The drive home was a quiet one. The roads were practically deserted, not yet filled with the rush of cars that came when the children were normally let out of school. The blanket of gray clouds overhead promised enough snow to turn the town into a true winter wonderland. For the time being, wireframe reindeer pranced on dead grass alongside trees wrapped in unlit bulbs and front yard nativity scenes with squirrels scurrying through the mangers.

The inside of their home was even drearier. The Thanksgiving decorations were long gone, yet the Christmas season had not swallowed the browns and oranges with the usual swarm of red and green. Even the tree had been neglected, still laying bundled up in a box somewhere in the garage.

It was just as well. Harriet couldn't bear to look at that tree now, not with the little cupcake ornament serving as a painful reminder of two things she had lost in such a short time. Her mother had meant well by giving that back to her to remember her father by, but just thinking about that little piece of plastic sent a pang of longing through her heart.

The kitchen was an equally painful reminder of how much her life had changed. Gone were the heaps of Tupperware and the oddly comforting clutter provided by the constantly changing yet ever-present pile of dishes in the sink. Now it was spotless, with not even a speck of sugar to be found anywhere. This was not her kitchen. It belonged to some stranger, someone who did not know the loving warmth of the oven.

The only signs it had ever been hers were the now silent mixer and the knife rack, its many blades sheathed and without purpose.

"What am I going to do with you two?" Frank asked, more to himself than them. "I never thought I'd see the day my own son would get into such a nasty fight, and you aren't even close to hitting puberty yet!"

"Sorry, Dad," Sam said. His whole body trembled in the absence of the adrenaline that had fueled him.

"Thanks, buddy. Speaking of gettin' hurt, how are those hands feeling?"

They hung loosely at Sam's sides. "My tummy hurts worse," he said quietly.

He pulled up his shirt to reveal a foot-shaped blotch that had darkened to a nasty shade of purple.

Harriet winced. "Dang, that other kid totally deserved what you did to him."

Frank gave her an annoyed look. "No kid deserved to be hurt like that. Come on, buddy, let's get some ice on that."

Frank set Sam up in the living room with an ice pack under his shirt and a pile of pillows propping him up on the couch. Sam winced as he scooched himself into a more comfortable position. "Can Dad sit with me?"

Frank took a minute to understand what he was asking before fetching his son's favorite dinosaur. "Why don't you two watch TV for a while? I'll come check on you in a bit."

So he wasn't even bothering to ground him despite how he felt about what had happened. That or he was waiting to do that until after the TV drowned out whatever he was going to say to her.

Sure enough, Frank led her into their bedroom and shut the door behind him. "Good God, and I thought meeting with clients was exhausting."

"Sam is my client," Harriet said. "Being a parent is a full-time job."

"In that case, looks like you've been understaffed for way too long. I'm sorry, babe. I never should've let things get this bad."

"If you'd just let us bake, none of this would have happened."

"Don't go trying to pin this whole mess on me," he said firmly. "Last I checked, I didn't tell him to go ballistic on that other kid. And I sure as hell didn't encourage him, unlike some people."

"What's that supposed to mean? You think never having his daddy around when he needs him hasn't caused all sorts of problems?"

"I'm not saying it hasn't, but you pretending he had any right to hurt that kid is fucked up. To attack someone like that over some freaking brownies..." Frank shook his head and wiped tears from his eyes. "What happened to that sweet little boy I used to know, Harriet?"

"How can you even say you ever knew him?"

"At least I'll have a chance now," he said softly.

"Why don't you come bake with us? Then we could all feel better."

Frank pulled her close and wrapped her in a hug. "Nice try, but we're all going to have to pass on that."

"So what am I supposed to do while Sam is suspended? Sit around and be miserable?"

"I do want you to be happy, babe, even if it might not feel like it right now. Come on, there's gotta be something else we can do to make you happy. Is Patricia up for hanging out?"

"She's busy taking care of Carol."

"Vicky?"

"I doubt she'll ever want to talk to me again."

"What on earth happened between you two?" He held up a hand to stop her from answering. "Actually, I probably don't want to know. Maybe the two of us could go out and get massages again? I might be able to get us a table at Chiyo's if I'm super lucky. I'm sure I can find someone to babysit Sam."

She didn't want to be anywhere near him, much less feeling someone else's hands kneading when hers could not. "Maybe some other time."

"There's gotta be something." His eyebrows knit together as a note of desperation crept into his voice. "Got any ideas, babe?"

Her mind raced. This was her one chance to think of a way to get herself back in the kitchen. If she screwed up, she'd be stuck listening to Sam suffer while they both ached to bake. It wouldn't surprise her if Frank made their usual Christmas cookies by himself or, worse, gave them store-bought cookies just to rub even more salt in the wound.

There was only one person who might understand her plight.

"Would it be okay for me to go shopping with Mom tomorrow?"

"That's a brilliant idea, babe! I'm sure she'd really appreciate the company. You want Sam and I to tag along?"

Frank would catch on to what she was up to, and Sam was as subtle as a rhinoceros. No, if this was going to work, she'd have to go by herself. "After what he did, I'd say he ought to be grounded for a good long while, don't you?"

"Good point, babe. Just the two of you, then. Should be nice. How's she holding up, by the way?"

Harriet had barely spoken to her mother since the funeral, although they had exchanged a few recipes and baking tips. "She's managing okay, I think. It's just mighty hard for her to have to deal with the holidays all by herself."

"At least she has Christmas at our place to look forward to. It won't be quite the same, but we can make it work. Speaking of which, I'd better set up that darn tree."

"That's for sure. I'd hate to have to tell Sam his own daddy's on the naughty list."

"He'd be heartbroken!"

"Or he'd think Santa'd give him more gifts to balance things out," Harriet said with a chuckle.

"Don't give him any ideas. That fossil kit already burned a hole through my wallet. I hope he still actually wants that. Such a weird present. What kind of weirdo wants to hammer away at a rock for Christmas?"

"The son of the weirdo who just wants slippers for Christmas."

"Hey, a guy's gotta pamper himself somehow."

"See, what most people mean by getting pampered is to go to a spa or something. You want shoes."

"What I really want for Christmas is for you to be happy." Frank cupped Harriet's face in his hand and leaned in to give her a kiss. "Think you can deliver, babe?"

"I'll try."

"That's all we can both do, isn't it? Come on, let's go check on Mr. Tough Guy."

Sam was still propped up against the pile of pillows, watching TV with quiet intensity. "They're about to say what they have to do for the second round," he whispered as the show's host prepared to unveil a plate full of mandatory ingredients.

Frank gave an exasperated look to the episode of Cupcake Wars. "Are you sure you should be watching that, buddy?"

"Just one episode? Pleeease? It's dinosaur-themed."

"Of course it is." Frank sighed. "Okay, one episode. But Daddy's gonna change the channel as soon as it's over."

Sam smiled the closest thing they'd seen to a real, genuine smile in weeks as he watched the show. He clapped in delight as the host revealed the contestants would have to make nests of dinosaur eggs using their cupcakes. "This is going to be awesome!"

Harriet watched the contestants fumble around with a critical eye. Amateurs, all of them. How could they stand to be on TV when they couldn't even gather ingredients without crashing into each other in the pantry like a bunch of tackle-happy football players? She'd show her family what a real baker looked like. All she had to do was get back in the kitchen.