Baking

 After such furious crying, there was only one practical thing to do. Eat! We could cook! Together! It didn’t matter that I had never touched any appliance before! It didn’t matter that I couldn't use a toaster! I’m sure I’d figure it out! We could work through it together! We could look through cookbooks, cutely, together!

We were standing in my kitchen; he had always been very eager when it came to food. I looked up to one of the cabinets, the door was made of glass and through it an expansive collection of books could be seen. My grandmother had always enjoyed cooking, I'm sure a number of diverse books would be present in such a long-winded collection. I walked forward and reached up to open the cabinet. As I scanned the collection, I made a horrific realization. It was only editions of the “Newer Cookbook” from Pleasant House and Outdoor Area of Homes! I hadn’t thought of her as being such a fan of the series! had the recipes even changed between editions? Was there really anything new about them? I pulled out the 1953 edition, setting it down on the table, I began scanning the pages. Perhaps we could begin with a dessert? Preferably something cute, I had taken quite the liking to cute desserts. Finally, I landed on the perfect recipe.

Strawberry Swiss Tarts

The picture had certainly made them look appealing. A golden tart dusted with sugar... a center of strawberry filling... I was sure he’d enjoy them as well! I picked up the book, turning to face him.

“Don’t these look good?” I asked.

He walked closer and inspected the picture, his thoughts seemed calculated. Finally, he looked up at me and nodded. His face was still red, his eyes still swollen, I couldn’t bear it! I was desperate to cheer him up!

First, we needed to get out and measure the ingredients! I walked to the cupboard and retrieved flour, sugar, vanilla extract, powdered sugar, and red currant jelly. Placing them on the counter, I also grabbed the appropriate measuring utensils, mixing bowl, plastic bag, and muffin pan.

I didn't want to give him any task of great difficulty, I was fine with him doing something simple.

“Here... can you measure these ingredients out?” I said facing the oven.

I didn’t know how this thing worked! I needed to preheat it! I just had to preheat it to 350°F! As I fiddled with the oven, I felt a presence lurking behind me.

“Hey... is this right?” He asked; cocking his head to the side.

He had filled a cup... not the measurement... just a cup... a drinking cup... even though I had set everything out...

“No... I meant for you to use that one... it has a marking on it that says “cup” you just need to fill it too there...” I said; pointing to where it was sitting on the counter.

“... oh...” He muttered while turning back toward where he had been.

Going back to what I was doing, I realized that clicking the button that said “preheat” did indeed preheat the oven. Satisfied, I got up and walked over to the counter to check on how he had been doing.

He held the measuring cup in his hand, staring... he was just looking at it.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“...” He didn’t say anything.

Suddenly, the realization hit me. Why should we listen? Why should we listen to such an article? Couldn’t we create our own culinary creations? Couldn’t we? It was ours; these could be ours! Not just in possession, but in concept! But could someone ever truly own a concept? Weren’t the ideas and influences from the minds of others? But isn’t that how everything was created? Wasn't every single individual spec of influence on something... wasn’t that the only unoriginal quality? But isn’t it the combination of many different influences and ideas that makes a work? Nothing can ever be completely original, and the distinction didn’t matter either!

Heh... heh.... heh.... that was a good one... heh... cohesive thought... heh... heh... but that’s not what mattered! Right now... I was baking with the one I love!

“Here...” I grabbed the measuring cup from his hands.

“You fill it with flour to this line. See where it says a cup?” I poured out a cup of flour.

“But it says ½ a cup...” He muttered.

Eh? I looked down at the book... he was right. I was humiliated! Absolutely ashamed! How could I mess up like that! Perhaps he hated me now? Perhaps...

I poured half a cup of flour back into the bag. My face flushed. Through my shame a sudden noise rang out. He... he was laughing! A smile had broken out onto his face as well! I had done it! He was happier now!

I handed the cup back to him; we measured and combined the rest of the ingredients together. After the batter was completed, I took the plastic bag and cut a hole in its corner. After filling the bag with batter, I began awkwardly piping it into cupcake liners. I did half and let him do the rest. Neither of ours were perfect... his a little worse... but still! They weren’t bad! They were still cute! I picked up the tray and pulled the oven door open, placing it inside. After setting a timer for 20 minutes I turned back toward him.

“Want milk or something while we wait?” I asked.

He nodded.

I poured both of us a glass of chocolate milk and sat with him at the table in our kitchen. The scent of baked goods cooking... the love of my life sitting across from me.... this moment was truly one of complete purity! This was just like a moment from a DVD exclusive OVA!

We held conversation for the entirety of our 20-minute wait, not a moment was spent silent. I learned much about him, his favorite drink was lemonade, he didn’t really like cake, he liked baggier clothing... ah! The list goes on! Finally, the timer went off. After leaving them to cool we ate them! They were very good! Our efforts had been worthwhile! Sitting and eating together... I had never been happier.