At 10:30 AM Simon shaved his peach fuzz, Eric slapped on some cologne, the twins played with blocks in their room, Annie busily tried to help Lucy pick a nice shirt for her date, and Lucy tried as politely as possible to get rid of Annie and her unsolicited advice. Everyone was busy, so no one noticed as Ruthie slipped downstairs to remove the brownies from the oven. She turned the oven off, opened it, put on oven mitts, carefully removed each pan, and placed each one on the kitchen counter to cool.
"In fifteen minutes, you'll be ready for us to eat you," Ruthie told the brownies with a nod of approval. As they sat and cooled, Ruthie visually inspected each brownie pan. They were basic metal cooking pans, but their exteriors appeared to be hand-painted in the colors that Gabrielle had mentioned. "Green for me and the twins, yellow for Simon and Lucy, orange for Dad, red for Mom," Ruthie reminded herself.
Just then, Eric Camden strolled downstairs. "Mmm, I smell brownies."
"They're not done yet. They need to cool, so hands off. The ones in the orange pan will be yours," Ruthie bossily informed him.
Eric inspected the contents of each pan and wondered, "They all look the same to me. Why am I supposed to eat the ones in the orange pan?"
"I dunno. 'Cause Gabrielle said so."
Eric smiled. "Well, Gabrielle knows best."
As Annie stepped down the stairs to the kitchen, she overheard that last comment. "Um, excuse me but I thought Mom knew best. Remember me? Annie Camden?" She thumped her chest mightily.
"Right," Eric conceded obediently. "Gabrielle knows second best." He wasn't in the mood to pick a fight with Annie this morning, especially after having denied her a lovemaking session for the umpteenth time in the last several weeks.
"Speaking of Gabrielle, where is that crazy old woman?" Annie asked.
"I think she's gone. She left that bottle of wine for dad before she left, though," Ruthie answered.
"Score!" Eric shouted with glee as he danced over to the kitchen table to caress the green bottle.
"Oh no you don't, mister!" Annie scolded as she snatched the bottle away from him. "You are on heart medication and you will not put yourself at risk for an alcohol interaction!"
"No, of course not, Annie," Eric hung his head. "I'll just keep living as far from the edge as possible, the way I have been all these months since my surgery," he mumbled to himself.
"What did you say?" Annie asked sharply.
"Nothing, dear. By the way, am I allowed to eat brownies?" he added, with an almost imperceptible hint of sarcasm.
"Yes, you are allowed, but not until they cool. Although I'm not so sure I trust this woman enough for us to eat her brownies."
"Hey, we ate her awesome spaghetti and that didn't kill us," Ruthie said.
"No. Not yet, anyway," Annie said, glaring meaningfully at Eric.
***
"Brownies, brownies, brownies, I'm gonna eat some brownies," Simon sang tunelessly as he slapped on some manly-scented aftershave. Then a horrible thought occurred to him. What if the brownies weren't for him and the family? What if Mom had made them for a church bake sale or something like that?
As he picked up a comb and looked in the mirror to begin straightening his hair, he began a mental dialogue with his image: "God, Camden, are you really so pathetic that missing out on some brownies would spoil your entire day?"
"Well, considering that eating brownies was the only reason I got out of bed this morning, yes."
"Dude, that's just sad."
"I know. It's fucking pathetic. But that's my life story. I'm a Camden. Each of us is pathetic, in our own unique way."
"So true."
***
10:45 arrived and Ruthie excitedly announced to a hovering, hungry Eric, "OK! They're ready!"
Annie selected a serrated knife from a drawer and began to cut the brownies into squares. Ruthie grabbed some plates from a cabinet and began to place the cut brownie squares onto them. She was careful to keep all the brownies from the green pan on one plate, all the brownies from the yellow pan on another one, and so forth.
"God, those brownies smell great, Mom," Simon chirped as he entered the kitchen from the stairway.
"I didn't bake them," she snapped back at him.
"Oh." Simon paused for a minute, then wondered aloud, "Wait a minute, did you bake these, Ruthie?"
"Nope," she answered with her mouth full of one of the goodies from the "green" plate. "I only took them out of the oven to cool."
"So if neither of you two baked them, then who…"
"Gabrielle, OK! It was that loony tunes broad who made the spaghetti that every one of you keeps reminding me was the best you ever tasted," Annie spat at Simon.
"Geez, sorry I even asked," said Simon as he grabbed a brownie from the "orange" pile with no further questions.
"Wait!" Ruthie shouted. "That one is for Dad. These are for you and Lucy," she handed Simon the plate full of brownies from the yellow pan.
Simon looked at his father quizzically, but Eric just shrugged as if to say, "Play along with it." Simon shrugged in return and handed his father the brownie. Eric shoved the entire brownie into his mouth and chewed gleefully. Shortly thereafter, a rapturous look washed across his face. "Oh, these brownies are so good," he moaned blissfully. Annie shot daggers at him from her eyes, so he quickly leaned toward Simon and unconvincingly added, "But not nearly as good as your mother's brownies."
"What are you, kidding? These are great!" Simon mumbled cluelessly through a mouthful.
"Easily the best brownies I've ever eaten," Ruthie concurred.
In consternation, Annie grabbed a plate and asked Ruthie, "Whose brownies are these?"
"Mine and the twins'," Ruthie answered nervously.
Addressing them all, Annie hissed, "I'm taking these upstairs to the twins. If you know what's good for you, don't follow me. In fact, don't even speak to me for the rest of the day."
"Hey, wait a minute! Where are you taking my brownies?" Ruthie hollered as she ignored the warning and followed her up the stairs.
Simon watched with shock as his angry mother clomped upstairs with Ruthie in tow. "What's with her?" he wondered.
"Your mother's feeling a bit underappreciated today," Eric answered. "It's probably my fault." Then he muttered, "Everything's my fault."
"Whatever. All I know is, these brownies kick ass."
"Simon, language."
"Sorry, Dad," Simon mumbled through another mouthful. Then he added, "You know what would make these brownies even better? Milk."
Eric nodded and began to eat another delicious brownie from his pile, while Simon grabbed two Chugs from the refrigerator. Noticing that only two brownies were left on Simon's plate, Eric reminded him, "Don't forget to save some for Lucy."
"Aw, come on, Dad. I've barely had any and now there's only two left," Simon whined as he set the Chugs down on the counter.
Eric sighed and offered a compromise. "Fine. Why don't you have a couple from my plate? You're a growing boy and you can certainly use these more than I can." Of course, neither of them had put too much stock in Ruthie's insistence that specific brownies were intended for specific individuals, and so neither saw the harm in Simon eating from Eric's pile.
"Thanks, Dad," Simon said before grabbing a brownie from Eric's plate and shoving it into his mouth.