I sleep downstairs in the family room. The darkness becomes me. Almost asleep, I saw a light shining at the top of the stairs. What was it? Christ tiptoeing thru the house? I have never personally met the man - not even when I was floridly psychotic.
There were no sounds from the kitchen at the top of the stairs. The light hurt my eyes. Then I remembered! Sarah was home! She had taken the bus in from Brooklyn to cook for the bridal shower of her future sister/law. She was up late making finger sandwiches, shrimp cocktail, and tiny h'ors d'oevres.
Ours is a small kitchen with a shocking lack of counter space. Sarah, I said, if need be we can always move TV tables in here.
I'm fine, Mom, was her cheery reply.
She brought home her professional layer cake pans. She let me lick the batter. Major role reversal. There is nothing better than Butter Cream. Fat carries flavor, said Sarah. Is that why whole milk tastes so delicious? Is that why I slather butter on my homemade bread making it taste more delicious? Is that why I make mayonnaise dressings for my fish dishes? Is that why I take Zocor?
Sarah could not be in the kitchen as there were no sounds. Had she gone out for a walk underneath the tremendous pulsating moon? A moon she rarely sees in her Brooklyn apartment. Shaking the sleep out of my eyes I went upstairs.
All was dark including her room.
Sarah? I called.
I'm just taking a rest, Mom, she called from the bedroom.
Why don't you go to sleep, Sweetie, it's midnight, and I'll wake you early next morning. You still have lots of time to make the rest of the goodies for the shower.
Okay, Mom, she said in her low sleepy voice.
I turned out the lights and went back to bed, falling asleep quickly in the darkness.
When I awoke for a brief moment in the middle of the night, I smelled the delicious aroma of her cooking and remembered the four-layer creme cake she had made.
Mom, she had said earlier, did you see the cake?
What? You took it out of the oven already?
Yeah. It's beautiful.
I looked around the kitchen. It wasn't there. My first thought was The dog ate it. Everyone knows how careful you must be when you have a dog. Even the best-trained dogs can turn on you & gobble you up. So that sounded like a distinct possibility. Except I don't have a dog.
Where's the cake? I asked.
It's on the floor, Mom.
I was immediately terrified that I'd unwittingly stepped in it.
But, no, there they were - the two cake pans - cooling on a rack on the floor under the windows. Sarah had made use of every surface in the kitchen.
In the middle of the night, when I smelled the delicious aroma of food, I thought about raiding the refrigerator and eating the cake. She had painstakingly written Nicole and Dan on the raspberry butter cream icing. Why wait for the bridal shower? I could pretend a burglar entered the house and ate the whole thing.
