling tiredly. “All done! Santa is going to love this.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Sam says offhandedly, considering whether or not to take a cookie off the plate while Cat is still there.
“And Sam?” Cat says, sounding a little shy. Sam barely has the “what?” out of her mouth before Cat leans over and kisses her cheek softly, pulling back with a smile. “Thank you.”
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