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It starts with a bad night Friday night. Charlie has a hard time falling asleep, then wakes up in the middle of the night and doesn’t fall back to sleep until the sun is already up. Needless to say, when his mom wakes him for breakfast on Saturday morning, he’s groggy and less than enthused about the idea of eating.
Eggs, fruit, and toast are on the meal plan for today, but Charlie’s brain is on overdrive about eating anything other than a few bites of the fruit and a nibble or two of the toast.
“What’s going on, Charlie?” his dad asks.
Charlie sighs and pokes at a bit of cold egg with his fork. “I’m not very hungry. I didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Not sleeping well means your body needs more energy from food, not less,” his mom says.
“Maybe you could rest for a while, try a snack in a bit?” Tori offers softly.
“Sleeping all day and staying up all night isn’t a good habit to be in, either,” his mom says.
“Jane,” Julio says. “He didn’t—”
But Charlie is already standing from the table, pushing his plate away. “I haven’t been staying in bed all day, have I? But I’m not eating more.” When he sees the sad, scared look on Tori’s face, he adds, a little quieter, “Not right now.”
When he goes upstairs, he flops down on his back on the bed, feet still on the floor. It isn’t long before there’s a quiet knock at the door. Tori doesn’t wait for him to respond before she opens it and flops down next to him. For a moment, they’re quiet.
“Everything’s harder when I haven’t slept well,” Charlie says eventually.
“Anxiety is worse?”
“Yeah. Which makes eating harder.”
Tori nods. “Any reason you couldn’t sleep?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “Nothing out of the ordinary. Just happens sometimes.”
“Fair. Maybe you’ll be tired enough to sleep tonight?”
“Probably.”
The sound of Jane’s and Julio’s voices carry up the stairs, clearly arguing.
Tori sighs. “Oi, the two of them.”
“I think I’m going to go round Nick’s.”
Tori turns to him. “Will you tell him you couldn’t sleep and had a hard time at breakfast?”
Charlie nods. “I will.”
“Good. I’m going to put in my ear buds and turn on music loud enough to permanently damage my hearing and stay in my room all day.”
He smiles. “Brilliant. Or you could go around Michael’s.”
Tori stands up and heads for the door. “Quick, make your escape while they’re still bickering and don’t notice you’re leaving,” she says, ignoring his comment.
Once she’s gone, Charlie slides his phone out of his pocket and texts Nick.
# # #
Sarah Nelson answers the door to see Charlie standing there. “Charlie, darling.” She opens her arms for a hug, and he accepts it. “How are you?” she asks when he lets go.
“I’m okay. Is Nick home? I texted him…”
“Ah, he’s taken Tara to her dance class, I’m afraid.”
Realization crosses Charlie’s face. “That’s right. I forgot. I’ll just go back home and text him later, then.”
Sarah can hear the heaviness in those words, can almost feel his reluctance to turn back in the direction he came from. She knows things can be bumpy for Charlie at home, and knows he might need to be here with or without Nick’s presence.
“Nicky won’t be gone for too long. And actually, I took out all of the ingredients to make chocolate chip cookies this morning. Would you like to help me with that?”
Charlie gives a shy smile. “I’m not much of a baker, I’m afraid.”
Sarah waves off his comment. “Baking is a science, not an art. Come on, I’ll teach you.”
It doesn’t take any more twisting of Charlie’s arm to get him inside, and Sarah knows she’s making the right decision.
“How about a cup of tea before we get started?” she offers. “Kettle’s already on.”
“Sure,” Charlie says, pausing to pet Nellie on his way into the kitchen. “Thank you.”
“Of course. Make yourself at home,” Sarah says, nodding to the kitchen table.
Charlie pulls a chair out and sits. “It’s really nice of Nick to drive Tara.”
“It is. He’s a good boy. A good friend.” She smiles over her shoulder to Charlie before adding a little milk to each cup of tea.
“Thank you,” he says when she sets a cup of tea in front of him.
“You’re welcome,” she says, taking the seat across from him. “Now, tell me, how are things for you at home?”
Charlie runs one finger along the handle of his mug. “I wish my mum was more like you. She gets so upset with me sometimes. We had another argument this morning.”
Sarah’s heart breaks for the boy sitting across from her who has struggled with so much. “Was the argument about food?” she asks, wagering a guess. Sarah and Charlie haven’t talked a lot about eating since he’s been back from treatment, but it has come up when Nick’s been around. They aren’t complete strangers to the topic.
“Yeah. She gets so upset when I can’t eat. And I can eat most of the time. I wish she’d focus on that.”
“It’s great that you can,” Sarah says, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand. “And I know it doesn’t make it right, or any easier, but when she gets upset, I’m willing to bet it’s coming from a place of concern. From a place of love.”
“It doesn’t feel much like that,” he says softly.
“I know, it probably doesn’t,” Sarah says with a nod. As a mother, she well knows the line between fear and anger is thin. It’s a line she’s unintentionally crossed a time or two herself. “Does it help to get some time apart from her?”
“Yeah. Sometimes she’ll apologize after I’m back.”
“That’s good. And you’re always welcome here when you need a change of scenery. Whether Nicky’s here or not. Okay?”
“Thank you, Sarah.”
“You’re welcome, darling.” She takes another sip of tea. “Now. What about these cookies? We’ll need to make a double batch, because that boyfriend of yours will eat an entire batch all by himself.”
Soon Sarah and Charlie are busy with the cookies. She teaches him how to measure ingredients with precision and how to crack eggs without getting any bits of shell in the dough. She shows him the secrets to her recipe, like using both chocolate chips and chocolate chunks, as well as a mixture of milk and dark chocolate. He lets her use the mixer, claiming he’s afraid he’ll end up with dough splattered all over the walls, but is happy to help her scoop out the dough and form it into balls, evenly spacing them on well-worn cookie sheets.
A while later, the dough is all formed and the cookies are starting to bake.
“They’re done when they’re pale and puffy in the center, and barely golden around the edges,” Sarah says, peeking into the oven to see if the first tray is done. “Any more than that and they’re overbaked.” She pulls the tray out and sets it on pot holders, putting a new tray into the oven in its place. “These look just about perfect,” she says, setting the timer for the next tray.
“They smell incredible,” Charlie says.
“They have to cool on the tray for a few minutes, but of course that rule does not apply to any cookies we sample. Would you like one?” She tries to make the question nonchalant, like it’s no big deal if Charlie does or does not accept the offer of food.
“Sure,” he says.
Sarah grins and grabs two plates. She uses a spatula to slide a warm, buttery, melty cookie onto each plate. They return to their seats at the table, and Charlie barely blows on a bit of cookie before popping it into his mouth. Immediately, he gives a happy little noise.
“Sarah, this is the best cookie I’ve ever had in my life.”
“Hm, must be because of the assistant baker I had today.”
Charlie shakes his head and takes another bite. “It’s the recipe. The different types of chocolate, like you said. And the salt to counteract the sweet. It’s incredible!”
“I’m glad you like it,” she says with a laugh.
He quickly polishes off the cookie. “Can I have another?” he asks, almost shyly.
Sarah is just thrilled that whatever caused the argument with his mom over food this morning seems to be gone. Are cookies the most nutritious meal ever? No. But is that always the most important factor? Also no. “Charlie, you can have as many cookies as you’d like.”
The timer for the next tray of cookies goes off and she goes to remove it from the oven, smiling when she sees him scoop another two cookies onto his plate.
# # #
Nick is sitting in the driver’s seat, waiting for Tara to join the other dancers streaming out of the building, when his phone buzzes with a text.
Tara: Can you come inside?
Nick gives the message a thumbs up before unbuckling his seat belt. Maybe she’s running late or needs help carrying something out to the car. As long as she has no plans to get him into dance shoes or a pair of tights, he’s fine with that.
He holds the door open as two more dancers leave, then walks into the building. He quickly spots Tara, sitting in front of a mirrored wall. The reason for her text is, unfortunately, immediately obvious. Her leg is elevated on top of her dance bag, one of those instant ice packs resting on her ankle.
“Tara, are you okay?” he asks, rushing over to her.
“I’m fine,” she says, but her voice sounds like she’s been crying, and makeup is smudged under her eyes. “Rolled my ankle a bit, that’s all.”
“Geeze, I’m so sorry. Do you need to go to A&E?”
“No. My teacher thinks it’s just a little sprain. But do you think you can give me a piggy-back ride to the car?”
“Of course,” Nick says, trying not to think about how long a sprain could put Tara out of dance. “Have everything in your bag already?”
“Yeah.”
“Right, then.” He crouches down in front of her. “Up you go.”
Tara carefully gets to her knees and wraps her arms over Nick’s shoulders. Then he hoists her up, being very gentle with her injured leg. He scoops up her bag and the discarded ice pack.
“Feel better, Tara,” her dance teacher calls. “Remember - rest, ice, compression, and elevation.”
“I will,” Tara says. “Thank you, miss.”
“And we’re off,” Nick says, carrying Tara out to the car. He gently sets her down and helps her get situated with the ice pack back on her ankle. It’s not very cold anymore, but it’s better than nothing. “Okay?” he asks before closing the passenger door.
“Okay,” she says with a nod.
As he starts driving home, he asks, “Does it hurt a lot?”
“Throbs a bit,” she admits.
“Your parents will have to wait on you all day today. Do you have one of those little bells you can ring, like in the movies?”
She groans. “They won’t be home until late tonight.”
“Oh,” Nick says. “Well, you can’t go home alone. Not when you can’t walk. Come round my house.”
She leans her head back against the headrest and turns towards him. “You don’t have plans?”
“Charlie said he wanted to come over, but that’s it. We can wait on you all day. We’ll get you one of those little bells and take turns making you tea and fluffing your pillows,” he says with a smile in her direction.
Tara laughs.
“Besides, my mum’s home today, and she’s a nurse. She can look at your ankle without you having to go to A&E.”
She considers. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“Positive,” Nick says.
They chat the rest of the way home, where Nick gets Tara out of the car and onto his back again without much trouble.
“Mum, I’ve brought home a stray,” Nick calls as he opens the front door.
Tara laughs against his shoulder. “Nick, stop! I’m not a stray.”
“Human or canine?” Sarah calls from the kitchen.
“Definitely human,” Tara calls as Nick toes out of his shoes.
“Oh, good! I’ve got one of those here, too.”
“Hm, who could that be?” Nick asks, hoisting Tara up a little higher on his back and carrying her toward the kitchen. “It smells good in here. Did you bake cookies?”
Nick stops when he sees Charlie and his mom sitting at the table, several trays of chocolate chip cookies cooling in various locations around the kitchen.
“Charlie and I made cookies,” his mom corrects.
“Hi,” Charlie says. “Hi, Tara.”
“Tara had a bit of a ballet accident,” Nick says. “Her parents aren’t home, so I said we’d help her out here, okay?”
“Oh dear,” his mom says, looking down at Tara’s leg. “Ankle?”
Tara nods against Nick’s shoulder. “Rolled it. Think it’s a sprain.”
“I’ll go find an elastic bandage from the first aid kit. Nicky, put her on the couch with pillows under her ankle. Elevate it above her heart. And get her some ice, please.”
“And a cookie, right?” Nick asks. “That cures ankle sprains?”
“Not that tray!” his mom says at the same time Nick yelps and pulls his hand back from the heat of the tray.
“That one just came out of the oven,” Charlie says. “Try that one near the sink.”
Nick does, finding the tray much cooler, and hands a cookie to Tara. She immediately takes a bite.
“Charlie, these are fantastic!”
Charlie follows the two into the living room. “Why, thank you. Nick’s mom taught me absolutely everything I know about baking.”
Nick carefully sets Tara down on the couch, helps her lie flat, and grabs a few throw pillows to elevate her ankle.
Charlie winces when he sees the swelling in Tara’s ankle. “Tara, that looks so painful. I’ll get the ice.”
“I told her we’ll be taking turns fluffing her pillows all day,” Nick says.
“And bringing me cookies,” Tara calls before polishing off the last bite of hers.
“Of course,” Nick says. “Are you comfortable? Need a blanket or anything?”
“No, thank you. I’m good.”
Charlie returns with an ice pack and sets it carefully on Tara’s ankle. “Sorry you got hurt,” he says.
She smiles up at him. “It will heal. Eventually.”
He smiles back and pats her shoulder.
Nick takes Charlie’s hand in his and leads him to the kitchen. “I didn’t know you were coming over before I got home,” he says.
“I got in an argument with my mum this morning,” Charlie admits. “I texted you, but didn’t wait for you to respond, and you must have been driving, and your mom let me in, and…”
“Hey, that’s okay,” Nick says quickly. “You’re welcome here anytime, whether I’m here or not. It was a surprise. A pleasant one. Are things going to be okay with your mom?”
He sighs. “I think so. I didn’t sleep well, so my anxiety was bad, and then I couldn’t eat, and she had some things to say about it, so I left.”
Nick pulls him in for a hug. “It’s been a while since you haven’t been able to sleep though, right?”
Charlie seems to consider. “Yeah, I guess it has.”
“That’s good. Getting more spaced out. And you’ll probably feel a lot better once you’ve slept.”
“I already do, since being here,” he says.
Nick pulls back, smiles, and leans in for a kiss. “Mmm,” he says. “You taste like cookies.”
“That’s because I ate like four of them,” Charlie whispers.
“Really?” Nick asks with a delighted laugh.
“Yep. Couldn’t eat a single bite of eggs for breakfast, but my brain had absolutely no problem with chocolate chip cookies. They’re nowhere on my meal plan, but I guess they need to be.”
Nick steals another cookie-flavored kiss. “As long as you don’t eat all of them.”
“And what if I do?” Charlie teases.
“Well, now that you know how to make them, you’ll just have to make more for me.” Nick removes a cookie from one of the trays and takes a bite, then offers Charlie a bite, which he readily accepts.
Nick’s mom returns to the kitchen, carrying various first aid supplies. “Let me get Tara situated, then I’ll make you lot something that doesn’t have a main ingredient of sugar for lunch. Sandwiches okay?”
Nick looks to Charlie, eyebrows raised in question.
Charlie nods. “Yeah. That sounds good, actually.”
Soon, Tara’s ankle is wrapped in an elastic bandage and she’s had a dose of ibuprofen to help with the swelling and pain, and they’re all eating sandwiches while Tara makes them watch Center Stage, which Nick’s mom loves, Nick tolerates, and Charlie mostly sleeps through after his sleepless night, rough morning, and baking lesson.
Nick’s family isn’t perfect. Far from it. But his house is a safe place for him, his boyfriend, and his friends. His mum is a great mum to him and a second mum to those who need her. From the big things to the little things, like chocolate chip cookies on a Saturday morning, Nick knows he is so very lucky.