10 Years Ago
10 YEARS AGO
I bite down on my nails, staring at my baking sheet through the oven window. The batter I spent the better half of the morning rises, taking perfect shape.
Rose stands beside me, using a spoon to bat at her misshapen medley of eggs, baking soda, and fudge. As if it couldn’t get any worse, she even brought a special ingredient she’s planning to mix in later. I’m purposefully biting my tongue, knowing full well my doubts will only inspire more of her mad scientist routine. She’s already decked out in a lab jacket and goggles, and I fear a single comment from me will have her throwing on a stringy white wig.
“Sooo…what’s the plan?”
I turn to Rose, smacking the still-dripping whisk out of her hand. “Don’t eat that. And I’m just going to tell him how I feel. Easy.”
She removes her goggles to blink at me. “That’s the grand plan? We spent two hours on your makeup and another three in the kitchen and you’re just going to, what, casually hand him the brownies and admit you’ve got a big ol’ crush?”
“Blondies,” I correct, for the umpteenth time. “And not exactly. I’ll give him the blondies before the game and he’ll love them so much he’ll come find me after. He’ll be in such a great mood from winning, he’ll ask me out. After a couple dates, I’ll tell him the truth.”
Rose’s mouth has fallen open. “You can’t be serious.”
I shrug, opening the oven to place her pan in the slot beneath mine. “It’s a good plan.”
Rose takes her time choosing her words. “Oh-kay. Let’s say all those things go perfectly as planned and you do go on a date with Loverboy. What next? There’s a couple months left in the school year and then he’s going to be packing up for college.”
Rose looks between my eyes, concern slowly filling her face. I know she’s just looking out for me, but she doesn’t have to worry.
“That doesn’t matter,” I say, reaching out to wipe some flour off her cheek. “I’m not actually expecting anything to come from this. I just want him to know he’s given me something to look forward to. I just want him to remember me.”
Her eyes soften. “He will remember you, Al,” she says. “But not because of some brownies. Because you’re you .”
“A really good baker?” I tease.
“A really good friend .”
I smile wide, a look Rose returns. I’m feeling fizzy and so hopeful when I pull our tins from the oven. Mine is perfectly marbled, all golden and brown. Rose’s is…something.
“Your, uh, brownies,” I say, placing them beside mine.
“Niiice,” Rose coos, already primed to stick her finger through the top.
“None of that,” I chide. I snap checkered lids on each of our baking tins, pushing them out of reach. “All right. I’m going to figure out my outfit. Does my makeup still look all right?”
Rose glances up from her phone to survey my face. “Of course it does. It was done by me.”
I let out a little laugh. “Your brownies are on the left, okay? You’ll take them with you?”
She gives me a thumbs up. “Got it. Knock him dead, baby.”
I’m whisked into a hug before Rose goes to collect her stuff. When I come back downstairs a half hour later, there’s only one tin left on the countertop.