Cookie Exchange Cover-up

My family's annual cookie exchange was my favorite event of the entire year. I planned and practiced throughout the summer months to perfect a new and different recipe to debut at the party. I had more baking cookbooks than I did regular books and more baking sheets than actual plates. My family made fun of me every year for the fact I spent so much time on baking, but never failed to eat my cookies when they were offered. In the back of my mind, I wanted to be a baker, but my family is a finance family and nothing else is acceptable. My oldest brother, John, is a banker and Blake works on Wall Street. I have been pressured into taking finance classes at university, but I have saved my money to take baking classes at night. Baking classes were the only reason I moved to the city for college. 

My parents don’t know and will never know I plan to take baking to the next level. Though my finance classes are a true bore, I quickly realized finance would help with the business side of running my own bakery. I knew that if my parents ever found out, my father would immediately stop paying for my education and I’m not sure I could pay for it and finance my baking on the side.  One of my father’s biggest complaints (even though he would say it was a compliment) is that I spend more time with my face covered in flour than in books. He always said he wanted to see dollar signs in my eyes instead of cookies and cupcakes. My father just didn’t know I planned to turn these cookies into dollar signs 

And really, the cookie exchange was started by his grandmother so his side of the family is responsible for my obsession. Though I know he will never admit it. Especially when I was telling him my plans of opening my own bakery. My bakery plans started after my first baking class when I met Matt Johnson. He was the assistant baker/teacher in the class and was already baking in the top restaurant in town - Belini’s. I couldn’t even afford to go to happy hour at Belini’s. I couldn’t imagine how much a dessert would cost.  But I was determined to get to know him and to learn all his secrets. At least that’s what I told myself. Tat I only wanted to know his secrets about baking. I couldn’t help I had daydreams about his blue eyes and dark hair.   

The first few classes I was too shy to say anything to him. I would just smile and try to look like I knew what I was doing. Even though I did know what I was doing, I seemed to forget every time he came over.  I stumbled over my words and dropped utensils left and right. Finally, on the night of the fourth class, I was determined not to be such an idiot with Matt. I considered drinking a glass of wine beforehand, but my face had a tendency to flush when I had too much. And sometimes, one glass was too much. It was a sometimes awkward thin line that I was always nervous to walk. When I got to class, I realized the topic for baking that night was cookies. Cookies! My specialty. I finally was back in my comfort zone.  I was confident in the fact I could tweak the cookie recipe and the end result would be fantastic. 

At some point during the class, I forgot where I was (and that Matt was there) and lost myself in the cookies. I added a few extras ingredients and by the time the cookies were ready for the oven, I was happy and completely covered in flour. I never knew how I could spill so much flour on myself, but it happened every single time. I set the timer on the oven and turned to see Matt standing by my mixing bowls, smiling. 

“I’ve never seen you work like that,” he said as he started taking the bowls toward the sink and industrial dishwasher. “That was the most confident I’ve seen you in the kitchen.” 

I flushed as I told him about our family cookie exchange and how I looked forward to it every year. I stopped short of telling him my hopes of starting my own bakery and how I knew my father would not approve. Somehow, it didn’t seem appropriate for the first time we talked. Maybe later. I didn’t want to dump my future onto someone I barely knew. At the same time, I did want to tell him all about it. I wanted him to know exactly what I had planned for my future and that I did have a plan for my future. I wanted him to be as excited for my baker’s dream as I was. I would have to play my cards right and keep my cool so he would want to come back and talk again. 

Matt and I became friends over the next few weeks. My confidence was growing in other parts of the kitchen and was feeling comfortable in baking items other than solely cookies.  I was soon making pies, cakes, cheesecakes, desserts that come in skillets, dessert pizza, puff pastries, fruit cakes. My options and ideas were expanding each week. I got to the point I was dreaming about new desserts and started keeping a pad of paper next to my bed so I could write down my dreams if I managed to remember them when I woke up.  More often than not, I did remember and often tried the new recipes as soon as I got home from class. Sometimes I even baked in between classes. I knew I needed to be paying more attention to my studies, but I was becoming obsessed. 

As Thanksgiving approached, I called my parents to talk about the annual cookie exchange. The first sign of a problem was the fact there was a hesitation before they answered. There shouldn’t be any sign of hesitation unless something serious was going on. Turns out, my parents were on the verge of bankruptcy and had been too embarrassed to tell anyone. My father’s years of stressing financial success and responsibility were now coming back to bite him.  Years of wanting to get away from the money and financials of what my father was stressing through my entire of life was now really starting to catch up with me as well. At the end of the school year, I would then be responsible for financing my education. 

Luckily, I had some money saved from summer jobs, but it was not really enough to pay for the education my parents had promised me.  I had to make a plan. And fast. But first we had to get through the annual Christmas cookie exchange. My parents were determined to get though one last holiday party before they could quietly slink away from their life. They wanted their friends to think they were still stable and would forever be stable. A small, quiet cottage on the edge of town was now, suddenly, their retirement plan.  No one was to know they could no longer afford their mortgage. 

Back to the cookie exchange. Apparently, it would be held at my small, two-bedroom house. My parents had already started packing up their house to be out just after the first of the year. I never really decorated for Christmas because I usually spent all my money on baking supplies, but now that the party was up to me, I had to somehow come up with my own Christmas decorations and festive cheer. Which probably meant I could no longer take the baking classes. Which meant I would no longer be seeing Matt on a regular basis. I just needed to figure how I was going to get to where I needed to go without the financial backing I had been expecting. 

As the days dragged by and Matt seemed to be on my side, I quickly started to think maybe I could pull myself out of this hole that had become my life.  There were a few things I knew I wanted.  I wanted to bake. I wanted to bake for the rest of my life. Maybe Matt was the way I could get there. Maybe Matt and his experience could help me be the baker I wanted to be. Maybe Matt could come to the cookie exchange and I could pick his brain about how to get where I wanted to be.  Maybe he was going to be the key of helping me be my best. The key question was did I seduce him or just use him to get what I wanted?