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“Momma, I can’t go back!”
Talia Hale couldn’t remember the last time she’d heard such agitation in her youngest son’s voice. All she’d done was ask, as she poured him a glass of milk, what he’d done in school that day, which he’d answered with an uncertain and clearly not true, “Nothing.”
When his momma’s face did that thing that showed his answer wasn’t a good one, Derek blurted out, “Momma, I can’t go back!”
Talia loved all her children (there were seven!) fiercely, but there was something about her five-year-old… He cried at the sight of puppies and kittens (“’cause they’re so cute, Momma!”) He worried when baby sister Cora cried, even if just because she had a stinky diaper. He never failed to kiss his momma and daddy—and all his siblings if they’d let him—goodnight, with an “I love you.”
He was a sensitive child but so far Derek had liked school, to Talia’s great relief. His sudden change in attitude made her protective instincts start bristling.
“Did something happen today, honey?” she asked.
“Yyyy-eess.” He dragged out the word.
Derek never kept secrets from her so his reluctance to share only deepened Talia’s concern. She asked, softly, “Are you going to tell momma what?”
“I can’t,” Derek answered. His milk mustache framed a frown.
Despite hearing that Talia still maintained her composure.
“Honey,” she explained. “If something bad happened or if someone was mean to you, I can help you if I know what it is.”
Derek pouted, focusing on the milk glass.
“I’m emb— emb—”
“Embarrassed?” she provided.
When Derek closed his eyes and nodded gravely, Momma Talia’s blood pressure might have begun peaking. She resorted to the most potent of maternal strategies. She sat herself down, took her son’s small hand in hers and quietly enquired, “Derek, did somebody at school hurt you?”
She’d make sure heads rolled—and rolled far—if the answer was yes.
“Nooo…” Derek droned.
“Why are you feeling embarrassed?” Talia gently prodded. She knew she probably had only minutes before one or more of her other kids would come in and that would be the end of this inquiry.
His momma’s sweet voice and the sad look on her face broke Derek’s resolve. “BecauseItoldsomebodyIlikedhim!” he confessed, then clapped his hand over his mouth for betraying him.
In relief, “Sweetheart, that’s one of the best things about school, making new friends,” Talia said.
“Yeah, but…”
“If he doesn’t like you back—I know that can hurt—but, really, then he’d never be a good friend.—Does he like you back?”
Derek hesitated, eyebrows furrowed, before answering meekly, “I don’t know.”
Talia didn’t have to ask the next question; Derek just admitted, dropping his head onto his arms, “’Cause I ran away!”
Talia could picture the scene; she knew her baby boy.
“So you really don’t know if he likes you back or not?”
“No.—An’ now I can’t go back, ever!” That seemed Derek’s only solution.
“Derek, sweetie,” his momma began, knowing that even at five years old Derek was open to reason, usually. “I’m afraid,” her voice dropped to a whisper to say, “It’s the law that children have to go to school.—And it’s not a bad thing to tell someone you like them. Maybe he likes you too. You didn’t give him a chance to tell you now, did you? So you really don’t know what this boy feels…”
“I have to get married, Mommy,” Stiles informed Claudia Stilinski as they drove home from school.
Ever since learning to talk, Stiles had been one for startling statements. Claudia had learned she would never be prepared, because she never was.
“Really?” was her response. “You have to?”
“Yeah,” Stiles sighed.
Faced with so many questions to ask next, Claudia chose to go right for the brute reality of the situation: “Skarbie, you have to be eighteen years old to get married in California. Or else daddy and I have to sign papers to let you get married if you’re younger.” She let that sink in before adding, “But, I’m very sorry to tell you, I really don’t think anybody’s gonna let you get married when you’re five.”
“Boy,” Stiles fumed at that news.
“Why do you have to get married?” Claudia asked.
“If you marry somebody they have to talk to you, right?” Stiles asked in return.
“Well, I think the smart thing to do would be marry somebody who already likes to talk to you. Don’t you think that’s a good idea?”
“What if somebody just likes you buuuut… didn’t talk to you,” Stiles proposed.
“Well, then…” Claudia stalled, having to pay attention to the road as well as the labyrinth of a conversation she was in now. “I’d wonder how I knew they liked me if they didn’t talk to me.”
“He…” Stiles hesitated before answering, “told me he liked me.”
“So he did talk to you,” Claudia confirmed.
“Yeah, he did, then he ran away!” Stiles cried, holding out his arms, hands up. Claudia saw the gesture in the rear view mirror and could have giggled at Stiles’s perplexed, dismayed expression, but didn’t of course.
“Dziecko, aww,” Claudia said, trying to soothe. At that moment her son reminded her so much of her husband. John got the identical look on his face when the mysteries of human behavior baffled him. “I think he ran away because… well, it sounds to me like he’s just shy.—Not because he didn’t want to talk to you.”
“‘Shy’?” That was a word Stiles didn’t know. There was always some new word Stiles didn’t know.—How many words were there? “What’s ‘shhhhy’ mean?”
Stiles’s voice sounded so small, if Claudia weren’t behind the wheel she’d be hugging him.
“Hmmm. ‘Shy’ means…” Life with her bright, quirky boy had at least taught Claudia to think fast. “He was maybe worried you’d laugh at him for saying he liked you.”
“I wouldn’t of!” Stiles protested. “I wouldn’t of!”
“I know that. So now you should let him know that, too.”
With some emphasis on each word, “That’s why I have to marry him, Mommy!” Stiles explained. He thought his mommy was really smart so he hoped she finally understood.
Claudia couldn’t help but giggle now and when Stiles heard it he just scowled, bottom lip jutting out.
“Mommy!” he chided.
“Skarbie! Mommy’s gonna help you, I promise! I know something we can do so he’ll talk to you—and you’re not gonna have to get married to him for that to happen either. OK?”
Claudia smiled thinking she’d resolved the crisis while Stiles sat silently pondering his mother’s words for a few seconds—until the deceptive pause ended.
“What if I want to get married to him?”
It was forever until Ms. Martin announced time for recess and for everyone to line up to go outside.
Derek Hale hadn’t looked at Stiles the whole morning—not during circle time, not when Ms. Martin drew their new letters Q R S on the chalkboard and then everyone had to draw them over and over on paper, not even when it was sing-along and everyone could stand around Ms. Martin at her flat piano and you could stand next to whoever you wanted to and Stiles sang as loud as he could, Derek still never looked at him but always kept his head turned straight ahead and his back straight like he was playing pretend soldier.
So that meant while Derek was getting in line and talking to his best friend Boyd Stiles had to sneak up behind him to let him know, “I have something special for you!”
Derek’s head whipped around like Stiles had scared him, then he turned his head away just as fast and tilted it down. And his ears turned red.
Then Jackson snarled, “Hey, no cutsies!” to Stiles and he had to find a place farther back in line.
Jackson.
Although he was all the way in back of the line behind Derek Stiles watched where he ran to when everyone scattered on the playground. It looked like he was running with the kids who liked the swings but Stiles saw Derek turn and disappear around the corner of the school building.
Derek didn’t even stay with Boyd.
Since it was a free-play day Ms. Martin wasn’t leading any activities and Stiles was glad about that. Even better, some kids already started arguing about something and Ms. Martin was there stopping it. So she didn’t notice Stiles as he walked carefully towards the corner where Derek went—just like she hadn’t seen him sneak his special present for Derek under his Batman shirt when they left the classroom.
Best of all, Stiles could see where Derek was trying to hide behind the corner. He couldn’t see all of him, but just enough.
He stopped before he got too close, took out the bag from under his Batman shirt and then took out the special present inside the bag, a chocolate frosted cupcake his mommy had made just for Stiles to give Derek.
Stiles knew Derek liked chocolate cupcakes because when Boyd’s grandma made cupcakes for Boyd to share with the class on his birthday, Stiles remembered Derek had frosting all over his face.
Stiles had told his mom about that and that’s why she hadn’t put on a lot of frosting and also made the kind that got hard, like fudgie candy.
The cupcake top was a little bit smooshed though. Stiles held out the treat in front of him and shouted, not too loud, “Derek! This is for you!”
Derek peeked around the corner. “What is it?” he asked then quickly ducked back behind the corner, though Stiles could still see his sneaker tips.
Stiles held the cupcake higher. “It’s a cupcake, Derek, ‘specially for you!—So you’ll talk to me now, so we don’t have to get married, because we can’t get married ‘til were eight-teen and that’s like a hundred years!”
There was silence then Derek’s face appeared partway around the corner again. “It’s thirteen!”
If Derek kept quiet sometimes Laurie let him watch her do her ‘rithmetic homework and when Momma checked it she’d show Derek how to add and subtract, because he wanted to know how.
“What?” Stiles screeched.
“It’s thirteen years! It’s not a hundred years. Till we’re eighteen,” Derek yelled. His face was scrunched against the wall so all Stiles could see was mostly Derek’s mouth moving.
“Oh.”
Stiles was happy Derek was finally talking to him but Derek was still behind the corner, all the way behind it again.
And Stiles’s arm was getting tired, holding the cupcake up in the air.
And then he remembered that one time when he and his mom and his dad were some place called “the boardwalk” how he saw this big bird come right down from the sky and take some girl’s corndog right out of her hand and the girl screamed and the bird flew away with the corndog.
Stiles didn’t want that to happen to Derek’s cupcake so he brought down his arm so the cupcake was close to his chest and no bird could steal it.
It looked so good, even with the smooshed part. The icing was so shiny. His mommy made the best cupcakes in the whole wide world.
And then—Stiles took a bite of it.
He didn’t mean to. It just looked so “delish” that he forgot and took a bite out of the top.
“Ohhh nooo!” Stiles groaned immediately, soon as the sweetness was in his mouth.
He’d just ruined everything and he groaned again, this time his voice breaking.
“Ohhhnnnooo!”
His tears began to flow and Stiles couldn’t take his eyes off the cupcake he’d destroyed with a bite out of its top.
It felt like the worst thing he’d ever done, ever.
But then there was Derek in front of him, though that really didn’t help at all, even though it’s what Stiles had wanted, now it just felt bad that Derek could see what he’d done. Derek standing there looking upset just made Stiles cry even more.
“Stiles, what happened?” Derek pleaded. Derek hated when anybody cried. It made him cry too. And Stiles’s tears, they were giant.
With the glob of cupcake still in his mouth Stiles wailed, “I a’ you’ ‘pecia’ presen’ so you’ dalk to me!” He sobbed miserably.
Derek didn’t know what to do. “I’ll talk to you, Stiles!” Derek would promise Stiles anything to make him stop crying.
Ms. Martin had hurried over and wanted to know what was wrong, but she couldn’t understand a word Stiles said because he was crying so much, and his mouth was full of cupcake, and he was drooling.
Derek’s lips were trembling and he looked seconds away from bawling himself.
“Stiles, please swallow what’s in your mouth,” Ms. Martin requested while she wiped Stiles’s face with tissues, one just for his runny nose alone.
Derek couldn’t stand it anymore. He cautiously slid his arm around Stiles’s narrow shoulders. “I’ll talk to you, Stiles. I promise. I’m sorry.”
“I wouldn’t of laughed at you, Derek,” Stiles whimpered, sniffling. “’M sorry I ate your cupcake.”
Derek decided Stiles needed hugging. Ms. Martin deftly snatched the cupcake from Stiles’s hand when it looked like the two boys would squash it between themselves as they hugged.
Ms. Martin held out the cupcake in the palm of her hand once they parted.
“Whose cupcake is it?” she questioned.
Derek said, “Stiles’s” at the same time Stiles said, “Derek’s.”
“Alright. Well, one of you take it, please.”
With a sad pout Stiles quietly insisted, “It’s for you,” to Derek, so Derek took the cupcake from Ms. Martin’s hand.
Between gradually diminishing sniffs Stiles repeated, “’M sorry I bit it, Derek,” adding, “You can have my cupcake instead,” as he wiped his arm across his nose. “It’s in my lunch box. There’s no bite in it.”
“No, it’s OK, Stiles,” Derek answered him. “This one’s ‘specially for me. I want this one.” He wondered if he could keep the cupcake forever somehow. He remembered his Auntie Louisa said she still had a slice of her wedding cake in her freezer—and Auntie Louisa was old.
Though Stiles was still bodily quaking with each sniffle, Derek’s arm was still around him. The worst seemed to be over and she could hear shouts of “No fair!” breaking out again somewhere behind her, so, “Are you boys alright now?” Ms. Martin asked.
“Yes, Miz Martin,” the pair answered in unison.
“Why don’t you find a place to sit down. We’ll go back indoors for snack time soon, OK?”
She left Stiles with a fresh tissue.
Side by side on the steps into the school, Stiles sat as close to Derek as he could, one of Derek’s arms slung around his neck. Derek’s other hand held the cupcake.
“You gonna wait till snack time to eat your cupcake?” Stiles asked.
“Yeah,” Derek answered like his mind was far away.
“If we’re friends,” Stiles offered, his mood rapidly recovering, “And you come to my house, you can have cupcakes all the time. My mommy makes cupcakes, like, every day. Sometimes peanut butter brownies.” He paused. “And chocolate chip cookies. And snickerdoodles!”
“Wow,” was Derek’s response.
“Does your mommy make stuff?” Stiles had believed every mommy baked sweet treats, but he’d learned otherwise not so long ago.
“No. Only food,” Derek answered. “But my dad makes pies, and cakes.—And pizza!”
Stiles had never imagined that was possible. Pizza always came from other places. You could make your own pizza? That was amazing.
“I’d like that,” Stiles declared.
“I’ll ask my momma and dad if you can come next time he makes it,” Derek said, feeling only a vague tremor of his former insecurity in making such a bold proposal.
Stiles never noticed; he just proved himself a Stilinski and got right to the point: “So… we’re friends?”
Derek nodded. “We’re friends,” and mirrored Stiles’s smile.
Talia Hale, noting the bounce in his every step since Derek had gotten home, asked her beaming boy, “So, you had a better day at school today, sweetie pie?”
“Yes, Momma!” Derek exclaimed. “Can Stiles come to dinner next time Daddy makes pizza? Stiles likes pizza!”
Quickly comprehending, “Stiles? Stiles Stilinski?” she said. Talia knew both Claudia and Deputy John. “Well, I’m sure we can work that out.”
“Yaaay!” Derek cheered as he skipped away, arms in the air.
Claudia Stilinski was so eager to learn the outcome of the cupcake ploy, she asked Stiles about its success while still securing him in his car seat.
Stiles did not want to tell his mother that he’d taken a bite out of Derek’s cupcake and there was no way he was telling her he’d cried about it—but everything had turned out OK in the end, ‘cause of Derek.
“Everything’s cool, Mommy.”
“Cool” was the word his mom said when everything was OK.
“But you have to make peanut butter brownies and chocolate chip cookies and snickerdoodles and—everything you make,” he abruptly added.
“’Everything,’ Stiles?” Claudia replied. “So, your new friend didn’t just talk to you today, the two of you planned a feast of sweets?”
“Mommy, his name is Derek Hale. And you can make everything—whenever you want to. But soon would be good.”
Sometime in the future, significantly less than a hundred years later:
“You’re always taking a bite out of my cake, Stiles.”
“Hush! We’re husbands now; we share everything. Besides, it’s tradition!—Now smile pretty for the photographer!”