Baking
Dahlia
Flour… check
Sugar… check
Molasses… check
Vanilla… check
The phone rings as I’m checking the pantry for the ingredients that I need to make cookies. Why do I always have chocolate chips but rarely remember to buy milk? “Hello.”
“Dahlia.”
“Hi, Mom!” I set the phone on the counter on speaker. Mom never calls to ask a quick question. “How are you and Dad?”
“We’re good. Work called him in to do a consultation again. They don’t seem to understand what retirement means.”
“A consult means Dad is going to take you on vacation.”
“That too.” She giggles. “I think we’ll go somewhere sunny before the foliage gets into full swing. Have you started to move your fall wardrobe out of storage yet? It’s getting chilly at night.”
“I need to do that.” Climbing up into the attic isn’t my favorite thing to do.
“Your father and I can come down and help you later in the week.”
“You don’t need to do that, Mom.” I set the flour canister on the bar next to the bowl.
“With work and everything, you don’t have much time. And we love to help you.”
More like you want to check to make sure I’m okay. “If you come down, I’ll take you and Dad to my favorite little restaurant. It’s this little hole in the wall place in an alley.”
“You eat in an alley! That doesn’t sound safe or sanitary.” Mom’s nose is probably wrinkled.
“You know I wouldn’t have moved here if Dad hadn’t said it was safe.”
“Safe is subjective. You’d be safer living with us. A woman living alone in a big city like Urbium is never truly safe.”
I thought the same thing until I did research on this little neighborhood. There hasn’t been so much as a single pick-pocketing incident, let alone a break-in here in two generations. It’s like criminals are afraid of this neighborhood. I probably wouldn’t even need to lock my doors at night, but there’s no sense in testing the limits. “Mom.”
“I know. I know. You’re an adult. You need your space to spread your wings and explore the world. I just wish you could explore here. Speaking of exploring; how is that new job of yours?”
“Hard. It’s really hard, but I think I love it.”
She sighs. “I’m really proud of you. Are you making friends at work? Some of the point of getting this job was to make some friends. ”
“I have friends.” Sort of.
“People you talk to on the computer don’t count. You don’t go out to the movies with them or out to dinner. You need to make some real friends. People that you actually see outside a computer screen.”
“We meet in person.” We see each other once a year in person, but we meet up virtually often.
“Dahlia Prudence.”
“I’m trying to make friends. I really am. I went out to get drinks with some of the girls from work last Friday night after shift.”
“Drinks.” Mom’s teacup clinks onto the counter. She never calls me without a cup of tea in hand.
Maybe I should make one. Just to test out the cookies with… except I don’t have milk.
“That sounds promising. Did you meet any nice men while you were out getting drinks?”
Vex doesn’t really count as a ‘nice’ man. “No, Mom.”
“Well, next time you go, suggest going to a nicer bar. Something closer to the business district.”
“Mom.” I peel the wax paper off my softened butter and plop it in the bowl.
“What, you need a man with a good job. Men become very insecure if a woman makes more money than they do. You need a stable, well-off man.”
“Mom.”
“Don’t you even give me that women’s empowerment garbage. You have a job. You have your own money. Your own life. You need a man that’s just as secure in his life as you are in yours.”
“Mom, I don’t need a man.”
“Of course, you don’t ‘need’ one, but don’t you want one, eventually?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s not a no.”
“Mom.” I crack the egg with a little more force than normal, and it crumbles in my hand and the cup .
“Fine. Fine. I’ll let it go for now. Tell me all about this work of yours. You know a good way to make friends is to bring some treats to work. Have you brought them some brownies yet?”
Oh, she’s expecting me to pull out the big guns this early. “No brownies yet. But I am making cookies.”
“Cookies.”
Now I did it. I blabbed too much.
“Why are you making thank you cookies?”
“You know people make cookies for reasons other than to say thank you.”
“I know that.”
I can practically see her swatting away my explanation.
“But why are you making thank you cookies?”
She knows me too well.
“What type?”
“Chocolate chip,” I mumble.
“Dahlia Prudence Fleur, you’re making cookies for a man, and you didn’t tell your mother.”
“Mom, it’s not like that.”
“Are you or are you not making thank you cookies for a man?”
“I am.”
“Are you putting nuts in them?”
There might be a selection of nuts sitting on my counter.
My silence is all the answer Mom needs. “Has he asked you out?”
“No!”
“Not yet. After those cookies, he will.”
“Mom, I’m not making him cookies to get him to ask me out.”
“It worked for your father.”
“ICK! I don’t want to know what worked when you two were dating.” I gag a little in my mouth.
“Short skirts and cookies.”
“Mom! ”
“Why did I listen to your father when he suggested naming you after your great-aunt Prudence? You need to live a little.”
I laugh at the running joke in the family. “All of this is living a little. Mom, I moved to Urbium, got a job, and am trying to make friends.”
“You’re making a man thank you cookies, and I don’t know a thing about him.”
“It’s nothing. Less than nothing.” The next step is to cream together the sugar, eggs, butter, and vanilla.
“Really?”
“Really, Mom. I’d tell you if there was someone special in my life.”
“Then you should make a batch of brownies too. Bring them to work and see if you can make some more friends there.”
“Mom.”
“Just make the brownies.”
“Fine, I’ll make some brownies.”
“But not the brownie cheesecake. That would be too much. You want to get to know a man before he proposes. And your father needs to meet him.”
Our family is so nutty. “I won’t make brownie cheesecake.” This is going to require more supplies. I need to run to the market.
***
“Mom said we need to get lemons, capers, and broccoli for dinner.” Two teenagers walk into the shop right in front of me. It’s impossible not to recognize my neighbors.
“Hello, Hope and Fire.”
The two girls turn around and say in unison, “Hey, Ms. Fleur.”
“How is your family?”
“Good.” Hope gives Fire a look. “You should come over to dinner. Nonna is making the best lemon and caper halibut you’ve ever tasted. ”
“Hope’s right. Mom’s fish is the best.”
“I couldn’t put your family out.” A basket is probably big enough for everything I need to make, but there’s something about this market. I come for one item and end up with twenty. A cart it is.
“You wouldn’t be. There’s always someone coming over to dinner. Hope’s dad is back from his trip to Japan. We’re celebrating.”
“How long was he gone?” Poor kid. Hope’s dad works way too much and travels too often. I’ve only lived here a few months, but still, I’ve met everyone else in the family. And I mean everyone. They’re very friendly.
“Two days. He wouldn’t let me go with him because it was on school days, but he could have just brought along a tutor. It’s not like I’m behind or anything. I really want to go to Japan again.”
“School is important.”
“School is boring,” they whine in unison.
“Our teacher is making us write a book as part of our advanced placement English class. A book!” Hope starts to push my cart.
These girls are a trip. “Books are fun. You get a chance to create your own world and make all the rules.”
“All the rules?” Hope stops.
“All of them.” The cart just so happens to be in front of the baked goods. I ‘can’ make my own bread, but why when there’s fabulous fresh bread right here?
“Hmmm. But I have no idea how to even start.”
“Write what you enjoy. What types of books do you read?”
“She reads all about dragons and monsters,” Fire answers for Hope. She lowers her voice and whispers, “And romance novels.”
“You don’t need to whisper. Reading a romance novel isn’t anything to be embarrassed about.”
“It is when your father is overprotective, like mine. He told me that I can’t start dating until I’m ninety. Romance novels are a gateway drug.”
Drug. Reading. Oh no he didn’t. “You know what, I’d love to have dinner with your family. We can spend some more time talking about writing books tonight.” And I’m going to bring over some romance novels for them to read. The nerve of that man.
Hope jumps up and down. “I can’t wait!!! See you tonight.” She takes Fire’s hand and the two girls run off.
Well then, I guess I’m going to need to make a bunch more brownies and pick up some flowers.