Maggie's Disastrous Dinner

"Ouch," Maggie cried when her pinky finger came into contact with the hot baking pan. She had long held the belief that pans should change from gray to varying shades of red to indicate their heat. It was no matter that she had just pulled the pan directly from the 350-degree oven.

"Oh, no," she groaned when she saw that the golden brown breading covering the hot dogs smothered in cornbread had come out black. The reality looked nothing like the picture on the boxed packaging sitting on the counter. There was a rip on the package across the faces depicting the smiling family. Their grins looked like frowns caught up in the tear.

There was still a chance the dish wasn't completely unsalvageable. Taking a butter knife, Maggie sliced open the burned breading surrounding the pint-sized hot dogs. She groaned again when she saw that inside the blanket, the little piggy was as pink as a piglet.

The sight of the pink flesh did not sit well with Maggie. There was a rumble of protest in her belly. She placed a loving hand on her flat abdomen to soothe the upset there and turned from the uncooked burnt meal.

At her movement, one of the little piggies on the tray got away. The mini-corn dog rolled off the sheet pan landed on the floor with a splat. Five pairs of doggie eyes looked down at the treat. Their tongues lolled out of their mouths as they panted. Not a single one of the dogs moved to even investigate the loot laying in full view on the floor. They'd learned long ago that, unless it came from a bag or from their new dad's hand, it was not fit to be consumed.

"Traitors," Maggie muttered at them.

Spin wheeled over and nuzzled his pert nose at her ankles. Maggie bent and gave the Terrier an affection scratch behind the ear. He licked at her hand, looking straight into her eyes as though giving her encouragement. The other four dogs lined up at his back in a show of support.

They were right. This wouldn't all be a disaster. She still had baby carrots that she’d only needed to take from the plastic and set on a platter. Beside the carrots there were petite dills from a jar, and baby corn from a can -though she had nicked her index finger with the can opener- and baby spinach out of a salad container. There were enough foods on display that he would get the hint.

The dogs were right. This could still work.

The back door of the house opened and there he stood. He grinned when he saw her standing there. Maggie returned the expression. She still got a little out of breath whenever she saw him.

Dylan was in cargo shorts that displayed the power in both his legs; the flesh and blood one and the titanium and silicone one. Her gaze traveled up to his broad chest, which had become the best pillow she'd ever known. And then there was that smile that told her that he was her forever home.

His smile tonight was brief. It was there and gone in a flash. His gaze left her face and searched over her shoulders.

"Is something burning?" he asked.

Maggie turned back to the oven. She'd placed the tray of burned mini corn dogs back in there at some point instead of leaving them on top of the stove. A plume of gray smoke seeped out from the corners of the oven. A second later the smoke alarm went off, which set the dogs to barking.

Great, this was not the way she wanted to announce to her husband that they were expecting a baby.

***

Dylan left the door open to let the smoke waft outside. He dropped his bag into a chair and hurried over to the oven. It wasn't the first time he'd had to grab the fire extinguisher to put a damper on his wife's attempts at being a homemaker.

There was the disastrous lasagna attempt that had sent Fran and Reed home early to keep vigil in their bathrooms, followed by a call in sick the next day. There was the smoothie fiasco that made the walls into a Jackson Pollock masterpiece. Not to mention the frozen dinners debacle that had shorted the circuit in the kitchen’s electricity.

Maggie had taken each of those disasters in stride. Each time she'd been resolved to try again, even though Dylan -and the entire ranch- had insisted she had nothing to prove. But his wife was determined to take care of him, body and soul, and that included his belly.

Typically, Dylan thwarted her attempts by insisting they eat in the mess hall. Or he'd take her out to dinner. Or he'd bring home take out. But he'd had a long day today with necessary repairs for the north end pastures and hadn't made a plan.

With the fire out, he peered into the oven. Whatever she'd been making was undistinguishable in the blackened insides. On the bright side, whatever it was extinguished and he wouldn’t have to find an excuse not to consume it. Now, they could order in a pizza and cuddle up on the couch before going up to bed.

Dylan turned to her with a grin on his face. Instead of a self-deprecating grimace this time, he was met with tears.

"Mags?"

"I've ruined everything,” she wailed.

Dylan had never heard his wife wail. She’d teared up a time or two when they’d watched a sappy romcom. These tears were filled with sadness and despair.

He reached for her, pulling her into his arms. "It's not a big deal, sweetheart. I'll get this cleaned up and we'll order in."

"No, you don't understand,” she said into his chest.

He didn't. He looked around the kitchen and saw that she'd set the table. There were other foods on the table; carrots, a salad and... were those pickles? “We can still toss the salad you made. It looks delicious. Though I'm not the biggest fan of pickles."

"I'm going to be a bad mother."

"Why would you think that?" Dylan pulled her away from him so that he could peer down into her face. Her eyes were red, her cheeks pinked and her mouth pinched.

"I can't even get the baby announcement right."

"Announcement...?"

Dylan looked around the kitchen again. Those were baby carrots on the plates. That was a jar of mini dill pickles. The greens were still in the bag. On the bag it said Baby Spinach. On the floor was what looked like an undercooked, burnt pig in a blanket.

He turned back to his wife. "Does this mean... Are you... Are we..?”

Maggie sniffled and nodded her head.

Dylan swooped his wife up into his arms. His prosthetic protested, but he ignored the twinge. He was going to be a father.

Around them, the dogs yipped. The smoke dissipated. Maggie's tears dried up. Love and happiness filled the room. And for that reason, he let his wife put pickles on her side of their pizza that was delivered thirty minutes later.