Nana's Brownies

I remember the first time I had Nana’s brownies. It was the first day of school in second grade. It was a short day and I was called to the headmaster’s office. I punched James in the nose that day for calling me a bastard. And I hated that. He was always picking on me in first grade. I decided to teach him a lesson that year. I still remember the look on his face. The bloody nose and the tears in his eyes. He would never speak to me again. At least not in second grade. 

Mother was called to pick me up. I was sent home for the week. Mother was sad, very very sad. She knew I meant well but she did not like me fighting. I reminded her of father, she said on the car ride home. She dropped me off at Nana’s house, which was a few blocks away. She could not afford a babysitter with a short notice. Nana was always happy to have me.

Nana was a big person. She loved everyone. But that day she was not happy either. She scolded me for making trouble. She said mother’s heart was still broken and we have to make her happy. Fighting makes her very sad. I cried a lot. Later that day I smelled them. The warm chocolate smell. The sweet aroma of Nana’s kitchen. The low heat and heavy smell of butter. It was all amazing. She made me sit next to her at the kitchen table. My eyes were still red from crying. My nose was also running.

“Here, have a brownie for the sadness. Eat it all away” She said with a smile.

The oven timer beeped with a sharp sound. They were ready. This would be my fourth attempt. I have been trying to make the Nana’s brownies. The sweet lovely brownies I had almost three decades ago. The yellow light pierced through the oven glass window. A hot gust of air accompanied the chocolate covered tray from the oven. My hands tensed a little. I felt some tingling on my feet. I really want to perfect this recipe. Actually, I have to get it right. I have to do something good especially this year. The unending train wrecks have to stop.

Nana’s house always had this sweet smell of food. It’s one of those smells that’s different yet familiar. It was welcoming. The air was just oozing with goodness. I do not know how she did it. It was like she baked goodness everyday. I spent that week with Nana. We laughed, played and she had her friends teach me cards. The great part came at the end of the week. She promised to teach me the brownie recipe if I promised not fight again. That was the last time I was really happy. I really was. 

Memories are such tricky things. My mother met Doug Cooper and shortly after they were married. I’ll never forget the first day she brought him home. He had silky dark hair. He had a left eye twitch that just irritated me. It was one of those twitches that pulled his left cheek with his mouth. He was not a bad guy. He tried to make me laugh that day. But I just never liked him. After the wedding, they had Jenna, and then Duke and then Amanda. I just never fit in anymore. It was their family. I moved in with Nana at sixteen. I liked it there—I felt at home. 

I let it rest for a while before tasting. As my eyes peered through the glass tray. I could not help but wonder if the were dry. I must have over baked them, a thought passed. The color should not be that way. But I timed it perfectly. I pulled my phone and read the recipe again. The phone was glitching again, freezing on me. I’m not much of a baker. Maybe I missed things that a good baker would not. I scanned through the recipes and I see nothing different from my mine.

I stare at my creation for a while dreading the outcome of the taste. My hands reached for the silver knife laying beside the pan. I cut through the smooth surface. The spongy texture tore apart. A nice vanilla smell whiffed through. I hear a crunchy sound before the knife hits the glass surface. The brownies had a tough bottom. I chuckled softly. I lift the tray and the dark visible mark were clear. Burnt bottoms, dang it! I glared at the piece before shoving it in my mouth. Not too bad at all, just a little burnt. Nana would have smacked me for wasting it. I trashed it in the bin right next to the table. We’ll have to try again next Saturday.

The week was more ordinary than usual. I worked my regular hours at the store. It was strange not seeing many people around especially during the holidays. I guess it’s a good thing for us. Dave read the healthy guidelines again. This was his new daily routine. A lot of things have changed with the pandemic. Most people are afraid to work. At least the seniors are. Sometimes, he would say a prayer for the ones who are sick. It has been a very difficult time. Dave Thompson was the store manager. He’s been putting pictures at the workroom board. It’s already half-way filled with people I knew or had seen at the store. 

I picked up a sandwich at the deli. Walked past the double panel doors to the back. Lunch was always a personal solitude. And at the back there is some quietness. Some solitude to the mundane shoppers’ noise and the holiday music. The never-ending festive season. A few minutes later Sean came over. He sat right across me with a big sandwich wrapper. Sean was a big guy with a loud voice. He always wore overalls to work. He knew everyone and everyone knew him. He worked at the deli and could always get you something if you asked.

“Hey John” Sean said.

“Hey Sean” John replied.

Sean put his hand on the edge of the short wall. He then moved slightly to the sunny side. The back was like a long deck. It was where the trucks parked to deliver the store boxes. He took a deep breath and bit into his sandwich.

“It’s a great sunny day for December, huh?” Sean said with a mouthful.

The crumbles flew out. Some landed on his thick beard. He was not bothered much. His manners were slightly offsetting. Working in a store teaches you to tolerate a lot. 

I nodded slowly with my mouth closed.

“Still going home next week?” Sean continued.

“Yup. Haven’t been there in a while. Plus Doug, my mother’s husband, is very sick,” I replied. 

“Sorry to hear that, John. Ain’t nothing good about this dang year.” He added and took another bite.

We continued eating in silence for a while. I stood up and headed back to work. Later that day I picked up a few different brownie mixes to try. One of the perks of working at the store. 

The drive home always had this nostalgic feeling. It held tears and joy. It also held regret and thoughts of what would have been. It’s been a while since I’ve been home. The last time I did this drive was two years ago. It was Nana’s funeral. I came in that night and stayed at a Motel near Highway 100. I attended the funeral and left the second night without really talking to anyone. I remember Nana’s funeral but I do not remember much about mother.

Like I said, memories can be confusing. I believe all families go through some growth process. An impending obstacle. A rough patch. I always felt a little left out in mine. I was dropped at Nana’s during family trips. I was dropped at Nana’s for many holidays. I felt like maybe I reminded mother too much of my father.

About a month ago Amanda called me. Doug was sick. He suffered a heart attack and his heart was failing. Again, mother never called me. I was left out yet again. I cannot blame her much. I really did not want to fit in with them. 

I arrived at Nana’s house a little after sundown. They had all moved in because Nana gave the house to mother in her will. It was quiet. The house was now worn out on the outside. The inside was also different. It did not smell like in my memories. I felt a tightness in my chest, like a knot was being tied and someone was pulling it through my throat. I held my breath and released slowly. That’s how I do it at the store.

Amanda welcomed me inside. She was all grown now. She told me about how she had just started college. And how mother was at the hospital, watching over Doug. She comes home late in the evenings. Most of the others were coming tomorrow. She told me about what happened. How Doug fell in the yard. He could not breathe and was feeling tired lately. I sat there and quietly listened. She showed me to the downstairs room. Nana gave me that room; it was my old room. But everything felt different now. It just was not how I remembered it.

The next morning I woke up early. I could not really sleep that night. I made my way to kitchen. I took the box of the ingredients I packed. I was going to give it one more try. 

Nana’s kitchen was packed with old pans. It was packed with memories. I spent a good amount of time in that kitchen. I opened one cupboard after another. And finally, at last, there it was. A little brown book at the back. Hidden between the pans. It’s cover was full of dust. I pulled it out and slowly opened it. Page one was titled, “Fried chicken.” I was surprised and elated at the same time. Page two, “Peach cobbler.” I realized this was Nana’s recipe book. 

“Will I find the brownies in here?” I wondered. I scrolled through the pages slowly, and finally, there it was. In bold dark letters. At the bottom the scribbling was very tiny. It read “ Don’t forget 1 tsp of Tabasco sauce”. 

I read the book as I waited for the brownies. A few minutes later, I heard footsteps coming down the steps. It was mother. 

 She had cut her hair short. She looked older, with a few grays on her head. She walked slowly into the kitchen. She stopped at the stairs and looked straight at me.

The smell was overwhelming. I was drowned with happiness. It excited me that I found her old recipe book. 

“Hi John?” she said.

“Hi mum?” I replied.

“Brownies?” she asked.

I nodded.

“Did you put the Tabasco sauce?”

I smiled.