"So if we're going to bake the Good Housekeeping cake, we'd better do it soon,"
Tilly said as she and Alexis folded laundry at the kitchen table.
"I thought you decided it was Betsy's thing," she replied. Alexis didn't want to piss off her sister anymore than she already had.
"It's fine," her mother assured her. "Betsy has enough on her plate. She'll be thrilled to have a year off."
Alexis focused on the pair of socks in her hand. "Don't let me ruin any of your traditions. I know I haven't been around much, or at all."
"Oh Alexis, you're being ridiculous. It's good to do things you're not good at. Keeps you humble." Tilly grabbed the laundry basket with the folded items and huffed her way out of the room.
Alexis fumed inwardly. Lack of ability had nothing to do with it, not that her mother would believe that. Alexis stared at her mother's outdated kitchen, the same butter yellow kitchen that Alexis remembered from childhood, and had a sudden urge to see her own kitchen in London. Well, it wasn't hers anymore because she'd sold the flat, but still. She didn't think it was possible to miss a kitchen, but she missed hers. She pictured it in her mind, the whiteness of it. The appliances were state-of-the-art, a real chef's kitchen. Initially, she hadn't been sure her skills warranted such a kitchen, but Mark had insisted. He liked to cook as well and had convinced her that they wanted the best, if only for resale value.
Alexis remembered the wholesome smell of fresh banana muffins as they baked in her sleek, stainless steel oven. She pictured her burgeoning belly, how she'd looked forward to the day when she'd have a child who banged on pots and begged to lick the wooden spoon.
"Baking again, huh?" Mark had asked, appearing in his pajamas. "Must be the nesting instinct."
He'd sidled up behind her and wrapped his arms around her newly expanding belly. She had gotten to the point where her regular clothes no longer fit comfortably.
"I find baking more calming than cooking. There's too much multi-tasking when you're cooking."
"I shall have to remember to thank my wonderful mum for taking you under her culinary wing. To think when I met you, you couldn't boil an egg." He'd kissed her neck and delved into the refrigerator for juice.
"I would love to pretend you're exaggerating. And if you say that in front of anyone, I will pretend."
"Come on, love. You wore your lack of domesticity like a badge of honor. I hardly think you'd be embarrassed."