You were thirteen, and you loved baking. Whether it was a blueberry cobbler or a scone, you had attempted to bake all the possible desserts you could concoct with the limited ingredients we had in our pantry.
You always got scolded for making a mess, but it was secretly Aaron who had both ruined your dessert and the kitchen.
That time when you tried to bake a farewell cake was especially disastrous. Flour specs littered the old counters and all your supplies. No spot was left undecorated by the pale powder, and your dough was buried six feet under a pile of the substance.
I remember your frustration when you witnessed a whole day's work tumbling to the ground. You muttered incoherently, as too profusely. I thought you were cursing and I believe I was indeed, correct.
You called for me, shrieking. I trudged towards you, grumbling about not wanting to get off the couch. I was unaware of the reason behind your behavior, but when I saw the mess in the kitchen, my eyes widened to the size of saucers.
I urged you to make haste in cleaning, before Aunt Rosetta would come thundering down the stairs threatening us with bloody death. You whined about the situation being unfair, for you weren't the cause of the wasteful flour deposit. I remember retorting some hurtful remark. Something about bringing this problem to yourself.
You scowled, arms crossed over your chest. You replied angrily, syllables falling off your tongue in an extremely menacing manner. I held my head as I sighed, and ordered you to calm down.
You did, but after I had reluctantly agreed to exert some effort into the cleaning process. I had agreed to do so since I felt slight guilt. You intended to bake that cake for me, your indolent brother.
After the cleanup you kept mumbling about the lost efforts, the cake that was never baked into reality.
I did tell you to drop it, countless times actually. I thought it would stop you from crying over spilt milk. But I haven't thought how dismissive I sounded. How disinterested I was in your act of kindness. It must've appeared to you that I held no compassion. But you were right, I'd be lying if I said I did.
And for that Sienna, I am terribly sorry.
