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As the day drags on, I find time to work on my list of baked goods for the market stall on Sunday. I add both Amy’s and Oliver’s favourite cookies, of course, knowing that Madi and Sammi love them too. Along with my signature blueberry-and-coconut mini muffins, the classic banana-and-walnut bread, and the double chocolate fudge brownies that are always a crowd pleaser. I start putting together an ingredient list when it hits me. How am I going to bake this amount of food in my kitchen, which is the size of a postage stamp?
In times like this in the past, I would have used my parents’ kitchen for a big-scale bake, but a few months ago, they moved about an hour’s flight away so that my dad could accept a position as professor of microbiology at some fancy university in Sydney. I am so proud of his achievement. After toiling away in academia for most of his life, it was a wonderful reward to be given such a prestigious position.
When I was growing up, I always felt a slight disconnect from my quiet, serious, academic parents. Although I always felt loved and cared for, I’m not sure I always felt accepted. I arrived in a blur of colour into their lives later than they had expected, perhaps an accident after many childless years, and they didn’t quite know how to handle a child with such big emotions and with smaller academic prowess. It is clear that they support me as best they can, though they never embraced my love of baking and both pushed me into getting a basic bachelor’s degree, as they think any university degree is better than none. In my quiet moments, I didn’t agree with this, but being a people pleaser, I struggled through the three-year course, and when I graduated and ended up in a dead-end position as a secretary, despite having said university degree under my belt, I couldn’t help but feel I was a disappointment to them.
Often when they call to ask me about my life, their questions come with a side of judgment. When are you going to get a better job? Is there anything we can do to help you get a better job? Maybe Amy can help you get a better job? Boy, do they love Amy. Amy, the bookworm who loves to study and aced all her exams. Whenever she came to visit us, they would light up as she spoke about her biology and physiology classes, in a way they never did when I discussed the science behind a perfectly made croissant. So, when they moved away, while I felt sad at their everyday absence in my life, I also felt a sense of relief that they had taken the weight of their unmet expectations along with them.
Lilly: Amy, can I use your kitchen this Saturday to make a mountain of mess, I mean, treats? :)
Amy: Sure, fine with me. But best to check with Oliver, make sure he doesn’t have any plans to use the kitchen (unlikely).
Lilly: Will do, thanks, A.
Amy: :)
I pull up my chat thread with Oliver and type, Oliver?
His reply is immediate: What do you need?
I smile because he knows me too well.
Lilly: Why do you think I need something? Maybe I just want to say hi?
Oliver: I’m waiting…
Lilly: OK, well, I may need a tiny favour…
Oliver: …
Lilly: Is it OK if I borrow your kitchen on Saturday? To bake for the Sunday market. You know, the one you signed me up for? So you kind of need to say yes…
Oliver: Of course you can use the kitchen. It’s not like Ames or I use it very much.
This is true. The Harlow siblings are more inclined to use the kitchen to store their takeout leftovers than to create any culinary masterpieces. A shame, really.
Oliver: Will I need to organise an industrial cleaner to come on Saturday night? :)
Lilly: Ha ha, I’m not that bad.
Oliver: …
Lilly: Well, maybe just have the fire department on speed dial, just in case.
I text this back to him, referencing a small explosion that happened when I tried to roast marshmallows in the toaster. The fire and police departments responded to what they had thought was a bomb going off. It was mortifying to have to explain it was just a small kitchen mishap. I was only twelve at the time, for goodness’ sake, but it is not something one ever lives down.
Oliver: Come over any time. Either Amy or I will be there to let you in.
Lilly: Thanks, Ol. See you then.
Oliver: xx
Two kisses? I’m tempted to send back a bunch of kisses of my own, but as an image of Emma pops into my head, I force myself to put my phone away. Kisses from Oliver to me are done with friendly affection, but my return kisses would have a whole different meaning.
*****
The rest of the week goes by both at a slow pace (office hours) and at speed (any time I am preparing for Sunday). I meet Amy and Sammi for lunch on Thursday (we FaceTime Madi into the catch up as she sits in the airport lounge, waiting to board a plan for some fancy conference somewhere), during which we discuss the upcoming Market Place stall, with the three of us playing with menu ideas and what we think would be the best crowd pleasers. I show them what I have mapped out, and they all agree that these are in fact their favourite Love, Lilly treats and therefore must be on the menu.
With this settled, Amy starts ranting about Dr McHottie and how he has found a new way to irritate her this week.
