“Please leave out the picture where I dropped the frosting,” I said.
He grinned.
“I haven’t decided yet.”
Later, we tried on the pumpkin costumes we’d made.
Mine was round, bright orange, and slightly crooked at one shoulder.
“We look ridiculous,” I said.
“That’s why they’re so good!”
Remembering Annabelle’s criticism, I hesitated.
“Are you sure you want me wearing this?”
“Mom, we made them together.”
“Then we’re wearing them together.”
He hugged me.
“It’s my favorite thing we’ve made.”
I kissed his forehead.
Then his expression turned serious.
“Mom, why don’t you tell Annabelle to stop?”
“I’ve spoken to your dad about it, honey.”
“But she keeps doing it.”
I sat beside him.
“You’re right. I need to handle it differently.”
“Will Dad get mad?”
“That’s something your dad and I will deal with. You don’t have to fix it.”
Dustin nodded, though he still looked uncertain.
We arrived early Sunday morning for the fair.
As Dustin arranged the cupcakes, I noticed the children’s paper pumpkins had disappeared.
I discovered them in a box beneath the table.
Annabelle was adjusting her orange banner.
“Why did you put these away?”
“They made everything look cluttered.”
“The children made them, Annabelle. They’re staying.”
I hung the pumpkins along the table.
A teacher approached.
“Oh, wonderful! The children were asking where those went.”
Annabelle moved aside.
A few minutes later, I overheard her telling someone she’d organized almost the entire display.
“Annabelle bought the extras,” I corrected. “The children made these, and we all helped set up.”
She shot me an irritated glance.
Nigel arrived around noon.
“Dad!” Dustin called.
Nigel hugged him.
“Look at you! That’s quite a costume.”
“Mom made us matching ones!”
Nigel turned toward me, but Annabelle spoke first, looking me up and down.
“With your figure, that pumpkin costume suits you perfectly, Becca!”
Nigel burst out laughing, pulled her close, and kissed her.
Several parents looked over.
Dustin remained serious.
“That’s mean, Annabelle,” he said.
Nigel frowned.
“Watch your tone, Dustin.”
I stepped forward.
“He’s allowed to tell you when something hurts him.”
Annabelle rolled her eyes.
“It was a joke.”
“Then explain what was funny about it.”
She opened her mouth but couldn’t answer.
Nigel intervened.
“Becca, can we not do this here?”
“You brought it here, Nigel. Dustin and I were enjoying ourselves.”
I turned toward my son.
“Come on. Let’s see how many cupcakes we’ve sold.”
He followed, no longer smiling.
Shortly before the awards ceremony, I saw Annabelle talking to the principal near the stage.
“I wanted everything to look special,” she said. “So I took care of practically the whole booth.”
I approached them.
“Actually, the class made most of the decorations. Annabelle bought the extras, and Dustin and I baked the cupcakes.”
Her smile vanished.
“Do you have to correct everything I say, Becca? Give it a rest.”
“When you’re taking credit for other people’s work, yes.”
Nigel joined her.
“You’re embarrassing Annabelle.”
“You laughed when she embarrassed me. Why is it suddenly a problem?”
Before he could respond, the principal called everyone toward the stage.
Dustin’s teacher announced the short student presentations about their booths.
My son climbed onto the stage and took the microphone.
“I want to show everyone something.”
He gave his flash drive to the teacher operating the computer.
The first photograph showed us shopping for ingredients.
Next came pictures of our cupcakes, handmade decorations, and the booth before Annabelle’s purchases were added.
Parents smiled as the slideshow continued.
Annabelle stared at the screen, then grabbed Nigel’s arm.
