LJ Idol Topic 2
Title: Not Enough
Author: Yuniebaby
Genre: Fiction
Word Count: 1254
A/N: Concrit is always greatly appreciated. ^_^
Three batches isn’t too many, right? Not enough, more likely, I thought as I smoothed out the mixture of Rice Krispies, butter and marshmallows. It was easiest to use my fingers for such a task, but I used a spoon, looking forward to an excuse to eat the Rice Krispie treats, the marshmallow still warm and gooey, right off the spoon.
The moment the spoon, licked so clean it didn’t look like it had even been used, hit the warm, soapy water in the sink, my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and grimaced. MOM it read. I thought for a brief moment about just letting it go to voicemail, but the last time I did that, she called the paramedics, convinced I’d had a heart attack or a stroke and was near death on my kitchen floor. In truth, there’s no other way I’d rather go, but that was not the day. Nor was this.
“Hey Ma,” I sighed into the phone, propping it between my shoulder and ear so I could finish washing the butter off my hands.
“Are you making pie?” was her way of greeting. There were times my mom’s voice was a gift. I would think all day about hearing it and then finally I would and it was like stepping back into my childhood where everything in the world made sense and every scrape could be fixed with a kiss. There were other times when I would think all day about hearing my mom’s voice and then I finally would and it was like being in my first year of college again where nothing made sense and she was always complaining that I didn’t call or visit enough. And then there were days like this. Days when I prayed all day that she wouldn’t call even though I knew she would. Days when I prayed I wouldn’t have to face her, even if it was only over the phone.
“Pie?” I eyed the four perfect pies cooling on my counter. I’d have made more, but I ran out of pie pans. “No, Ma.”
It wasn’t technically a lie as I’d finished the pies nearly an hour ago.
“Cobbler, then. You’ve moved on to cobbler.”
“Um . . .” Just in front of the pies were five dishes of cobbler. I liked my cobbler in glass casserole dishes. Preferably round ones. And I only had five of those. The last cobbler, I’m a little sad to confess, was just the cobbler crust and some brown sugar; I ran out of fruit. “I’m not making cobbler. I’m not baking anything.”
Also not technically a lie as Rice Krispie treats are made on the stove, not in the oven. I was cooking.
“You didn’t read the paper today, then.” A statement, not a question, followed by a sigh of relief. My mother knows everything. I think this is mostly true of most mothers. They always seem to know everything about anything you don’t want them to know anything about. My mom just knows everything about everything. It’s a gift.
“Of course I read the paper. I read the paper every day.” I sat down at my counter, picked up a spoon and sampled the first pie. Blueberry, still a little warm. Needed ice cream.
“All of the paper?” She was fishing. Being cautious. She didn’t know if I knew. Didn’t want to bring it up if I didn’t know. Didn’t really want to bring it up if I did know, but wanted to let me know that she knew and we could talk about it. She is my mother. Your mother could call and ask if you were baking, too, if your first response to the wedding announcement for your ex-fiancé and best friend, also ex, was to bake an exorbitant amount of pies and cobblers. I used to bake more, but she took away most of my pie pans, cake pans and casserole dishes.
“Yes, Ma.” I dug into the next pie. Cherry. Not too sweet. Also would be better with ice cream.
“So you know about-”
“I know,” I whispered into the phone, cutting her off before she could say his name. Ben and I had been perfect together. Everyone said so. We were going to get married. He made me happier than anyone else ever had. Until two weeks before the wedding he left me a note on his side of the bed. Short and sweet. I’m leaving you. Well, maybe not sweet. But short. Too short. And there was so much on that little note that he left unsaid. That he didn’t need to say because I could hear it loud and clear. The note said that he didn’t love me anymore. That what we had wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. I tried to call April, my best friend, over and over again. Only got her voicemail. I saw the engagement announcement a month later and it all made sense.
That’s when my mom took away most of my baking dishes. Her church was very excited about the donation of pies and cobblers to their bake sale. That’s something to be happy about, right?
“Oh, my God.” I could practically hear her hair turning grey. Her hair was still more pepper than salt, but every time I saw her, she would point to a section and say, “See this, Suzy? This is from our last talk.” Most the time we laughed it off, but I was fairly certain she’d be serious this next time.
“What?” I feigned innocence. It’s all I could do.
“You’re making Rice Krispie treats, aren’t you?” My progression of dessert making usually stopped at cobbler. Pies and cobblers tended to take a little while. By the time cobbler was done, I was usually over whatever had gotten me baking in the first place. Rice Krispie treats were quick. You didn’t have to think too much. Whenever Rice Krispies and marshmallows were on sale, I stocked up. Just in case. One whole shelf of my pantry was dedicated to marshmallows and Rice Krispies.
“Oh, Ma. You only left me two cake pans.” The third batch of Rice Krispie treats was cooling in a Bundt pan.
“How many pies? Cobblers?” I could see her mentally calculating how many pie pans and casserole dishes she’d left me. “Four? Five?”
There are a number of things I’m good at. I’m good and singing in the shower. I’m good at bowling on the Wii. I’m really good at baking. I am not a good liar. I’m horrible, in fact. So bad that I don’t even try anymore.
“Right on both accounts.”
“You’re done then, right? No more pans. No more baking. Right?”
“Yeah, Ma. I’m gonna sit here with Sushi. We’ll drink hot chocolate together.” Ma had wanted me to get rid of Sushi after Ben left. He’d bought her for me. She was my cat, though. We’d been through a lot, the two of us. Cranberry stains on the carpet. Vet visits. Torn up rolls of toilet paper and paper towels. I couldn’t just abandon her. I needed her.
“I think the church is having a bake sale this Sunday. I’ll be by tomorrow to pick up the goods. Unless you need me to come over now.” It was the closest she’d get to letting me know she was sorry for what happened. It was enough.
Three batches, however, is not enough, I thought as I eyed the cupcake pans in the cupboard.
Author: Yuniebaby
Genre: Fiction
Word Count: 1254
A/N: Concrit is always greatly appreciated. ^_^
Three batches isn’t too many, right? Not enough, more likely, I thought as I smoothed out the mixture of Rice Krispies, butter and marshmallows. It was easiest to use my fingers for such a task, but I used a spoon, looking forward to an excuse to eat the Rice Krispie treats, the marshmallow still warm and gooey, right off the spoon.
The moment the spoon, licked so clean it didn’t look like it had even been used, hit the warm, soapy water in the sink, my phone rang. I looked at the caller ID and grimaced. MOM it read. I thought for a brief moment about just letting it go to voicemail, but the last time I did that, she called the paramedics, convinced I’d had a heart attack or a stroke and was near death on my kitchen floor. In truth, there’s no other way I’d rather go, but that was not the day. Nor was this.
“Hey Ma,” I sighed into the phone, propping it between my shoulder and ear so I could finish washing the butter off my hands.
“Are you making pie?” was her way of greeting. There were times my mom’s voice was a gift. I would think all day about hearing it and then finally I would and it was like stepping back into my childhood where everything in the world made sense and every scrape could be fixed with a kiss. There were other times when I would think all day about hearing my mom’s voice and then I finally would and it was like being in my first year of college again where nothing made sense and she was always complaining that I didn’t call or visit enough. And then there were days like this. Days when I prayed all day that she wouldn’t call even though I knew she would. Days when I prayed I wouldn’t have to face her, even if it was only over the phone.
“Pie?” I eyed the four perfect pies cooling on my counter. I’d have made more, but I ran out of pie pans. “No, Ma.”
It wasn’t technically a lie as I’d finished the pies nearly an hour ago.
“Cobbler, then. You’ve moved on to cobbler.”
“Um . . .” Just in front of the pies were five dishes of cobbler. I liked my cobbler in glass casserole dishes. Preferably round ones. And I only had five of those. The last cobbler, I’m a little sad to confess, was just the cobbler crust and some brown sugar; I ran out of fruit. “I’m not making cobbler. I’m not baking anything.”
Also not technically a lie as Rice Krispie treats are made on the stove, not in the oven. I was cooking.
“You didn’t read the paper today, then.” A statement, not a question, followed by a sigh of relief. My mother knows everything. I think this is mostly true of most mothers. They always seem to know everything about anything you don’t want them to know anything about. My mom just knows everything about everything. It’s a gift.
“Of course I read the paper. I read the paper every day.” I sat down at my counter, picked up a spoon and sampled the first pie. Blueberry, still a little warm. Needed ice cream.
“All of the paper?” She was fishing. Being cautious. She didn’t know if I knew. Didn’t want to bring it up if I didn’t know. Didn’t really want to bring it up if I did know, but wanted to let me know that she knew and we could talk about it. She is my mother. Your mother could call and ask if you were baking, too, if your first response to the wedding announcement for your ex-fiancé and best friend, also ex, was to bake an exorbitant amount of pies and cobblers. I used to bake more, but she took away most of my pie pans, cake pans and casserole dishes.
“Yes, Ma.” I dug into the next pie. Cherry. Not too sweet. Also would be better with ice cream.
“So you know about-”
“I know,” I whispered into the phone, cutting her off before she could say his name. Ben and I had been perfect together. Everyone said so. We were going to get married. He made me happier than anyone else ever had. Until two weeks before the wedding he left me a note on his side of the bed. Short and sweet. I’m leaving you. Well, maybe not sweet. But short. Too short. And there was so much on that little note that he left unsaid. That he didn’t need to say because I could hear it loud and clear. The note said that he didn’t love me anymore. That what we had wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough. I tried to call April, my best friend, over and over again. Only got her voicemail. I saw the engagement announcement a month later and it all made sense.
That’s when my mom took away most of my baking dishes. Her church was very excited about the donation of pies and cobblers to their bake sale. That’s something to be happy about, right?
“Oh, my God.” I could practically hear her hair turning grey. Her hair was still more pepper than salt, but every time I saw her, she would point to a section and say, “See this, Suzy? This is from our last talk.” Most the time we laughed it off, but I was fairly certain she’d be serious this next time.
“What?” I feigned innocence. It’s all I could do.
“You’re making Rice Krispie treats, aren’t you?” My progression of dessert making usually stopped at cobbler. Pies and cobblers tended to take a little while. By the time cobbler was done, I was usually over whatever had gotten me baking in the first place. Rice Krispie treats were quick. You didn’t have to think too much. Whenever Rice Krispies and marshmallows were on sale, I stocked up. Just in case. One whole shelf of my pantry was dedicated to marshmallows and Rice Krispies.
“Oh, Ma. You only left me two cake pans.” The third batch of Rice Krispie treats was cooling in a Bundt pan.
“How many pies? Cobblers?” I could see her mentally calculating how many pie pans and casserole dishes she’d left me. “Four? Five?”
There are a number of things I’m good at. I’m good and singing in the shower. I’m good at bowling on the Wii. I’m really good at baking. I am not a good liar. I’m horrible, in fact. So bad that I don’t even try anymore.
“Right on both accounts.”
“You’re done then, right? No more pans. No more baking. Right?”
“Yeah, Ma. I’m gonna sit here with Sushi. We’ll drink hot chocolate together.” Ma had wanted me to get rid of Sushi after Ben left. He’d bought her for me. She was my cat, though. We’d been through a lot, the two of us. Cranberry stains on the carpet. Vet visits. Torn up rolls of toilet paper and paper towels. I couldn’t just abandon her. I needed her.
“I think the church is having a bake sale this Sunday. I’ll be by tomorrow to pick up the goods. Unless you need me to come over now.” It was the closest she’d get to letting me know she was sorry for what happened. It was enough.
Three batches, however, is not enough, I thought as I eyed the cupcake pans in the cupboard.