Reminiscing
Chapter forty-eight
Aurora Driscoll
“Fold in the chocolate chips,” I murmur to myself, reading the recipe card I snuck out of Jasmine’s box she keeps in the small cabinet above the microwave. The wooden box holds what she calls her heirloom-recipe collection. She stores the recipes she wants to pass down to her future kids inside.
The chocolate chips blanket the top of the orange batter as I dump the cup full of them. “Dances of The Swans” from Tchaikovsky’s Swan Lake plays in one of my earbuds, the other hangs loose over my oversized sweatshirt so that I can hear if any of my roommates call for me.
They should all be sleeping this early on a Sunday—which is why I’m in the kitchen at all.
If a single one of them sees what I’m making, I’ll never hear the end of it.
My eyes roll when I read the curly script at the top of the recipe card: Marriage Muffins.
The pumpkin chocolate chip muffins got deemed that our first semester rooming together and have become a symbol of being in a serious relationship.
Jasmine made them for her boyfriend, Shepherd, and Marigold made them for her boyfriend, Jameson.
I thought it would be nice to bake something for Hayes after how much he’s done for me lately, and it’s fall, so pumpkin muffins seemed fitting. That’s all.
A throat clears behind me and I freeze in place.
“What are you doing?” Jasmine asks.
“Baking?” The word comes out too much like a question.
I abandon my mixing and turn around to face my doom. Jasmine is holding an almost empty can of pumpkin puree, looking from it to me with narrowed eyes.
“Canned pumpkin,” she says, like it’s a weapon in a crime scene. Her eyes scan the kitchen. “Chocolate chips.” A smile stretches wide across her face. “You’re making marriage muffins!” she squeals.
I squeeze my eyes shut.
“It’s no big deal. I was just in the mood for them.” My defense is weaker than untrained ankles.
“I have to get the girls,” Jasmine says, not listening to me.
I wouldn’t listen to me either.
She rushes off in the direction of Saylor’s room first, knocking a few times before bursting inside.
“Aurora is making marriage muffins!” she yells. Another high-pitched squeal pierces the air, making me groan.
A few seconds later as Saylor is rushing into the living room in lavender-striped pajamas alongside Jasmine, Marigold’s door opens.
She squints, rubbing one eye. Her red curls are escaping the messy bun she attempted to contain them in, and she’s wearing a Thrashers Hockey sweatshirt over navy pajama pants that look too big to belong to her.
“What’s going on, and why is it happening before coffee?” she croaks.
“Nothing, go back to sleep,” I say at the same time Saylor shouts, “Marriage muffins!”
Marigold blinks a few times. Processes. Then her sleepy eyes widen, and her head snaps in my direction.
“You’re making marriage muffins?” she asks.
I slump against the archway that leads into the kitchen from the living room and sigh.
“Yes,” I grumble.
Saylor launches herself at me in a remora-style hug, tugging out my earbud in the process. The wires hang down my leg from where my phone is tucked into the pocket of my joggers.
“Please don’t step on my earbuds,” I say as I pat her back awkwardly.
“Oops, sorry.” She releases me and collects the hanging wires, then holds them out like a peace offering. “I can’t believe you’re in love with Hayes!”
I don’t say anything. I did a poor job telling Hayes how I felt; I doubt I’ll do much better relaying the information to my friends.
“Maybe she just really likes him,” Jasmine says, trying to give me an out. She’s probably starting to feel guilty about ambushing me.
Saylor, on the other hand, harbors no such feelings.
“She wouldn’t make the muffins if she liked him.” Her smile is bright and sparkling with mischief. “No, our Aurora is in looooove,” she sings. “She wants to huuuug him, because she loooooves hiiim. She wants to kiiiisss hiiiim—”
Marigold steps up behind Saylor and covers her mouth.
“Thank you,” I say with emphasis, though I feel laughter building in my chest.
I have the weirdest, most ridiculous, wonderful friends.
Who are currently all staring, waiting for an explanation I don’t want to butcher. Maybe simplicity is the way to go. They know me. They know I’m not the best with words all the time.
“I’m in love with him,” I confirm.
Saylor gasps behind Marigold’s hand, which is still in place, though I think it’s there because she froze at my words.
“I told him when we were in New York last weekend.” Heat climbs up my neck as I think of that night. “Well, he told me he loved me first, but I said it back and I meant it.”
We spent the rest of the evening eating melted ice cream and talking.
Kissing, too … until Hayes finally murmured that he was too tired to resist me and dragged his feet back to his room.
Since being back we’ve talked every day and have seen each other as many times as our schedules will allow.
I didn’t tell my roommates much about the trip, only about what we saw and that dinner with his parents was rocky but okay.
Saylor pulls Marigold’s hand away and sighs, “That’s so romantic.”
I laugh. “I barely said anything.”
“Then tell us the story!” Jasmine says, then adds, “If you want to. We can talk while you pour batter into the tin?”
“Okay,” I agree warily.
We convene in the kitchen. Marigold starts up the coffee maker, and Jasmine starts pulling out ingredients for breakfast. Saylor starts wiping down the kitchen island. All of them being preoccupied helps take the pressure off my storytelling abilities.
As I spoon batter into the lined muffin tin, I tell them everything.
From the jet to the studio to dinner to dessert in my room.
I keep some details to myself, especially the ones involving Hayes’s personal life and family dynamic.
They all squeal and giggle and gasp throughout, making me feel as though maybe I’m not so bad after all.
Either that, or their standards for conversation from me are very low.
No matter the case, I find myself feeling light and bubbly after telling them, as though I got to relive the weekend all over again.
“It sounds like you two are perfect for each other,” Saylor gushes.
“I wouldn’t have thought it would work, because you’re so different. But I guess it’s like characters who foil one another—it just works,” Marigold adds, always one to contribute a literary element to the conversation.
“He takes care of you, and I think that’s what you need,” Jasmine says with a sweet smile.
I shrug, my face warm. “I guess so.”
Mercifully, the conversation shifts away from me.
Saylor starts outlining her plan to reorganize her closet, and Jasmine says that she could use some help making hers look less like Tornado Alley.
As they’re chatting and piddling about the kitchen, my phone buzzes in my pocket.
I pull it out and smile when I see a text from Hayes.
Prince Charming: Good morning to the most beautiful woman in the entire universe. I hope you’re resting plenty after this week, Sleeping Beauty. Let me know when you wake up and I’ll have coffees delivered for you and your roommates. I love you.
My heart swells with joy. I recall Jasmine’s words from a minute ago. Hayes does take care of me. And for the first time in my life, I don’t feel bad about letting someone do that. He took all my preconceived notions about relationships and even myself and threw them into the wind.
I bite my lip and text him back.
Aurora: Good morning, Prince Charming. I love you, too. Are you busy today? I have something I want to give you.
Prince Charming: I’ll never be too busy to make time for you. Just tell me when and where.
The simplicity of his answer touches my heart in a new way. He doesn’t overcomplicate things. It’s as simple as loving me and wanting to be near me, in spite of all my flaws. The same way my friends and family love me—though they meddle more than him—but on a deeper level.
So even though I’ve never been much of a romantic, I find myself daydreaming and reminiscing the rest of the morning until it’s time to see him again. Because though Hayes doesn’t require me to change, I find it easier to be soft with him.