Welcome to Heaven | ✓

01: Strawberry Shortcake

"Oh no. Oh no. Oh no."

All it took was a whiff of something burning to cause my jaw to drop. I yanked my torso away from the distracting television and into the kitchen, turning so quickly I nearly lost my balance. A shocked gasp escaped my mouth upon verifying the smoke hanging in the air. The cake I'd placed in the oven had, in fact, taken a dangerous turn.

It was hectic—racing back and forth between the oven and sink, yanking out the pan with oven mitts, both tossing and fanning it onto the wire rack to save what was left. By the time the smoke dissolved out the windows and the burnt crisps of what I'd call a strawberry shortcake sat on a wide plate, I was a mess. My curly hair had slipped from its once high bun, my cheeks sagged from exhaustion. Even my newly bought apron I'd wasted my allowance on a week prior was soiled in flour and sugar alike.

"Why does this always happen to me?" I whined, prodding at the black flakes that fell off like powder. "I only looked away for five seconds. Just five!"

"Koto?"

My heart fell in my chest. I raced to remove my battered apron, then in some inhuman speed, I dashed to tilt a slice of the charcoaled cake into a clear glass container. By the time I'd clasped on its lid and stuffed it into my backpack alongside a petite fork, my younger brother entered the room.

"Did you burn something again?"

Rubbing at his eyelid, Sota's mouth was curved in a tiny frown. His head of dark brown curls fell neatly on his forehead. Not that the same could be said for the rest of his attire. Even in his little uniform, the toddler was definitely too tiny for the dishevelled clothes. His dress shirt was sticking out from his slacks and even his tiny green handkerchief hung messily around his neck.

"O-of course I didn't," I responded, moving so that I could shield all evidence of the burnt cake. "What are you talking about? I wasn't... baking."

Sota's chubby cheeks were unusually puffed as his tiny hand rose and pinched his nose. "I didn't say you were," he said. "But it stinks. And I see smoke. Mommy!"

I screeched, racing toward him and bringing my finger to my lip. "Don't tell her—"

"Sota?" Exactly to my fears, my mom's voice came booming from her bedroom. "Where'd you go, honey? I told you to wait for me to help put your uniform on."

Sota's taupe coloured eyes met mine to which I returned a warning stare. Regardless, he opened his mouth as wide as he could and shouted, "Mommy, Koto burnt something! It stinks!"

"Again?" she demanded.

"It's not that burnt this time!" I cried in defence.

My mom's footsteps resounded as she hastened into the kitchen. Donned in a black blazer and pencil skirt—her work clothes as an accountant—she tucked wisps of her bangs behind her ears, her gaze scrutinizing.

"Kotori, you know how I feel about your baking. You shouldn't be in this kitchen—"

"—unless you're in the room supervising me," I recited, whisking my winter coat off the table and shrugging it on. "I know, I know."

"If you know that, why do you always sneak in here every morning?"

She stormed up to the oven and counters, registering the strewn containers and used pots and bowls. Sota clung to the fabric of her skirt, peering out from behind her legs and compressing his nose further.

"You always make so much of a mess before attempting to burn the house down," she complained onward. "One of these days a burnt cake or two will be the least of our problems."