The bread turned out perfect. It was an orange olive oil cake I baked in my new cast iron loaf pan. It was soft, the crust was chewy, and it was pure bliss.
I sliced a piece and wrapped it in parchment paper. In black sharpie I wrote, “BEKAH” in all caps.
I cut another. This one was for Jonny.
We work together sometimes on Monday and Fridays, sharing a space at a co-working spot. He’s one of my favorite people in this lonely city. As I sat down beside him, I threw my gift in his face. A little respite from Monday’s routine.
I met my co-worker Bekah for lunch and handed her the cake. We were celebrating our Birthdays. She’s younger than me, but wiser. I admire her talent, her storytelling, and her honesty. Every day at 3, I sneak down into the studio with a cup of coffee and listen to her do her radio show. In between breaks we update each other on what’s unraveling that day.
I want to be better friends with her.
I bake all the time on weekends. New recipes I want to explore. Favorites, like Aunt Sherri’s chocolate chip cookies. Or the ones tucked inside the recipe book my mom gave me when I moved out on my own all those years ago.
There is always too much leftover. I normally devour what remains at night, alone, half asleep in front of the TV. Shame and crumbs are all that are left the next morning.
Lately though, I’ve started wrapping up little pieces. A cookie. A slice. A name written in sharpie. Nothing extravagant. Just enough to let someone know I’ve thought of them.
I hand it off like it’s nothing. But I think it’s something. Belonging wrapped up in parchment paper. A way to share a piece of my life with someone else.
l love when I can be intentional. I want my friends to know how much they mean to me. But deep down, all these little baked goods are a way for me to say, “I hope I mean as much to you as you mean to me. I hope this cake will make me matter to you.”
I want someone to give me a slice of orange olive oil cake wrapped in parchment paper with my name carefully written on it.
To bake cookies and give me the best ones.
To think of me as the timer on the oven beeps.
I give the gifts I want to receive.
