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It wasn't so much that Rose couldn't cook.
It was that she couldn't cook from scratch.
She knew how to heat things up, use a microwave, and even had a handle on making box meals. If the directions were less than five steps, she could do it, with relatively edible results.
Margaret had a lot to do with this. She patiently showed Rose the basics, even taught her some more advanced things, like keeping the salt, flour, sugar, and various cereals in containers kept on the counter. She showed Rose how to stock a fridge, what items needed to be kept on hand in the cabinets, and how to organize the plates, utensils and cups in the cupboard. Over time, Rose had managed on her own, having only herself and Will to feed, and Will's appetite was mostly sated by the hundreds of different products that were made for babies and toddlers and their dull palate.
Now, it was different. The first time, Rose had been basically alone, at least mentally. But now she had Tom, and Will was older, and she needed to step up her game.
After all, she wasn't going to be the only mother who never baked cookies, was she?
The lasagna, which had taken considerable effort and very careful attention, was cooking away in the oven. And the cookies she had made were sitting on the cooling rack on the counter.
Truth was, she'd rarely been so proud. Sure, she had amazing business skills and had literally juggled millions of dollars and made millions more, but those things came to her naturally. This, she had had to work at it.
So when Tom and Will walk through the door a short while later and are greeted by the disheveled kitchen, and a radiant wife and mother greeting them by the sink, they think nothing of the slight burnt smell still lingering in the air. Will runs forward to grab a cookie but Rose stops him, saying dinner is going to be ready soon and he needs to wait.
"So how many mud puddles did you stomp through coming home?" Rose asks as she kneels down to pull Will's rubbers off.
"I can do that, darling," Tom says, quickly moving to catch her.
"You're filthy yourself," Rose observes, eyeing the mud on his jacket. "What were you doing?"
"Chasing worms!" Will says. Half-way to three, his words are much clearer. Rose gives a little chuckle, then frowns at her husband.
Tom is smiling lazily. "Will was fascinated by all the worms on the sidewalk, so we went walking around. It led to...a few excavations." He kneels down, and giving Will a look, points to the floor in silent instruction, where Will promptly sits, his feet going up in the air. Tom pulls off the boots, with no regard for the fact that his hands are getting filthy from the mud gathered there.
"We let it go, Mommy," Will says.
"Let what go?" Rose wonders aloud.
"The worms, the few beetles, and...the mouse," Tom finishes, his voice lower.
"Poor mouse!" chirps Will.
"It was a bit drenched. We tried to catch a few toads, but they get slippery in the rain." Down to his pants and t-shirt, Will stands up, and hugs his little arms to his sides.
"Cold!" he says.
"Your blanket is on the couch," Rose says. "If you wash your hands I'll make you some hot chocolate."
"Yay, chocolate!" Will squeals as he runs off. Rose smiles as he goes, his little bare feet thudding harder on the floor now than they did six months ago.
"Use soap!" she calls after the little boy. "I'm glad you had fun," she adds as Tom stands, shedding his own coat and muddy boots.
Tom bends over, kisses her. "And did you?" He looks toward the flour stains on her apron, and even reaches up to pull a little piece of dried dough from her hair.
She smiles, nods, even as he throws the dough out with a look more deserving of the squirming worms an hour ago. "I made cookies."
"I see that," Tom replies with an arched brow, shoots a mildly concerned glance toward the cookies, then buries his hesitation, hoping she didn't notice it. "Can't wait."
"It's the first time," she says, and the shadow falls across her face. "I hope they're okay."
"I'm sure they're perfect," Tom assures her, pulling her closer. He reaches up to touch her face but upon seeing the mud from Will's boots still on his hands, he pulls back and goes to the sink. It's filled with dishes, a few more than probably necessary, but he manages to get his hands clean. "Dinner ready soon?"
"Another twenty minutes or so," Rose says, checking the baking lasagna. "See?"
As he dries his hands, Tom bends down and gazes at the golden, melty cheese bubbling happily in the stove. "Looks delicious," he says with a smile. Then he glances down at himself, remembering his current state. "Time for me to take a shower?"
"Sure," she says, "I'll be getting Will his hot chocolate. He can drink it with dinner."
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The lasagna is perfectly acceptable. It's not gourmet food, but nobody expected that. Will picks at the noodles, all he usually ever does, and slurps his chocolate.
Tom eats two helpings, and is sure to compliment Rose, not outlandishly, but enough to bolster her. It's the closest she's ever gotten to making something herself and she knows Tom is proud and wants her to continue, pushing her limits. Plus, it's an opportunity for her to allow him to direct her, as Tom was always more confident in a kitchen, having grown up, in his earlier years, needing to be useful around the house.
"Cookies!" Will says when he eats the last noodle. The meat and ricotta cheese sit in piles on his plate, but it's not unexpected.
"All right," Rose says with a smile as she takes the plates into the kitchen. Tom moves to help her but she stops him. "I have it," she says in a low voice with a little wink.
Tom drums his fingers on the table as he watches Will finish the last of his chocolate. He has a look on his face that suggests he wonders how the boy will have any taste for the cookies with all that sweet in his mouth, but doesn't have long to worry, because Rose appears with the plate in hand.
"All right," she says, setting it down. "Here we go."
Tom takes a cookie, but Will is faster. That thing is in his mouth faster than either of them could have told him to wait---
And it's back out again.
Will spits it out right onto the table, with horror on his poor little two and a half year old face.
His parents stare at him in shock, and then Tom looks down at the cookie.
Will is rubbing his tongue with his fingers, as if he can wipe the taste off. "Blaaak! Mommy! Blaaak!"
"Thomas William Hiddleston!" Tom barks at him, and the boy gives a little jump and stops. "That's enough!"
Rose takes the unbitten part of Will's cookie and sinks her teeth into it.
And has nearly the exact same reaction as her son. She spits the bite into her hand.
"Oh my God," she whispers, distress evident in her voice.
"Ice cream, Mommy?" Will asks.
"Will," Tom says, his voice barely controlled, "go watch TV and we'll get you something else in a minute."
Will looks from mother to father and then slides off his chair and scampers into the living room.
Tom lifts a fresh cookie from the pile and sniffs it. Then, he touches it with his tongue, and finally takes a little nibble.
"Salt," Rose chokes. She grabs her water, downs it.
Yes, she's right. Salt. The cookie is filled with salt.
Then Rose is up on her feet and out of the room, the plate with her. She grabs the cookie from Tom's hand as she goes, and then he hears the thunk as the entire plate is upturned into the trash can.
He sighs, wipes his hands on his napkin, and follows.
She stands at the sink with the plate, head down, shoulders quivering. He immediately goes to her, his hands spreading across her shoulders, caressing, massaging.
"Rose--"
"Don't," she snaps, although he can hear the tears in her voice. "Don't."
"Don't what?" he asks, his voice very soft.
"Tell me it's a mistake that can happen to anyone."
"You aren't the first person to ever confuse salt for sugar," Tom sighs. He glances at the containers. "Especially since they're not clearly labeled."
"They're labeled!" Rose wails.
"In tiny letters on the lid. I'm sure you just looked wrong. And I know for a fact that master chiefs in competitions have made that exact mistake. Not looking because you're in a hurry, or concentrating on something else. It was probably too much, the lasagna and the cookies in the same day."
She shoves the plate down, and a line of cursing slides from her lips, muttered as low as she can so Will won't hear.
Tom reaches around, his fingers going to her chin as he turns her. "Rose, it's okay. It's not--"
"It's not okay!" she nearly wails, the pulls herself back, shrinking away from him. Seeing the thick tears on her cheeks, her runny nose, Tom grabs for the dry dishtowel and starts to wipe them away. She takes the towel with a vicious tug.
She's more than upset. She's angry.
"These things are so easy for everyone else," she grunts. "Things that would boggle people's eyeballs I used to do on a daily basis."
"I know," Tom whispers. "It's my fault."
Her eyes shoot up to him.
"I took you away from all of that," he says. "I didn't think about what this would cost you. You...my poor Rose," as he rubs her arms, her shoulders, "I never thought about how this life would affect you."
"You didn't make me do anything," Rose asserts, still wiping at her tears.
"Didn't I?" Tom returns.
"We're not hashing over all of that again," Rose reminds him. "I made my choices, Tom. And I'd make them again."
"But," he says.
She shrugs, her anger waning. "I don't like not being good at something."
Tom absorbs her words, and then can't help it -- he's smiling. "Your poor pride," he croons, pulling her closer.
"Don't make fun of me!"
"I'm not," he insists, stroking her hair. "You were never made to slave away in a kitchen or keep a house clean. Your talents are elsewhere."
"And I feel so useless!" she moans, leaning her forehead against his neck. "Especially when those people on television make it look so easy. The things they make! I know we don't eat in fancy restaurants anymore and I don't care about that, but it would be nice to have some good food around here!"
Tom holds her close, pressing his nose into her hair for a long moment. Then, firmly, he makes her meet his eyes again.
"Rose, of all the things in the world, you are absolutely not useless."
She waits for him to continue.
"You have no idea what you do for me, what you do for Will. You are an excellent mother, the lengths you've gone through to keep him safe and happy. And as for me...well, I can't go into detail with Will in the next room--"
She shifts away from him. "Yes, I'm sure I'm an excellent bed warmer--"
"Rose," Tom says with a touch of steel in his voice. Reproach is in his eyes when she meets them again. "None of that." His tone softens. "You know perfectly well what I mean. Rose, you know you've saved my life. Not just my life."
Finally, she relents, and settles back against him. "It's hard," she sighs.
"I know, my love. And you did really well today. You make a mistake. You won't make it again. You will try again and you won't let your failures get to you. Because that's what you've always done. That's something I loved about you from the beginning. Your willingness to keep trying."
He holds her for a few minutes longer, and then she says, "Will probably wants his ice cream."
"Will's watching cartoons, he doesn't care about ice cream at the moment," Tom says, giving her a squeeze before he finally lets go. "How do you feel?"
"Better," she says, pushing her hair from her face.
Tom stares at her for a long moment, the words shifting around his brain. "Rose," he says softly, "I know you've worried a lot about me, about how I'm adjusting to this life. But I don't want you to forget about yourself. You've always told me to talk to you. You know you can do the same, don't you?"
She reaches up, runs her fingers through the hair on the back of his neck, and smiles. Then she gives him a peck, and whispers, "Thank you," against his lips, before she goes to get Will -- and the rest of them -- some ice cream.