Unhealthy Coping Mechanism

Chapter 5

Harriet sent Carol a quick text as soon as she got home. So all I have to do is tell it what's bugging me, right?

While she waited for a response, she laid out the supplies she'd bought. Nothing fancy, just enough for some good old chocolate chip cookies like the ones her dad always used to make when she stayed home sick from school. No matter how this turned out, at least she'd get a heaping helping of comfort food.

Sam stood on his tiptoes and peered over the counter. "Can I help?"

Whether this worked or not, she didn't particularly want him staring at her while she muttered into the dough. "Not yet, sweetie. You'll have to wait until they're done baking."

"But I need to make sure the dough is okay." He pouted and crossed his arms.

Harriet put a hand to her chin. "Tell you what," she said. "These chocolate chips do seem a little suspect. Why don't you go try a few to make sure they taste right?"

She shook a handful of chocolate chips into a small bowl. "Make sure you eat them one at a time," she said. "If even one tastes off, then the whole bag is no good. Think you can handle that, Chief Taste Tester?"

"You can count on me." He saluted her before marching off to taste test the ingredients in the living room.

Harriet's phone vibrated with a text from Carol. Yup, that's all. A few seconds later, she added But it helps if you don't just say it. Let it all out!

Harriet texted her a quick thank you. "How's the chocolate, Chief Taste Tester?"

"'S good," came the muffled reply.

"You sure? You sound pretty quiet. The louder you are, the better it is." Better for drowning out her ranting and making sure he kept himself busy, anyway.

"I'm sure." He ate the next chocolate chips with exaggerated moans, followed by an even louder burp. "Excuse me."

With Sam occupied, Harriet readied the first egg. "I'm sick of Frank coming home late all the time," she said. The shell smacked against the bowl. "He needs to put his foot down, or else I'll have to do it for him." Crack! There went the second egg, leaving white fragments floating in the yolk as she scowled into the bowl.

"And I'm tired of cleaning up everyone else's messes," she muttered. Yet, even as the shell pricked her finger, her shoulders loosened up ever so slightly.

The butter crashed into the eggs with a thud, followed by an avalanche of sugar. "Mom can take her marital advice and shove it." A fork stabbed the ingredients over and over again as she mixed them together. "And fuck whoever invented cigarettes. I told Dad to quit, but no, he had to keep smoking like a chimney. Fat load of good stopping's done for him now."

By the time she'd finished unleashing her frustration onto the dough, her arm ached and her fingers had stiffened from gripping the fork so hard. Despite her soreness, a smile eased across her face as the warmth of the oven and the scent of cookies wafted through the kitchen.

Sam appeared in the kitchen as if he'd been summoned by magic. A dark brown smudge on his lips was all that remained of his bowl of chocolate chips. "Are they ready yet?"

"Nope, they have to bake a little longer."

Sam crouched in front of the oven and stared at the cookie sheet. The blobs had just started to flatten out into something resembling a cookie. "How about now?"

"Not yet."

"But I want to taste test them noooow!" His stomps echoed through the kitchen. "You said a bad word to them," he said with a grimace, "so now they don't want to be ready."

Normally, this would be a one-way ticket to Headache Land for Harriet, coupled with a twitchy eye and maybe a glass of wine. Tonight though, she weathered his impatience like a reed swaying in the breeze. A very loud, mildly annoying breeze, but still a breeze. "It won't be long. Why don't you go grab yourself a napkin? And don't you dare repeat that word I said." She wagged a finger at him. "You know Christmas is just a couple months away, so Santa's takin' a whole lotta notes."

He mimed zipping his lips shut and throwing away a key, mixing his metaphors as thoroughly as she'd mixed the dough. "Don't worry," he whispered. "I won't tell him you said it."

Sam took a seat and swayed his feet back and forth against the chair's legs. The partially deflated birthday balloons tied onto the back rubbed against each other with static squeaks as Sam leaned against them, giggling as the plastic clung to his tight brown curls.

The finished cookies greeted the kitchen with a whoosh of warm air. Harriet took a deep breath of the chocolaty aroma as her stomach growled. They were far from the decadent and immaculately circular delights Carol graced gatherings with, but even these lumpy, lopsided treats brought her close to drooling.

"Now?" Sam twisted his head to watch her over his shoulder, sending the balloons fluttering against his scalp.

"They need to cool a couple seconds." Her lips tugged into an amused smile as he counted on his fingers. "Not literally, honey. Just long enough not to burn your mouth."

At last, the cookies cooled enough to be removed from the sheet. Harriet served herself and Sam two apiece, saving the rest for after dinner.

Sam lunged for his plate before it even touched the table. He devoured the cookies so ravenously it would make a wolverine blush.

"I take it they're good?" Harriet nodded to herself as gooey chocolate melted on her tongue.

"The best!" Sam sprayed crumbs across the table as he gushed about the cookies, pausing only to lick his fingers. "They're even better than Grandpa's."

Harriet swallowed a lump in her throat, although her eyes stayed unusually dry at the mention of her father. "Thank you very much, honey. That's high praise coming from such a cookie connoisseur."

"A what?"

"Someone who's an expert at telling when something's good, like your dad is with sushi."

"In that case," Sam said as he pointed his thumb at his chest, "then I'm your chief taste tester AND cookie cone sewer."

Harriet chuckled. "It's pronounced connoisseur. And yeah, that sounds like a plan."

Her mind felt as unburdened as her plate, not completely empty but certainly less cluttered than it had been before. As Harriet washed off their chocolate-stained dishes, she contemplated which recipe she'd tackle next.