Advent Day 1
Advent: Day 1
Prompt: Gingerbread
The floor was cold beneath her feet; only a few scant inches of tile directly in front of the oven held any heat. The window of the oven was a bright orange glow in the darkness of the kitchen so late at night. Inside, the square cake tin, filled near to the brim with rich brown batter, bubbling along the edges as it was slowly transformed into something special. She touched a hand to the swell of her belly, smiling at the fitting metaphor. The creak of the stairs signalled the descent of a once sleeping body. With effort, she rose from her crouch, rubbing at her back where it strained.
"Eloise?"
"Yeah?"
"What on earth are you doing up at this time of night?"
Eloise shrugged. "I couldn't sleep."
Her companion inhaled deeply before letting out a contented sigh. "Is that...?"
"Nan's recipe, yeah," Eloise confirmed.
A hand slid across Eloise's pregnant belly. "You're getting so big. Any day now."
Eloise laughed softly. "If only."
They stood quietly together in the dark, the warmth of the oven and the familiar scent of cinnamon, clove, ginger and molasses wrapped around them like a blanket.
"Can I ask you a question?" Eloise said abruptly.
"Of course."
"When are you going to tell mom and dad about the divorce?"
A strained silence stretched between them. "How did you know? I haven't even filed the papers."
"Just a feeling." A pause. "I'm sorry. You and Maureen seemed really happy together."
"Appearances can be deceiving."
"I know." Eloise sank into a careful squat as she looked inside the oven. The cake was still molten in the middle, but the outside edges were set; a delicious crispy gingerbread crust. "Almost done. Maybe five more minutes."
"Had you intended to share at all?"
"Only if you ask nicely.
A playful punch to the arm. A careful rub to increase drama.
"It feels weird to have Christmas without Nan."
"I know."
"I miss her."
"It's hard not to."
Eloise wished she could go out and plug the tree in. It felt strange standing there in the dark, like some clandestine meeting, and the quiet glow of the tree would at least make it feel less unusual. She glanced inside the oven once more. "Pass me a testing stick," she said, holding out her hand, confident her request would be fulfilled. The blast of heat and steam that rolled out as the oven door was lowered made her realise just how cold she was. The scalloped edge of her pink plaid pyjamas brushed against her knees, causing a wave of goosebumps to skitter up her legs and down her arms. "Ready."
The cake smelled divine. Just like when Nan would make it. She wanted to eat it now, hot and steaming straight out of the pan. "Get the milk." Eloise pulled a pan from over the counter and set the burner under it. She poured a generous slop of milk into the pan, opening the cupboard overhead and adding a few substantial scoops of cocoa powder. As the cake cooled on the counter, the milk began to shimmer across the top, bubbling gently around the edges. Eloise stirred slowly as the cocoa powder began to dissolve, turning the white into a satiny brown. A few more minutes and everything was ready.
Cups filled with steaming hot chocolate and plates filled with steaming gingerbread, they moved from the table, sinking into chairs without commentary. It wasn't so different from when they were kids growing up. Waking up in the middle of the night and having meaningful conversation over milk and cookies, or coffee when they were older.
"Brendan?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you think mom and dad are mad?"
"About what?"
"The baby."
"Why would they be mad?"
Eloise shrugged, stirring a teaspoon of sugar into her hot chocolate.
"They love you. And it'll be their first grandchild."
"But I don't know who the father is."
"Minor detail."
"Is it really? Minor?"
"Does it matter to you? You've had nine months to find out. I think you're just feeling anxious about things right now. Don't worry. You've got me and mom and dad..."
Another silence, longer this time, only broken by quiet sips and the clink of forks against porcelain. "I'm gonna go back to bed."
"I'll clean up."
"Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas."
Upstairs, tucked in beneath the heavy weight of a hand stitched quilt, stomach full of gingerbread and memories, an easy calm leads the way into dreamless sleep.
Prompt: Gingerbread
The floor was cold beneath her feet; only a few scant inches of tile directly in front of the oven held any heat. The window of the oven was a bright orange glow in the darkness of the kitchen so late at night. Inside, the square cake tin, filled near to the brim with rich brown batter, bubbling along the edges as it was slowly transformed into something special. She touched a hand to the swell of her belly, smiling at the fitting metaphor. The creak of the stairs signalled the descent of a once sleeping body. With effort, she rose from her crouch, rubbing at her back where it strained.
"Eloise?"
"Yeah?"
"What on earth are you doing up at this time of night?"
Eloise shrugged. "I couldn't sleep."
Her companion inhaled deeply before letting out a contented sigh. "Is that...?"
"Nan's recipe, yeah," Eloise confirmed.
A hand slid across Eloise's pregnant belly. "You're getting so big. Any day now."
Eloise laughed softly. "If only."
They stood quietly together in the dark, the warmth of the oven and the familiar scent of cinnamon, clove, ginger and molasses wrapped around them like a blanket.
"Can I ask you a question?" Eloise said abruptly.
"Of course."
"When are you going to tell mom and dad about the divorce?"
A strained silence stretched between them. "How did you know? I haven't even filed the papers."
"Just a feeling." A pause. "I'm sorry. You and Maureen seemed really happy together."
"Appearances can be deceiving."
"I know." Eloise sank into a careful squat as she looked inside the oven. The cake was still molten in the middle, but the outside edges were set; a delicious crispy gingerbread crust. "Almost done. Maybe five more minutes."
"Had you intended to share at all?"
"Only if you ask nicely.
A playful punch to the arm. A careful rub to increase drama.
"It feels weird to have Christmas without Nan."
"I know."
"I miss her."
"It's hard not to."
Eloise wished she could go out and plug the tree in. It felt strange standing there in the dark, like some clandestine meeting, and the quiet glow of the tree would at least make it feel less unusual. She glanced inside the oven once more. "Pass me a testing stick," she said, holding out her hand, confident her request would be fulfilled. The blast of heat and steam that rolled out as the oven door was lowered made her realise just how cold she was. The scalloped edge of her pink plaid pyjamas brushed against her knees, causing a wave of goosebumps to skitter up her legs and down her arms. "Ready."
The cake smelled divine. Just like when Nan would make it. She wanted to eat it now, hot and steaming straight out of the pan. "Get the milk." Eloise pulled a pan from over the counter and set the burner under it. She poured a generous slop of milk into the pan, opening the cupboard overhead and adding a few substantial scoops of cocoa powder. As the cake cooled on the counter, the milk began to shimmer across the top, bubbling gently around the edges. Eloise stirred slowly as the cocoa powder began to dissolve, turning the white into a satiny brown. A few more minutes and everything was ready.
Cups filled with steaming hot chocolate and plates filled with steaming gingerbread, they moved from the table, sinking into chairs without commentary. It wasn't so different from when they were kids growing up. Waking up in the middle of the night and having meaningful conversation over milk and cookies, or coffee when they were older.
"Brendan?"
"Yeah?"
"Do you think mom and dad are mad?"
"About what?"
"The baby."
"Why would they be mad?"
Eloise shrugged, stirring a teaspoon of sugar into her hot chocolate.
"They love you. And it'll be their first grandchild."
"But I don't know who the father is."
"Minor detail."
"Is it really? Minor?"
"Does it matter to you? You've had nine months to find out. I think you're just feeling anxious about things right now. Don't worry. You've got me and mom and dad..."
Another silence, longer this time, only broken by quiet sips and the clink of forks against porcelain. "I'm gonna go back to bed."
"I'll clean up."
"Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas."
Upstairs, tucked in beneath the heavy weight of a hand stitched quilt, stomach full of gingerbread and memories, an easy calm leads the way into dreamless sleep.