1995

Chapter 3

Pink icing rimmed the silver bowl, crusting much more quickly than any store bought variety. I licked it off my fingertips to remind myself of why I was doing it this way. Mmm, sugar and butter. Kaleigh would love it.

Of course, Kaleigh loved everything.

With Grandma May’s hand written recipe card propped on the counter between the fabric-covered potato chip can that held my cooking utensils and empty box of confetti cake mix, I mused over my newfound domestic skills.  Who could’ve imagined that cooking was so easy? All you had to do was read the instructions!

Having discovered my natural talent for boiling water during a week-long escapade with the enigma of Jello, I was now a self-proclaimed master of all things noodle.  Spaghetti, tuna casserole, macaroni and cheese - all notches on my apron strings. Today’s secondary project would prove to be my greatest noodle feat yet: tricolor pasta salad.

                Smokey was sitting on the edge of the counter, politely refraining from sticking an inquisitive paw in the icing bowl. I met her eyes and reminded her, “I’m watching you.”

A glance at the wall clock told me I had  less than an hour until the guests would start to arrive, including my little birthday girl herself. Daddy would be picking her up from a sleepover night with my parents on his way home from work. The paper hands moved a little too slowly behind a bubble of Plexiglas, but I gauged the seven-minute discrepancy automatically. Such a beautiful clock was worth a little daily brain-exercise. Shaped like a Victorian house in shades of pink and blue, edged with white plastic gingerbread and having a round clock face where the traditional bay window would be, this yard sale find was the synthetic replica of my dream home. Who cared if it “worked” or not?

                Someday I would live in a house like that.

                A series of low beeps cued the end of the bake time for Kaleigh’s first birthday cake, which would be shaped like a southern bell dress and stuffed with a naked Barbie Doll smothered with pink frosting. By the time I bought the doll, the uniquely shaped pan, two packages of hard candy roses, and the rest of the ingredients, the thing had cost almost as much as our wedding cake.

                I flipped the dial to “off” and whirled around with gator shaped oven mitts to pull the hot pan out, swinging my hips in time to Ace of Base’s “The Sign” as it blared from my little transistor radio.

Every dish was done, save for those I was still using. The cat litter was freshly changed.  I had even borrowed a vacuum cleaner from Deanna, who lived across the road. (Unfortunately that meant I’d had to invite her.) My mother was bringing a vegetable tray. Elliot’s parents had promised a contribution that was yet to be determined. Grandma May was bringing a ham. My living room was overflowing with balloons and streamers in the signature color of baby girls everywhere. The rolling boil of the noodle water was the musical score to my day of triumph.  

My first inkling that something was wrong was the wet, saggy spot in the middle of the cake.

Frowning curiously, I poked it with a toothpick, per the box instructions. My suspicions were correct; it wasn’t done.  As I shoved it back into the oven, the microwave timer went off. Time to drain the pasta. Meanwhile, I’d give the cake a few more minutes.

“I know what I’m doing,” I told Smokey. She looked away feigning an unaccusatory air, gave her shoulder a lick, and sprawled herself across the end of the counter.

I took the pot off the stove and quickly realized that I had forgotten to place the colander in the sink. One of my most commonly used items, it should’ve been hanging from a hook on the pegboard o’cookware that I had cleverly thrown together to increase storage space.  

It wasn’t there. What the….

Oh. Right. Elliot had borrowed it to wash the grease off of the pieces of the engine he was rebuilding.

No matter, I assured myself, placing the pot on the edge of the sink and scuffling through a low cabinet for the blue plastic colander I’d picked up at the dollar store. Where was it? I started unloading contents of the cupboard onto the floor in front of the stove. Peanut oil for the popcorn maker,  white vinegar that I’d only ever used to dye eggs, and other odd things too tall to fit in the upper cabinets. Buried behind aluminum pans and casserole dishes of various sizes, the elusive colander was stuck to the plywood base. Because it was barely within my reach, I had to brace myself against the frame and focus all my energy into my fingertips to extract the colander.

Cr-rack.

The cupboard door fell off.

“No!” I shrieked in a voice I hadn't used since junior high.

Glad that no one but Smokey had heard me, I took a deep breath and tried in vain to wiggle the door back onto its rusty hinges. It dropped with a soft thud on the carpeted floor. I didn’t have time for this. Elliot could fix it when he got home.

Probably.

With a jerk, I pulled the colander out and rinsed it off to use. Forcing my mind back on track, I lifted the heavy noodle pot up and slowly let the water seep out, glancing at my reflection in the steamed-up mirror that hung above the sink. At once I spotted three inconsistencies in my perfect world. My hair was in dire need of a washing. There was a spider spiraling its way into the sink on a silver thread at alarming speed. And there was smoke behind me.

“S**t!”

I dropped the pot and turned around to find that Smokey had kicked over my little potato-chip-can utensil holder with her furry fat paws. It had rolled onto the stove and was presently melting all over the coils of the burner I’d left on. Eyes wide and hands to my mouth, I felt my mind racing. The fabric I had lovingly hot-glued on, was now singed and black, glowing at the edges. I wanted to cry, but logically it didn’t seem like the thing to do. Instead, I turned off the burner and pushed the chip can away with a fork.  

Panic ebbed out of my heart and dread flowed in as I felt that my sock was wet.

In my hurry to extinguish the developing inferno on the stovetop, I had tipped over the liter of peanut oil. Most of it was already married to the carpeting, and the rest was greasing my toes. I didn’t really have time to think about that, though.

The cake timer was going off again. I opened the oven door and was greeted by a batter of the exact same consistency as when I’d put it in. It took a moment to realize that I had not turned the oven back on.

“No,” I told it, “No, no, no. You are not doing this to me.”

I turned the oven back on and took a deep breath. The Victorian house clock said I had another twenty minutes, which of course meant I had twenty-seven minutes. All I had to do was get the pasta salad together and….

The noodle draining scene flooded back into my mind, and my eyes shot to the sink. Tri-color spirals were scattered everywhere. Well, everywhere except in the blue plastic colander that I’d placed in the sink to collect them. Most of them were in the drain.

With the spider.

The front door opened.

“Hey, Beautiful! I’m early. Your mom’s just going to bring Kaleigh with her,” I could hear Elliot’s voice moving toward me, “It kinda smells like smoke in here - Holy crap! What happened? ”

Now it seemed like a good time to cry.

His shoulders seemed sturdier than the walls of the trailer at that moment. I fell into them and sobbed, trying to explain everything as he petted my dirty, messy hair.

We ended up buying a cake that year.

Reviews

[Cari Lynn Vaughn]

That is why I have never attempted to make a cake for anyone's birthday :p Cooking and I do not go together. The end results are usually like the one in your story! Anyway, it was very vivid. You put me right there and painted a very detailed picture. I felt like I was watching a movie or something. Excellent job yet again. Keep up the good work!

[Natalie]

Not sure about this chapter right now, but this is a work in progress. Bear with me :)