Mise en place

Every single Sunday, no matter what happened Inside, I always start and end the week here - with Poppy baking cookies.

“It’s right next to the baking soda, dolly.” My grandfather’s gruff voice carries over from the kitchen. I stand in the pantry, or what my grandfather calls a pantry but is actually just big, plastic containers with everything in it - mismatched pan lids, rusty kitchen equipment parts, and some extra special, hard-to-find ingredients carefully plastic-wrapped within an inch of its life - like kosher salt. 

I grumble, my exasperation coloring my voice, “Poppy, it is literally impossible to find it ‘cause you’re such a hoarder,” Frowning, I pick up browned packs of herbs that smell moldy and inedible. “Do you have to keep everything?” 

My grandfather pokes his head in the hallway, “I have a system, young lady.” He smacks his lips and says, “And you never know when something’s useful for Barter Day, so keep digging. I know I got some stashed somewhere,”

I sigh. It’s been a few minutes since I got sent out to get kosher salt, the final ingredient for Poppy’s famous chocolate chip cookies. My knees hurt from kneeling on the cold steel of his bunker, but it’s all worth it for the cookies - chocolatey, soft, and chewy - with a crisp outside and sweetness to last for days. My parents started dropping me off at his place when I was three to make them with him, upon his request. She’s already growing up in a different world than mine and I can’t keep up. Baking cookies is all I got. Ten years later, it’s still my favorite part of the week. 

There’s something wonderful about baking in his tiny, unruly kitchen -  the pendant above our heads aglow with warm light not unlike the sun. Poppy got it done especially for his kitchen for days he missed Outside. I only know it’s like the sun because Poppy’s house is drenched in imitation sunlight. We always had to keep our elbows tucked in close to our bodies as we worked because of all the knick-knacks overflowing the already cramped space. 

It’s comfort all wrapped up in Poppy’s woody, cinnamon-y scent. 

The best part of baking with Poppy is how it keeps my mind off of things I don’t want to think about. I love the ritual of it - how it starts and ends the same every single time. We prep, we measure, then, we bake. As simple as that. We’ve even used the same metallic bowls, the same wooden spatulas, and the same bright red mixer Poppy bartered for in exchange for his books. 

Dad gets us extra flour and sugar rations ‘cause he’s a Councilman and he’s friends with Owens, the residential baker. It’s the only time I feel lucky about Dad’s job. We also share an entire tray on our block which helps us keep baking even though technically, we weren’t allowed. Poppy says it’s cause no one says no to a free cookie. 

We have even used the same recipe forever - which I have learned to recite to Poppy while baking because I guide Poppy’s hands sometimes when measuring. Poppy’s eyes can’t see very well since the Event. This isn’t at all unusual even though he’s the picture of health at barely seventy. We learned this during school - how when the Sun exploded, its dust and particles got scattered and got into people’s eyes. Loads of people were in the same boat just like him and Mom - some were even blind, like my classmate Tommy’s uncle. Mom hates hers, and she’s disciplined about taking medication for it like most people, but Poppy doesn’t mind his eyes at all. I like that about him. He says he’s blessed to have some sun with him now that we’re all living Inside.

“I don’t think you even have baking soda, Pops,” I scrunch up my nose as I paw through the contents of his “pantry” and various dust and grit cover my fingertips making them brown. I swipe them on my overalls, making brown stripes like a tiger’s on my pant legs. Mom’s going to kill me when she sees them. 

“Poppy, I really don’t think it’s here, can’t we just skip it instead? We did it once and it turned out fine,” I let the last word stretch out as long as I could before my grandfather interrupted me.

“Young lady, you know you don’t mess with the recipe,”  Poppy’s voice takes the same tone when I take too long with my long division. He steps out of the kitchen and kneels beside me, his eyes twinkling. “Plus, these are special cookies, made especially for my favorite granddaughter,”

He starts to rifle through the pantry box while I sit on the heels of my feet, tired. The bunker gets stuffy in the afternoon. Basically everywhere gets stuffy in the afternoon -  a by-product of living underground. I roll my eyes, “I’m your only granddaughter so that doesn’t actually count,”

“Hmm, but I’m this entire block’s grandfather, with the way they line up my doorstep for these cookies, so we mustn’t disappoint them, dolly,” he said. “And where on earth is that salt? I swear I had them right here next to the damn - dang baking soda,”

I look at him apprehensively, “Poppy, you know I know damn, right? I mean, that’s not even a curse word at this point, even Kyle uses worse words than damn,”

“I’ve told your brother he ought to keep his language clean when you’re around, Dahlia, but I suppose I have to try harder after hearing that,” Poppy says with a grimace. 

“Well, don’t tell him it came from me, and don’t tell Mom either, 'cause she’ll bust both of us in one go,” I look down at the pantry box with annoyance, “Can’t we just … not use salt? If we don’t start baking it now, we’ll have to wait until after dinner to eat them and I hate waiting, Poppy,” 

“Why on earth are you in a rush?”  Poppy stops looking for the salt and instead directs his confused stare at me, “A city doesn’t get built in a day, and besides, we were always supposed to eat these after your Commencement tomorrow. It doesn’t matter if we get them done later than usual,”

My heart skips then starts again. Commencement. “I just want to sneak in a couple of cookies before Kyle wolfs them down like a starved hyena. Plus, Commencement isn’t that big of a deal, it’s just another Community tradition for a bunch of stupid thirteen-year-olds. It’s basically more work,” I grumbled, picking at the loose thread of my socks.

I feel rather than see Poppy’s warmth on my hand. I look up and he smiles encouragingly. “Well, it is kind of nerve-wracking, isn’t it? Not knowing what assignment you’ll get? Just think that no matter what happens, we’ll go home and eat the best chocolate chip cookies on our damn block,”

My grandfather’s calming presence does nothing right now. I just want … things to be normal. No surprises, no unseen challenges. “It just means I got patrol duty on top of school and farm, can’t we eat those cookies fresh from the oven like we do every week?” 

My grandfather stills, “I didn’t know you got patrol duty.”

I try not to cringe outwardly but just like Mom, my grandfather knows all my tells. It’s an open secret that patrol duty is the worst assignment ever and I’ve been trying not to think about it all day. Even Kyle went a little pale when Dad told me over dinner. Everyone knows that patrol duty is basically a punishment, but I haven’t got the slightest idea why I got picked. Patrol duty is reserved for families that are less than perfect. But we were perfect. We never step out of line. Dad does everything right with the Council, Mom heads the Infirmary, and Kyle - well, he’s an asshole but he’s smart - the best in his class. I’m just … me. 

I haven’t done anything wrong.

“Dad read my name on the List yesterday ‘cause Representative Tallows gave it to him early,” I sigh, trying not to hear my father’s disappointed voice and the start of his didn’t-I-tell-you-not-to-tell-Pops-you-got-patrol-duty lecture in my head. We all decided not to loop him in because of his tendency to panic, but it doesn’t matter now because he’s definitely panicking.

“Dahlia, I don’t quite understand. You’re not supposed to know, no one’s supposed to know before tomorrow, so how did - Never mind, I’ll talk to your father and get to the bottom of this. It’s probably a mistake - he’s probably misread ‘cause of - ‘cause of the stress,” he gets up and leaves me sitting on the floor.

“There’s only one Dahlia in this sector, Pops. Besides, he’s busy right now, remember?” I call out to his retreating back.”Bet he’s practicing his speech for tomorrow!”

“Not busy enough for his father-in-law, I expect!”

I hear his footsteps walk around the bunker as he looks for his dial-up radio. I doubt he’ll get Dad within range. Without him around, I take everything out of the box, even though Poppy hates that when I do it. I got it from Mom, she takes everything out of my closet every time I tell her I can’t find my student badge. We always find it in the closet in the end, so maybe I’ll find the salt that way too. The sooner I see the damn salt, the faster we bake. 

I start with one and empty it out, then put each item back in. Silver cutlery that has rusted tips, cans of alphabet soup past their best-before date, and a surprising amount of onion powder. Paper cupcake lining in different colors, breadcrumbs that look fairly new, and - 

My hands grasp around a peculiar black box. Its face is smooth and shiny - so much so I can see my curious face staring back at me. It feels lighter than a paperweight, but its weight somehow feels more … monumental. A discovery. I inspect it from left to right and over and under. It’s warm to touch. I feel a set of buttons at its side and press down. It lights up and its white light surprises me that I drop it. It makes a dull thud on the floor. I look at its bright face and squint. Numbers? I lean forward. Words. 

Swipe up to unlock.

Something wiggles at the back of my brain. I’ve heard of these things before - it’s a pre-Event artifact, which basically means it's on the contraband list. And anything on the contraband list, my mother’s voice reminds me, is illegal. But then, why - 

“Oh, shoot. It’s right here, Dahlia! It’s in the kitchen! I must’ve forgotten I took it out. Mise en place, huh? That’s one lesson you gotta learn from me, dolly,” his exasperated voice cannot tear my eyes away from this tiny, sleek thing. “You gotta set up - ”

He stops suddenly as he assesses his hallway - his pantry things are all over the floor, and the tiny, black box is right on display. 

He looks at me and I look at him - an impasse. He looks down at the -  the word clicks in place in my head. “Phone.” I finally say. My grandfather pales. “You have a … phone? But Poppy, this causes radiation, this started the Event - ”

“Hey, dumb-dumb! Mom wants you back for dinner! Let’s go!” Kyle’s annoyingly loud voice and his heavy-handed knocks break into Poppy’s bunker and break the delicate moment between us. 

My grandfather comes alive and moves quicker than I have ever seen him. In a few seconds, he had me up on my feet and was guiding me to his front door. He looks guilty, something he has never been. Joyous, gallant, even sneaky at times when he sneaks in a few cookies more than Mom would have liked - these are all emotions that frequently decorate his face. But now, my grandfather has never looked more guilty.

“Poppy, what’s going on? Are you - in trouble?” I whisper, facing him, my back to the door. Kyle knocks on it incessantly. My grandfather looks different to me.”Are you - ” 

“I’ll explain everything in the morning, doll.” He looks down at me and almost stiffens. In resolve or in fear? I couldn’t possibly tell at the moment. ”I’ll make things right with you, you never - it never - ” he sighs and runs his hand tiredly across this face. 

Kyle remains on the outside, waiting as I do for my grandfather’s explanation.

 “There are so many things I wish I could tell you,” he finally says.

“You can tell me right now. Tell me and Kyle right now, and we’ll fix it,” I could feel something bubble in my throat, a sickening mix of desperation and fear. “Kyle can fix anything - ”

“Hey! What’s the hold-up? Dahlia, you little shit, I can hear you talking about me from the doorway - ” 

I finally snap and turn away from my grandfather to open the door, “I’m here, asshole, and Poppy’s - ”

“Bringing the cookies by tomorrow morning. And please mind your language, you two,” I turn back and Poppy changes under the imitation sunlight. He gently pushes me forward, and I numbly go forward. 

Kyle looks at me and Poppy confusedly. “Oh. You guys didn’t bake them yet?”

Poppy smiles, “No, dear. I misplaced the damn salt. But I’ll bake them here and bring them over tomorrow, hmm?” He places a kiss on my forehead - and even on Kyle, who looks somewhat surprised and bashful. “Be good, you two. And hurry along. Curfew’s starting soon. Tell your mother hello from me, and that the problem with her casserole is that it needs more … butter,” my grandfather smiles at us before gesturing us to move. 

My brother nods and takes my hand, and I try to shrug it off but he grasps my hand firmly like a shackle on my wrist. I look at him, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. We both turn away and start walking. I hear my grandfather close the door. Even though everything in me begged me to stay with him, I knew I had to go home. No one’s allowed to stay out of their designated home after dark. 

For a while, we walk in silence. I keep picturing what would happen if people found out about ..  the thing. Would what happened to Teresa’s mom happen to us? To Poppy? I blink fast, trying not to alarm my brother. I catch him looking at me and see his frown. Before we turn to the corner that leads to our home, Kyle suddenly pushes me into a discreet, small alley - the one backstreet everyone knows the cameras can’t see. My eyes get bigger.

“Tell me everything that happened, from the start,” he finally says, his eyes meeting mine.