Out Of Sight, Out Of Mind - Treebros

Chapter 17: "Gray Sun Is Warmer Than Yellow"

Sunday, December 9th

  The rhythmic mixing of the matzah dough has my arms burning as the sticky mixture clings to the whisk. It sloshes around and around the inside of the bowl, the thumping of the wire loops against the glass creating a steady metronome.

Neither my aching muscles nor the task at hand are the main focus of my concentration, however. Right now a carefully wrapped box is sitting next to my desk. It's supposed to be delivered today, but I don't know if I have the nerve to go through with it.

I could just leave it with Jared's mom and ask her to give it to him, or leave it on his porch, or do it at school tomorrow. Anything but face him and apologize. My window of opportunity is closing, and I'm not sure if I should be worried. I choose instead to focus back on the repetitive melody of the bowl.

Eventually, though,  I thump the whisk against the lip of the bowl, shaking the extra dough off and carry it to the fridge. All around me, the smell of cinnamon settles gently in the warm kitchen, wrapping around me in a familiar cloak.

"Now is where it chills for an hour," Mom instructs, waving a newspaper over the rugelach she just took out of the oven to cool them down.

"That's it for now?" I ask. We make the same recipes every year, but I'm always nervous to get it wrong and mess up the whole thing.

"For now. Let's take a break, then we can make the latkes and kugel," she says, leaning against the counter. I wipe the sweat that's condensing on my brow and nod.

We always make way too much food for only two people. This is the only holiday we really celebrate, because it's the only one she can usually get off. That's probably due to the fact that it's always so close to Christmas. Even so, she can never get more than a few days off, but at least it's something.

Hesitantly, I take a step towards the stairs and the olive branch box, when my phone buzzes. I try not to feel too relieved at the distraction.

Connor: hey

Connor: answer damn it

Me: You're supposed to give me a chance to answer before telling me to hurry up.

Connor: i am?

Connor: weird

Connor: anyways, are you busy?

Connor: of course you're not busy but since you aren't

Me: I actually am busy.

At the same time I send my message, Connor sends one.

Connor: we should hang out

Connor: what.

Me: I can't hang out right now.

Connor: if you hate me you can tell me, i won't cry too hard, i promise

Me: I don't hate you.

Connor: you clearly do

Me: It's the eighth day of Hanukkah. I'm helping my mom cook.

Connor: happy hanukkah

Connor: but also fuck you

Connor: you're busy all day?

Me: By the time we're done cooking, it'll be sundown.