Baker At Heart - Uplifting Short Story

Baking Supplies with Heart cutouts

I wrote This uplifting short story as an undergrad for a memoir assignment.

The scent of vanilla and sugar filled the house as her husband announced his arrival with a slam of the kitchen door. She didn’t jump up from the couch at the sudden intrusion into her peaceful state. She stayed there, with her feet curled under her, sipping her coffee. When he came around the corner, he had a big, wide smile on his face.

“Baked cookies? That’s awesome!” he exclaimed. “The house smells great even out in the garage.”

She smiled back at him and nodded. “Yeah, but you might not be happy about it tomorrow morning.” She chuckled and put her coffee down in the same spot she always did. There was a permanent ring on the table because the baby had destroyed all the coasters, and she always put her coffee there when she found the time to sit and relax.

Her husband seemed confused. “Why would I be mad? I love cookies! I like it when you bake.” He flashed his charming grin at her.

He had a boyish grin. It was probably the same one he always had growing up. She imagined his mother or teachers having to deal with that impish charm the whole time he was causing trouble. But she enjoyed it. He managed to take away the worries and the thoughts that had preoccupied her with just a flash of that grin. He knew how to bring everything back down to earth for her. And she knew he liked it when she baked and cooked anything, really. She gave him a big hug, a custom for when he arrived home, and the baby was sleeping. It was one of the few intimate moments they could sneak into their monstrously busy lives.

Life was much simpler before the baby came. It was not so simple when she was still working, but they found things easier after she left her career. The stress, challenges, and uphill battles every day had taken their toll on her. He had seen it. She wasn’t happy with her work anymore, and some at work treated her horribly. One day before she left for her hour-and-a-half commute, he had given her an ultimatum.

“Fix it, babe…for both of us. Fix it, or I’ll fix it for you, and you don’t want that. No one wants that.” That’s what he had said to her, standing in the same kitchen where she had baked those cookies today. And she had fixed it in some manner. Through tears and nervous shaking, she had uttered the words sexual harassment. From there, the military machine does what it does best and chugs along within the parameters of regulation. On the surface, her complaint was taken very seriously, and accommodations were made to help her feel comfortable at work, though she never really felt like she belonged in the job after that day. The investigation didn’t yield the satisfaction she longed for, and she realized the job was no longer the place for her. She was a civilian, so she wasn’t tied to the uniform. She left it behind. She left 14 years of her professional life behind on that military base and traded it for an apron covered in flour and the beeping timer of her oven clock. She couldn’t be happier; they couldn’t be happier.

She recalled that kitchen was where he had seen her first genuine smile in over a year, too. Again, arriving home from work with the same loud slam of the kitchen door, he had just stared at her while she held the mixing bowl cradled in one arm, stirring frantically with her other hand. She was the picturesque form of a woman literally up to her eyeballs in flour. She had it everywhere. He had looked at her with his head canted to one side, bag still in hand, and asked, “What are you doing, babe?”

“Baking.” She answered with a wide smile, her green eyes shining brightly through the smudges of dough on her face and the clumps caught in the stray strands of her hair. He had laughed. He laughed loudly and then gave her a quick pat on her butt and a kiss on her head.

“You look so happy. You should bake more often.” He grinned as she smirked right back.

“You just want more red velvet cake.” But she knew he was right. She had found her happy place, and it was still with him. They were going to adopt, and she would bake cookies, cakes, breads, and whatever else she wanted. There was finally a light at the end of the dark tunnel where she had been stuck for too long.

The kitchen had undoubtedly become the center of their life, much like it does with any family that grows. Their son was now one year old, and she still baked, just not as much as she had before he came. That was ok. She knew the time would come back to her. Today, she wanted to bake cookies. They were nothing fancy, and she used the same recipe on the back of the chocolate chip bag she and her mother had used growing up. But she used the last two eggs they had in the house. So, she answered his question about why she thought he’d be mad.

“There are no more eggs for breakfast in the morning. You’ll have to go to Dunks.” His response could not have been more perfect with that boyish grin still on his lips. He always knew how to make her smile and not worry about the little things.

“I guess you should have made some pancakes instead of cookies, huh?”