I’d like to thank Laila Miller of Australia for her flash fiction submission “How To Bake Cupcakes”, an engaging tale based on a true story involving her son.
Laila Miller lives in Perth, Western Australia, where she creates stories about sea urchins and turnips, and where she places third in unfair writing challenges with her husband and son.
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How To Bake Cupcakes
Open your eyes and see your son’s face five centimetres away. Feel his hot breath and the weight of his warm limbs scrambling over you. Glance surreptitiously at the clock to confirm the time is what he says.
“One minute past six, Mom. C’mon, we’re making cupcakes for school.”
Swing your legs out from under the covers and place your feet on the carpet. Follow the sound of him banging ingredients onto the kitchen counter. Do not detour to pee or to look at your face. Listen with envy as your husband escapes to his hot shower.
“Flou-er. Su-gar. Baking pow-der.”
Squint at the oven and beep as you select ‘bake’ at 350F. Hear the fan whir. Consider you may have selected incorrectly. Pat cluttered surfaces near the fruit bowl until you locate your glasses. Place them on your nose. Turn on the light.
“We need the recipe.”
Reach into the recipe cupboard above the fridge. Stretch to prevent your neck from kinking in protest against its abrupt departure from the pillow. Imagine you are doing yoga, an Upward Salute.
Give your son the recipe and place bowls and measuring devices in front of him. Watch as he flours his pyjamas. Two cups. Open your mouth. Close it. Turn on the kettle and inhale as you measure three heaping tablespoons of coffee into the French press.
Flip the top of the baking powder with the end of a spoon and give it to your son. Guide his hand over the flour bowl as he measures 2½ teaspoons.
Watch as he places his finger into spilled baking powder and lifts it to his lips. Observe his face pucker.
“Mmm. Salty.”
Repeat with ¼ teaspoon salt.
Compare the mathematics of six rows of four chocolate squares or four rows of six as he counts them into a glass bowl.
“Only four squares left. I’ll just eat them, okay?”
Admire the perfect pitch, the declaration disguised as a question. Think about the thin slices of chocolate with cold butter the Danes put on fresh breakfast rolls. Recall the Danish are the happiest people in the world. Decide the world will not end if your son eats chocolate before 7 a.m. today. Marvel at his preference for unsweetened baking chocolate over truffles.
Discuss the relative merits of microwave ‘high’ versus ‘melt’. Insist upon ‘melt’.
Re-boil the kettle and pour boiling water into the French press. Inhale and feel coffee-scented steam condense inside your parched nasal passages. Set coffee aside for six minutes. Remove melted chocolate from microwave and allow to cool.
Place weigh scale on counter and cut slices of butter onto it.
“One-twenty. More, Mom. One-um-forty-five. More. One-ninety. Too much! One-seventy grams. Perfect.”
Discuss halving the recommended 1½ cups of sugar. Listen attentively, while thinking about your coffee, as your son performs the calculation. Glance at him while pouring your coffee, as he inspects each measuring cup.
“One-half plus one-quarter. Mom, it’ll be more tasty with white and brown sugar.”
Wipe spilled coffee. Sip and sigh. In a separate bowl, beat butter and brown and white sugar. Use wooden spoon to avoid the assault of the whining electric mixer on his ears. Feel your biceps burn. Switch hands. Picture your mother and the ten loaves of bread dough she stirred and kneaded twice a week with her rippling biceps for her family of eight. Beat more vigorously, ignoring screaming muscles. Share the beating task, pointing out pale streaks of unbeaten butter amongst the tan brown mixture.
Provide three eggs for cracking, a spoon for fishing out shells, and a sink with soapy water for hand washing between eggs. Explore the popular question of the chicken versus the egg. Beat.
Guide clean but still soapy hands over bowl for measuring two teaspoons vanilla extract. Share a sniff of the bottle before capping. Discuss the global economics of vanilla extract: 80 percent of the world’s vanilla beans grow on Madagascar. Explain about cyclones, climate change and rising prices. Place the globe on the kitchen counter, away from the flour. Allocate three minutes to finding Madagascar and hypothesizing vanilla bean trade routes. Sip.
Add melted chocolate, now cooled. Mix in flour and 1¼ cups milk in thirds. Ignore lumps. Discuss optimal colours for paper cupcake shells. Listen to counting of an equal proportion of each available colour. Spoon batter into shells and provide bowl for licking. Instruct Siri to set a timer for 20 minutes. Reprimand Siri for not responding when you thank her.
Order a retreat to respective bedrooms to dress. Wonder why after you have been awake for 45 minutes you no longer feel like peeing. Pee anyway. Yell goodbye as your husband departs for work.
Hold pen steady when, moments prior to school departure, you receive news that the recipe must accompany the cupcakes.
“Allergies, Mom. You have to write it. It would take me forever.”
Nod and smile. Write furiously while maintaining good penmanship as you listen to him brush his teeth and hum “Guinea Pig Bridge”. Leave spaces for him to fill in quantities, so his teacher will not blame you for doing all the writing.
Repress rising blood pressure as he carefully writes numbers while the clock ticks towards 8:30. Smile as you estimate the time to manoeuvre cupcakes out the front door and into the car; remember the backpack, sandals, lunch, water bottle, hat; and drive within the speed limit nine minutes to school.
Inquire casually while driving why did we have to bring cupcakes to school this morning.
“Didn’t have to. Wanted to, y’know, change things up a bit. Turn Depression Thursday into Fun Friday.”
Blink. Refrain from further questions. Park and walk.
Observe the young man balance the cupcake tray in both hands, unable to access the hand rail as he ascends the school steps, toes pointed inward.
Turn toward the car. Visualise the book of your life: first black and white, then pastel, now full colour spectrum.
Thanks
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