Baked goods

The sense of smell is the most important. The looks could always be improved, but everyone cares about the taste.

A homemade recipe. Her favorite.

“Room 333 is down that hall and to the right. In the corner, can’t miss it, dear.”

“Thank you.”

Before I entered, I did one last check of my ears. I tucked my hair around them so they wouldn’t poke out.

The first step was always the hardest. The doorway was right there. Not even a foot was needed to enter, yet here I am standing, waiting as if expecting an invitation.

“Siri…? Is that you, my sweet sugarplum?”

“…” I felt a heavy lump form in my throat. The hesitation faded away, but my voice took a moment to catch up. “Yeah, it’s me, Grams.”

The moment I turned and entered, all of it washed away as I saw her smile. She didn’t have to, but she eased up like a child smitten by their gifts under the tree, cheerfully gazing upon them.

“Oh my, it is my sweet sugar plum! Come on over and let me get a look at you. Awwww, oh my. You look just like her. Beautiful as ever. And still hiding your ears, I see.”

“Grams, you can’t—”

“Move your hand, child! Let me look at you in all your glory, girl. You’re my granddaughter! What—you think I can’t stand the look of you?”

“No, it’s just—“

She started to play with my hair before tucking some of it to the side.

“There you are. Looking just like your mother. So stunning… Now then, what do we have in the basket? Is that my cookie recipe I smell? Let’s have a look-see.”

She removed the red cloth that hung over it. Her eyes were wide in surprise before she darted back and forth to me.

“What, what is this?”

“It’s…” I scratched my temple, trying to avoid the topic.

“You forgot the raisins!”

“I didn’t forget. They are chocolate chip—“

“Chocolate chip raisins!”

“Nobody likes the raisins.”

“I do! Come on now. You do too! Siri, I taught you better than this.”

“Grams, I assure you, no one likes the raisins.”

She cursed under her breath, disapproving of my “modifications” to her recipe. The truth was more straightforward than she had imagined. I hadn’t left the raisins out of spite. I’d started with enough for the whole batch, and a few cookies did have them. But the trip over had left me hungry, and, well... I’d eaten the remaining raisins along the way. Simple as that.

“How’s the old man?” Grams asked. “He is still drowning away, leaving you to grow up alone?”

“That’s not…”

“Ah, and you’re still playing hard to get? What am I going to do with you two?”

“…” I watched my grandmother take a few of the cookies. Despite complaining about the absence of raisins, she still bit into it with a smile.

“Hah-hah, he’s still your father. You need to get over it. He is far from perfect. And I won’t be around forever, you know.”

“That’s not fair. He’s—you know, it’s more than that. Also, I can turn—”

“Shhhh, it’s alright, sugarplum. There is no reason for you to do all that for me. Besides, I have lived a long life. I have dealt with my fair share of unfairness in this world just as much as you. If not more so.”

Her words caused me to sulk a bit.

“What’s with the long face, sugarplum?” Grams asked. “You should never frown like that. You’re too gorgeous to pout. And maybe too old? Still a kid at heart, I suppose. You know, spend some time finding a sweet boy, someone who can put a smile on your face. When I was your age, I had boys pining for my attention from sunrise to sunset and throughout the night. There was this one, one of the Walcott boys, woooof—the biceps on that man. I tell you, when he picked things up, ahhhh~.”

“Grams!”

“What?”

“…” We stared at each other in silence before bursting into laughter. She always knew how to put a smile on my face.

It was comforting to know she was still herself, despite lying in a hospital bed.

“The doctors said you had a terrible last episode. Want to talk about it?”

“Not really,” Grams said flatly, throwing her arms to cross them. I sat there by her bedside, squeezing my hand into her arms to pry them free.

Grams was tough as nails—a perfect blend of humor and beauty. I spent most of my childhood by her side in a quaint little cottage at the far eastern end of Forest Creek. You couldn’t miss the place with its charming stacked-stone fence and that towering tree commanding the front yard. The local kids couldn’t miss it either, often lying in wait to taunt me before I could make my escape. But if they dared cross that invisible line marked by the old tree, they’d soon discover why that was a mistake.

It didn’t matter what Grams was doing. She could be in the middle of a bath, and she’d still come charging out in her gown, cursing up a storm. Nothing would hold her back if she heard those kids hassling me. Once, she burst through the front door like an avenging angel, brandishing a frying pan in one hand and a spatula in the other. The tongue-lashing she gave those kids—followed by a sturdy slap on their rumps—was legendary. And while I wanted to sink into the ground from embarrassment, I couldn’t help but feel protected.

They learned their lesson fast. When the parents arrived at our door after hearing the commotion, expecting to listen to apologies, they got the whole Grams experience, too. There she’d stand, hair still in rollers and wearing her worn slippers, not caring one bit about appearances. If someone was causing me pain or grief, she’d step in without hesitation. But the magic of Grams came next—she’d pivot on a dime, offering those same scolded parents a slice of her most famous apple pie or whatever heavenly creation she’d just pulled from the oven.

She commanded both fear and respect, but her boundless kindness toward those who approached with genuine humility and appreciation for who she was became the stuff of neighborhood stories.

Back then, I’d overhear adults talking about my grandmother being their role model. For the longest time, I thought they were just trying to get on her good side. Now, years later, I am feeling the same thing. There’s no competition regarding actual role models in my life. Not really.

“You’re not fighting anyone here, are you?”

“What makes you think I would fight anyone?”

“Because they put you in a room by yourself.”

Grams scoffed before finishing the last of the cookies I had baked.

“Please! I requested it to be so.”

“Did you now?“I challenged.

I didn’t like the fact that she was here in the hospital, but her health had been going downhill ever since her fall a few months ago. She refuses to live with me, since she likes her own place. It’s a a decent place—it just has its own problems that she refuses my hand to help her with. Old pipes, old furnace. Creaky steps with protruding nails. I can’t stay there, not with how far the trip is. To go there back and forth from the heart of the city is far too much of a pain.

“When do you think I am getting out of here?”

“Don’t give the nurses too much trouble, and maybe soon,” I answered her. She sucked her teeth before pouting her lips.

“They won’t even let me watch my shows. The food is terrible. And…” she leaned close to whisper. “I believe this place has a ghost.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes, I looked into the mirror, and staring back at me was this woman. Beautiful woman. She’s a bit old with a few too many creases and grey hair, but she still got it. Hmph.”

“Grams!”

And here I was, trying to take her seriously.

“Just trying to put a smile on my Sugarplum’s face.”

“Thank you…” Before I knew it, her words brought some tears to my eyes. Lowering my head to rest on her lap, I gave her a hug. “Did you make her laugh and smile just like that?”

“All the time.”

“You miss her?”

“All the time.”

“*Sniffle*”

“It’s alright, rest easy.”

“How can I? He is still out there.”

“Is he? Are you sure this time, because before—“

“I am! There is no doubt about it. I—it has to be!”

“Your mother would be torn up to see you like this, you know.” She would want you to live. Truly live. You should not let this rage consume you!”

“How are you not angry?! Furious?”

“Because at my age, you learn a thing or two. Don’t waste time on things that can’t be changed. You’re still so young! You will make mistakes, and that is okay. There is so much more to life, and I learned that only after having Rose. But enough about me trying to tell you what to do; you young ones will always do as you please. Any who, tell me what else has been going on.”

Sighing, I took a moment to tell her about my latest case—about the mess it had become and the Witch I’d encountered. Part of me still couldn’t believe it was real. Grandma had told me all sorts of stories growing up, tales spun by the fireplace at bedtime. Until a few nights ago, that’s all they’d been—just stories. She listened calmly now, letting me rest my head in her lap to cool down. Maybe I was getting worked up, or maybe I just craved the gentle way her feeble fingers moved through my hair.

“There is something else troubling you.”

“No, not really.”

“And who's lying to whom now?”

At some point, I retired my hands to the side of the bed, just out of view. The shakes had come back. I could smell it. Taste it almost, as if it clung thick in the air. Hospitals were a bad place for me.

“Let me see…”

“It’s really nothing.”

“Have you been eating?” My grandmother asked, concern written all over her face. “And don’t give me nonsense about the bagels or that sad excuse for pasta you make.”

“Tsk… Not as much as I clearly should be.”

“I didn’t think so. Lucky for you, I know someone, a nurse. Easy on the eyes. I think he fancies me. A tall, dark, and handsome fellow. Nice jaw and shoulders, too. Oh yahoooooo!”

Before I could stop her, she called out to the hallway, leaving one of the male nurses to wander by with a smile.

“You alright in here, Miss Grimes?”

“Now that you’re here, yes,” my grandmother said, batting her eyes. “This is my granddaughter, Sirius. She is single, lives in a fancy place alone down by—”

“Don’t mind her,” I shot. I would prefer not to be elicited into injuring a patient, but she left me no choice but to gag her with her pillow. “When will she be discharged?”

“Well, we are closely monitoring her. Would like to keep her for a few nights, just in case. See where her head is at and how her injury is after. She should walk with a walker. But we found out she is stubborn. Anyway, can you convince her otherwise? We don’t want it flaring up or worsening while she is alone.”

“Ah, I see. You hear that, Grams? Even the nurses here know how stubborn you can be.”

“Hmph,” My grandmother huffed. “You don’t sound down at all about the news that I will be here for who knows how long. It must be lovely since you will be seeing a lot of him as well. She is always so shy…”

“Grams!”

I swear, sometimes she gives me far more trouble than she is worth.