Audition & Subtraction by Amy Fellner Dominy Page A

bake?”
    â€œI’m trying to help, honey.”
    I dropped the whisk so that batter splattered on the cold, stone counter. “Well, you’re not. If I make it, I make it. It won’t be the end of the world if I don’t.” My words would’ve sounded impressive, too, if my voice hadn’t cracked. “Your making a big deal about it just makes me feel worse.”
    He held up his hands. “Okay. I’m just worried about you.”
    â€œIf you’re worried, then why don’t you move back home? Then I won’t even care about stupid Honor Band.”
    He ran a hand through his hair. There was more salt than pepper in it now. “It’s not that easy, Tatum.”
    â€œIs anything?” I mumbled.
    I felt his hand on my shoulder again. “I love you, honey.”
    I handed him the measuring cup. “You can put this away.”
    â€œYes, ma’am.” He saluted me, then laid the cup on the drain board by the sink. He leaned an elbow on the counter and watched me stir. “That looks good,” he said doubtfully.
    â€œIt’s not done yet.” I swirled the whisk around the bowl. “You know Mom got a part in that play?”
    He nodded. “I know.”
    â€œShe’s a bodyguard pretending to be a nurse.”
    â€œIt sounds interesting.”
    â€œIt sounds lame.” I stirred some more, though the batter had puffed up.
    â€œTatum,” Dad warned. “You need to be supportive.”
    â€œShe’s going to dress up like a nurse, wave a gun, and say lines like, ‘It’s time for your shot.’” I rolled my eyes. “I cannot, in good conscience, support that.” It was a phrase I’d heard Mrs. Law use before, and it had a nice ring to it.
    Dad didn’t look impressed. “Your mom is enjoying this—don’t ruin it for her.”
    â€œShe’s only doing it because she’s lonely.” I gave him a pointed look. “If you’d just come home …”
    He sighed, looking at me through sad eyes. “That won’t solve things, Tay. Two people can be together and not really be together.”
    â€œWhat’s that mean?”
    â€œWell, we’re trying to figure that out.”
    â€œBut you’re the parents. How can you not know?”
    â€œThat’s a switch,” he said. “I thought parents didn’t know anything.”
    â€œBut—”
    He tapped on the box, not letting me finish. “What’s next?”
    I read the directions. “Three eggs.”
    â€œAye, aye, captain.” He flipped open the egg carton and pulled out three eggs.
    â€œWe have to separate them into a bowl.”
    He saluted me again, then got three cereal bowls out of the cupboard. “One egg in each bowl?”
    I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “That’s not how you separate eggs.”
    â€œAre you making fun of me?” He pretended to put me in a headlock, but really he just rubbed my hair. His T-shirt felt warm against my cheek and smelled like his soap. “You love me, too?” he asked.
    I reached around and hugged him. “A little.”
    He laughed into my hair, and we stayed like that for a minute. “The cake, Dad?”
    He laughed again and loosened his hold. “So, what do you do with the eggs?”
    I wiped a hand at the side of my eye and focused on the cake ingredients. “You have to separate the whites from the yolks.”
    â€œOh,” he said. “How do you do that?”
    â€œWatch the captain.” I cracked one egg, holding each side of the shell like a cup. I slid the yolk from one shell to the other, letting the white part fall into the bowl.
    â€œVery cool,” he said. “How did you learn that?”
    â€œMom taught me,” I said. As I thought back, the memory filled me like an ache. My first angel food cake. Mom had let me carry it to the table, and Dad had pretended to choke