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Danielle’s house was quiet today. Her big brother was at her uncles’ next door, and her sisters were out with mom. She was watching a cartoon with talking dogs on her iPad when the sound of boiling water drifted into the living room. Danielle shut off the tablet, hopped off the couch and made her way to the kitchen.
Her dad was at the stove, whistling his signature tune that Uncle Jock and Trusty swore was off-key but her mother insisted sounded beautiful. Danielle watched him poke something in a pot for a moment.
"Whatcha doing?" she asked, swaying slightly as she approached.
"Making dinner," Tramp said, glancing over his shoulder with a smile. "Hot dogs for everyone. Want to help?"
"Yeah!"
"Alright, first things first. Wash your hands, kiddo."
She made a face but shuffled to the sink without argument. Tramp waited until he heard the water running before continuing. "Make sure you use soap."
"I know," Danielle said, scrubbing her hands while rocking back and forth on her heels. The soap dispenser made a funny noise as Danielle pressed it down, making her giggle. When she was done, she displayed her hands to her father eagerly.
"Look!”
"Perfect. Now come here." Tramp gestured to the fridge. “Can you get the buns and condiments out?”
“Yes!” Danielle scratched her head. “Ummm…”
“You wanna name the ingredients together first?”
“Yes. So I don’t forget.” Danielle frowned. “Buns, mustard, ketchup, relish…”
“Onions, and cheese for your brother,” Tramp finished.
“Ya, he loves all that cheese.”
“Sure does!”
Danielle kept listing all the ingredients under her breath as she peered into the fridge. She set the items down one by one on the table, some of them landing with a louder thump than she intended. She scowled at the noise.
“Hey, hey, there’s no rush,” Tramp said, now turning off the stove. “You can put them down slowly, hon.”
“But then we’ll be finished slower,” Danielle grinned. It was crooked at the edges, a smile trait she shared with her father and brother.
“You got somewhere to be? A meeting, perhaps?” Tramp asked, opening a cabinet. He brought out a pile of plates and set them down carefully. Five ceramic, and one colorful plastic plate. Danielle didn’t like how heavy ceramic was.
She answered Dad’s question rather cheekily. “Ummm! No! My agent takes care of those.”
Danielle wasn’t too sure what an agent did. But the joke must have landed one way or the other, because her father laughed. She flashed him a satisfied grin and began counting all the ingredients again.
She felt a warm hand ruffling her already messy hair and made a grab for it. Then she pulled her dad’s arm down and squinted at his palm, scruffy eyebrows curved.
“Your hand’s big and warm, Dad.”
“Probably from the hot dog water, Danny.”
“And mine’s small and kinda cold.” She flattened her own smoother palm against her father’s, and felt him press a kiss to her head. Danielle looked up, face scrunched playfully.
“Heyyy. You kissed my head.”
“I did!”
“Because of like, love and stuff?”
“Very much so.”
“Heheh. Love.”
She turned to check what Tramp was doing now. After making sure the hot dogs were ready to serve, he looked down at his daughter with a gentle smile. Danielle stood on her tippy-toes and leaned towards him, awaiting instructions. She liked explicit instructions.
"We're going to take the hot dogs out of the pot, put them in the buns, and then add condiments. Sound good?"
"Uh-huh!”
"Okay. First step—grab the tongs. You remember how to use them?"
Danielle picked up the tongs and clicked them a few times, giggling at the sound. "Yep!"
"Good. Now, you're going to reach into the pot carefully, don't touch the water! And grab one hot dog. Then put it on this plate here." He tapped a large plate next to the pot. "Think you’re up for that?"
“Yes! Ummmm,” Danielle scratched her head. “I’ve done it two times before. And one time, I dropped a hotdog and the water splashed in my face. And it was hot. But it was only a little bit of water.”
“Would you prefer if Dad did this part, Danny?” Tramp said patiently. Danielle’s scruffy brows curved again. Then she shook her head.
“No! We can take turns, Dad,” she said, grinning. “I’ll do the first one. And then you’ll do the second one. And then I’ll do the third one.”
“Very diplomatic of you,” Tramp said, grinning. Danielle didn’t know what that meant, but she decided to focus on the hot dogs for now.
She gripped the tongs tightly, her tongue poking out in concentration. They dipped into the pot and Danielle smoothly pulled out a hot dog. She flopped it onto the plate with a wet thunk.
"Nice! That's one. Let's get the rest."
They worked through the hot dogs together, Tramp offering gentle reminders when Danielle got distracted by the way the steam curled up from the pot. She subconsciously began humming a tune that didn't entirely match her dad's earlier melody, but sounded heavily inspired by it.
"One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight,” Danielle said, counting them on the plate. Then she glanced up at Tramp.
"Scamp and Annette always want two!”
"Exactly!” Tramp poured the boiling water down the sink. "Alright, do you want to help me put all the hot dogs in the buns, or do you want to set up your own plate first?"
"My plate first," Danielle said immediately. She knew exactly how she wanted hers.
"Go ahead, kiddo." Tramp moved the serving plate closer and handed her the tongs again. "Use these, they’re still pretty hot!”
"Only mustard," Danielle said cheerfully, reaching for a hot dog. She picked it up with the tongs and placed it into a bun, then nudged it with her finger until it was perfectly centered.
"There!”
Tramp handed her the mustard bottle. “And here’s your mustard, ma’am.”
"Only on the hot dog, not the bun. And not too much."
She squeezed the mustard in a careful zigzag pattern, her eyes narrowed in concentration. When she was done, she held it up for inspection.
"Whaddaya think?"
Tramp clapped, grinning. "That's a work of art, Danny! A real masterpiece."
She grinned and set it on a separate small plate—her plastic plate, which Tramp had already set aside. It was divided into three sections and had a cartoon dog on each. Danny didn’t like any food touching, ever.
"Ready to do the rest?" Tramp asked. "You remember how everyone likes it?”
“Do you?” Danielle flashed her father a smirk.
“Is that a challenge?”
“Hehe!” Danielle ran in a circle around her father, giddy with excitement. “Annette likes ketchup and mustard. And she’ll take two. Now your turn.”
“Your mom likes relish, onions, and ketchup. No mustard!”
“Collette likes nothing. She thinks condiments are messy and gross.” Danielle hopped a few times, and tugged at Tramp’s shirt for no real reason. “Your turn!”
“And Scamp will have mustard, ketchup, and a whole lot of cheese. He’ll also take two,” Tramp finished with a grin. He ran a hand through his daughter’s hair again, but she suddenly frowned.
“Wait! We didn’t say yours, Dad!”
“Hmm. I don’t think it’ll be fair if I guessed my own,” Tramp replied, eyes twinkling. “Why don’t you do the honors?”
Danielle had to think for only a second. “Everything,” she said with a grin. “Dad wants a little bit of everything.”
“Dad does, indeed!”
The hot dogs were cool enough to carefully place without tongs this time. Danielle swayed from side to side as she worked, occasionally pausing to click the tongs and giggle at the sound. At one point, she clicked them in her dad’s face who in turn proceeded to open and close his hand to mimic the movement. Danny burst into excited giggles.
“It’s like two mouths! Like they’re talking to each other.”
“What are they saying?”
“Uhhh. That we made the best hot dogs in the world, obviously.”
“I wholeheartedly agree.”
Tramp was now starting to gather up the condiment bottles. Danielle had been as precise and consistent as she could be; every mustard and ketchup line was in somewhat wonky zigzags and the relish and onions were generously sprinkled on top. Scamp’s was barely visible due to the avalanche of cheese. When the table had been cleared of everything sans the hot dogs, Tramp and Danielle stepped back to look at their handiwork.
“How’d we do, Danny?”
“Hmmm! I guess we’ll know after we eat them,” said Danielle matter-of-factly. “Dad, if they don’t like something, can you say you made it? And not me?”
Tramp snorted. “Of course, kiddo.”
"Yay. Yahoo. Wahoo,” Danielle said in quick succession, hopping again. Tramp’s hand was running through her hair again, and he planted another kiss on her head. The sound of a door unlocking reached Danielle’s ears, and she immediately looked towards the entrance.
“What's that smell? I'm hungry!"
Annette's voice called into the kitchen. Danny skipped around her father again, giggling and tugging at his clothes. Tramp suddenly scooped her up in his arms and tickled her, making her laugh harder.
"We made hot dogs!" Danielle announced, clutching her father’s shoulders now. "Me and Dad!”
Collette appeared first, her eyes lighting up at the sight of the table.
"Did you make mine with nothing on it?"
"Yes! Because you think condiments are gross and messy," said Danielle.
"They ARE gross and messy," Collette insisted, already reaching for her plate. “I don’t want weird sticky things in my hair and in my bow and in my dress and in my—”
Annette thundered in behind her, inspecting the hot dogs critically. "Which ones are mine? I always have two."
"We remembered, hon! It’s the ones with ketchup and mustard.” Tramp pointed at them. “Next to Scamp’s, er, cheese overload.”
"Where is Scamp?" Lady asked, setting her purse down and giving Tramp a quick kiss on the cheek. The latter flushed a little bit, which always made Danielle snicker. Blushing was funny, especially when her parents did it. Or Scamp. When Scamp did it, it was really funny.
"Next door," Tramp said. "I'll text him to come home."
“Ooooh. Next door,” Annette drawled. “I bet he’s kissing Angel.”
“Ewwww!” Collette exclaimed. “Don’t say that while we’re eating.”
“Well, I bet Uncle Jock and Uncle Trusty are hearing kissy noises all the time—”
“Annie, don’t talk so much while eating,” Lady said a little sharply. Collette agreed, especially not about kissing teenagers. The front door sounded again in a few minutes and Scamp walked in, hair in a permanent state of dishevelment. He sniffed the air at once.
“Are those hot dogs? They smell amazing.”
“Me and Dad made them!” said Danielle again, climbing out of her dad’s arms. Scamp petted her head with a grin in response. He’d already grabbed his plate without any intention of washing his hands, only to be met with an annoyed mom glare and a dad pointing sternly at the sink. Danielle picked up her own plate with both hands and showed it off proudly.
“I helped with building the hot dogs. Me and dad remembered how everybody liked it.”
"You did an amazing job, sweetie," Lady said warmly, smoothing down Danielle's messy hair.
"The best," Tramp added. "Couldn't have done it without her."
Danielle beamed, swaying happily as her family gathered around the table. Her hot dog was perfect, her plate had the cartoon dogs she liked, and everyone was home.
It was a good day.