Sugar McKenzie and August Wakefield couldn't be more different - Sugar, a meticulous, caring, but lonely paramedic and August, a charming former reality star still chasing his dream. But they've both closed themselves off emotionally from others...t...
"A person is, among all else, a material thing, easily torn and not easily mended."
- Ian McEwan, Atonement
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Every Christmas Eve, Mama and I baked Snickerdoodles and mint chocolate chip cookies, ideally for Mr. Santa Claus. When I could no longer wear my bedazzled jeans, I had to wear that constraining chest holder called a brassiere, and I saw blurry orbs and couldn't see the white board, I learned the truth that Mr. Santa Claus was a real person and his spirit lived on through the tradition of my grandparents giving me gifts. I then redirected my purpose behind these magnificent cookies. I didn't bake these delights for a dead Saint Nicholas. No, I created these small edibles for Mama and Papa.
The mint chocolate chips soothed Papa's stomach. Whenever we baked his cookies, we did two batches or more. Then mysteriously, all twenty-four or more cookies disappeared from the ceramic owl cookie jar.
Mama and I chuckled. Certain days, Mama would've pinched Papa on the shoulder, shouting, "Go back to work! I can't keep up with your late-night snacks – my arm is going to fall off soon from stirring the dough!"
Mama enjoyed the cinnamon and spices spiraled on her tongue. She puckered her lips, and then sucked in her cheeks making a "oh" shape. Her dark brown eyes stared at me, the tension light-hearted and praise.
"This'll be the best batch!" Mama said. "Try a taste – don't worry, you won't get Salmonella."
Mama and I fought over the wooden spoon and Tupperware cream bowl. Each creation, we switched objects. First I would eat the cookie dough remnants from the bowl and Mama cleaned the spoon. Next Mama had the bowl and vise versa. This ritual continued, even when I stayed up reading the Therapeutics of Pain lecture slides, remembering patients' and co-workers' information, and finished midnight shifts.
However, this Christmas Eve, I sprawled out on the ground. I sat in the middle of an ingredient aisle contemplating over substitutions. I completed my third ten-hour shift in a row. My mind tried to recall what I had at home. My cabinets were bare, except rice crispy cereal, canned fancy cat food, and bread. No ingredients to create Snickerdoodles and mint chocolate chip cookies. Other fellow bakers cleared the shelves, I saw more dust on the holey shelves than product.
The small market store, that also was a gas station, called Stop N' Go was the only place open. The main grocery stores closed at eight or earlier since it was a holiday.
Brown and white sugar were gone. Powdered sugar disappeared too!
Two off-brand cinnamon spices sat in the $2.99 vanilla extract spot, instead of their ideal spots that were marked by the store's yellow stickers.
My eyes swelled. My sniffles caused the late workers to glance down the aisle and walk the other way.
There was nothing. I refused to substitute sugar with anything else. I was not doing that stevia crap. Oh my gosh - where was the flour?!
