Baking was the one time I always saw you happy. I never heard you complain when we asked for your coffee cake or lemon loaf. It was the one thing that wasn’t a chore. The one thing that was fun for you and us.
I love to bake, albeit not as much as you, but I love to bake.
That’s probably the one thing I got from you that I’m happy I did.
I wish we could bake more and talk less. I wish all my memories of you you were nothing but cracking eggs and mixing batter. Your coffee cake is the one item I would always say “yes” to if you wanted to send me back to my apartment with. The walnuts and choco chip and cinnamon and sugar. Never too sweet. But not tasteless.
We could pretend we were happier.
No, we wouldn’t be solving our problems. Only pretending we don’t have them.
But maybe the point of life isn’t to solve every problem. Sometimes pretending life never sucked or accepting that it did before and it doesn’t have to more is okay.
Yes, I wish we could bake more.
