Roo walked into the kitchen. “How long have you been in here?”
I looked up from the cutting board. “I don’t know,” I replied, “I’m kneading.”
“Why aren’t you using the stand mixer?”
I picked up the ball of dough and pressed it down against the cutting board. “Because I needed to clear my head.”
“This is how you clear your head?”
“Some people have moments of clarity in the shower-”
“My best ideas come from there.”
Roo pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and sat. “Does this have anything to do with dinner at your parents’?”
I reopened the bag of flour sitting on the island and coated my hands.
“It’s 10 at night. And you just decided after an hour’s drive from your parents’ house to start making bread?”
“Nipples,” I muttered.
“There were so many nipples.”
“I don’t follow.”
“My mother,” I said, taking a breath, “she asked me edit a Powerpoint presentation for her breastfeeding class. And there were all these photos-”
“Endless images of nipples. How to properly breastfeed – which is fine – but then there was a part about what could go wrong.”
“With your nipples?”
“Horrifying,” I said, leaning my weight onto the dough again.
“I think I’m done obsessing about having children….those images set me back a good year or two.”
Roo pushed his chair out from the table and walked out of the kitchen.
“Where are you going?” I called.
“To see your mother,” Roo replied, “I need to give her a high-five.”