maybe one for Mark to take to work. If he wants to.
Julia is restless, checking the clock to see if the hour is up yet. She has a burst of energy and finishes organizing
and
wiping down the refrigerator with bleach in record time. When was the last time she’d done that? A year ago, maybe, and it had taken her forever. She did a shelf a day, then the door, then the freezer over another three days. A week. It took her a week. And now she’s done in just under an hour.
Julia thinks back ten days ago, when she first met Hannah at Madeline’s. She had no idea what Hannah was crying about that day, but Julia was grateful. For once she didn’t feel like the only person in the room with a tragedy.
When the phone rings, Julia practically leaps at it. “Hello?”
“Hi, Julia. It’s Hannah. I’m so sorry to have bothered you. You were right—the bread came out perfect! I’m waiting for it to cool and then I’m going to have a slice.” Hannah sounds pleased, and Julia feels oddly proud.
“That’s great to hear. I’m glad it turned out okay.”
“Me, too. I’ve got two left thumbs in the kitchen so I was sure I’d done something wrong. Thank you for sharing it with me.”
“Anytime.” Julia doesn’t want to hang up the phone but she can’t think of anything else to say.
“There’s just one more thing …”
“Yes?”
“It was fun, but I really don’t bake or cook. What am I supposed to do with these bags of starter?”
Julia laughs, remembering what it felt like to be in Hannah’s exact predicament ten days ago. “My daughter would be thrilled to take the extra bags to school,” she tells Hannah. “I think there’s a waiting list of kids who want to try the bread at home.”
Hannah gasps. “I’m so glad! I was afraid it would go to waste.”
“I know what you mean.” Julia’s been thinking about this and has come up with a theory. Her theory is that doing a little something every day to the starter somehow endears you to it. You become too attached to just throw it down the drain, to let it go to waste.
“I really appreciate you sharing this with me and helping me out. Can I treat you to lunch?”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that, Hannah,” Julia says. She immediately wishes she could take it back. It sounds like she doesn’t want to go out, which couldn’t be farther from the truth. She quickly adds, “I mean, I’m happy to pay for myself.” She sees her reflection on the oven door. She’ll need to fix her hair, put on a little makeup.
“How about you pick up next time?” Hannah proposes, and Julia feels happy at the suggestion that there is the possibility of more to come. “And is it okay if we go back to Madeline’s?”
Julia can’t think of any place better. “I’d love to go back to Madeline’s.”
“Is noon okay?”
“Noon.” Julia says the word slowly, remembering what it feels like to set a date, to make a commitment. “Noon would be perfect.”
Hannah rests her forearms on the counter and inhales deeply, taking in the sweet scent of the bread. The cinnamon crust is dotted with small sugar crystals, tiny edible diamonds. The bread is warm to the touch so Hannah gently taps it out of the pan and puts it on the wire rack to cool. She still can’t believe that she baked something by herself. And from scratch! Ever since she started playing professionallyat the age of sixteen, her meals have primarily been on the run—takeout, something quick and microwavable, dinner at other people’s houses. The habit sort of stuck, even after she stopped playing for a living. Plus Philippe preferred eating out—he liked the attention that came with favoring a few restaurants that made it their business to know him by name.
Since living in Avalon Hannah has tried her hand at cooking, mostly because she hates eating alone in public, but she doesn’t really know what to do in the kitchen. She doesn’t have a well-stocked pantry and everything seems to take so
Julia is restless, checking the clock to see if the hour is up yet. She has a burst of energy and finishes organizing
and
wiping down the refrigerator with bleach in record time. When was the last time she’d done that? A year ago, maybe, and it had taken her forever. She did a shelf a day, then the door, then the freezer over another three days. A week. It took her a week. And now she’s done in just under an hour.
Julia thinks back ten days ago, when she first met Hannah at Madeline’s. She had no idea what Hannah was crying about that day, but Julia was grateful. For once she didn’t feel like the only person in the room with a tragedy.
When the phone rings, Julia practically leaps at it. “Hello?”
“Hi, Julia. It’s Hannah. I’m so sorry to have bothered you. You were right—the bread came out perfect! I’m waiting for it to cool and then I’m going to have a slice.” Hannah sounds pleased, and Julia feels oddly proud.
“That’s great to hear. I’m glad it turned out okay.”
“Me, too. I’ve got two left thumbs in the kitchen so I was sure I’d done something wrong. Thank you for sharing it with me.”
“Anytime.” Julia doesn’t want to hang up the phone but she can’t think of anything else to say.
“There’s just one more thing …”
“Yes?”
“It was fun, but I really don’t bake or cook. What am I supposed to do with these bags of starter?”
Julia laughs, remembering what it felt like to be in Hannah’s exact predicament ten days ago. “My daughter would be thrilled to take the extra bags to school,” she tells Hannah. “I think there’s a waiting list of kids who want to try the bread at home.”
Hannah gasps. “I’m so glad! I was afraid it would go to waste.”
“I know what you mean.” Julia’s been thinking about this and has come up with a theory. Her theory is that doing a little something every day to the starter somehow endears you to it. You become too attached to just throw it down the drain, to let it go to waste.
“I really appreciate you sharing this with me and helping me out. Can I treat you to lunch?”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that, Hannah,” Julia says. She immediately wishes she could take it back. It sounds like she doesn’t want to go out, which couldn’t be farther from the truth. She quickly adds, “I mean, I’m happy to pay for myself.” She sees her reflection on the oven door. She’ll need to fix her hair, put on a little makeup.
“How about you pick up next time?” Hannah proposes, and Julia feels happy at the suggestion that there is the possibility of more to come. “And is it okay if we go back to Madeline’s?”
Julia can’t think of any place better. “I’d love to go back to Madeline’s.”
“Is noon okay?”
“Noon.” Julia says the word slowly, remembering what it feels like to set a date, to make a commitment. “Noon would be perfect.”
Hannah rests her forearms on the counter and inhales deeply, taking in the sweet scent of the bread. The cinnamon crust is dotted with small sugar crystals, tiny edible diamonds. The bread is warm to the touch so Hannah gently taps it out of the pan and puts it on the wire rack to cool. She still can’t believe that she baked something by herself. And from scratch! Ever since she started playing professionallyat the age of sixteen, her meals have primarily been on the run—takeout, something quick and microwavable, dinner at other people’s houses. The habit sort of stuck, even after she stopped playing for a living. Plus Philippe preferred eating out—he liked the attention that came with favoring a few restaurants that made it their business to know him by name.
Since living in Avalon Hannah has tried her hand at cooking, mostly because she hates eating alone in public, but she doesn’t really know what to do in the kitchen. She doesn’t have a well-stocked pantry and everything seems to take so
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