Silvia's Family Cookies

Silvia’s Aunt Carol had always been kind of a bitch. Not one to relish in profanities, Silvia simply couldn’t help herself in calling a spade a spade. Her mother’s only sister, the only relative living within 3,000 miles, she constantly reminded herself she should at least try. When her mother passed away from cancer last year, Aunt Carol was there. There to remind her to pay the florist. There to remind her to eat, shower, and iron her dress. There to remind her to fix her smudged lipstick that she probably shouldn’t be wearing anyway, as such a deep shade of red was surely more appropriate for a call girl. There to remind her that as her only sister, some of Silvia’s mothers jewelry was indeed indebted to Carol. But at least she was there. 

Most of the nagging and judging rolled off Silvia’s back like a duckling on a rainy day. Most of the time she simply tuned her out and focused her attention on the few features that reminded her of her mother: the way their noses dipped down as if straining to touch their upper lip when they laughed; the way the corners of their eyes seemed to somehow point upward and down at the same time; the way they said “hello” when answering the phone, as if singing a little song meant just for the caller on the other end. 

Christmas had always been Silvia’s favorite time of year. She and her mother spent hours decorating the house, baking cookies, and watching It’s A Wonderful Life, so many times that they could recite the film word for word, and often did. Every year they hosted their famous cookie party where everyone would bring a tray of their own homemade treats. But everyone knew they were all secretly there to feast on the magic created by Silvia and her mother. The amazing peppermint kitchen sink cookies. They’d make so many cookies, the house would smell like butter, sugar, and of course peppermint for days. It was exhausting, but in the best possible way. 

This Christmas wouldn’t be the same. Christmas would never be the same, but Silvia somehow found herself pulling out the boxes from the attic, and began decorating the house. At one point she found herself impulsively heading to the kitchen to begin to make her mother’s famous peppermint kitchen sink cookies. She opened the cupboard to the left of the fridge to find her mother’s recipe boxed, passed down from three generations, always kept in the same spot, nowhere to be found. A tinge of anxiety rushed though her body like a bolt of lightning. In all her life, this box had lived in this spot. There was even a pattern of discoloration blatantly staring at her from this vacant space, the exact shape of the missing box. Silvia thought back to the last time she opened the box. It was a few weeks before her mother passed away. She was helping her prepare to make dinner for Charlotte, a strong, independent woman that she’d only been seeing for a month, but who she really, really liked. She wanted to impress her, so of course she went to her mother for help. That was the last meal she cooked for Charlotte, their relationship did not survive the mourning of Silvia’s mother. Charlotte needed more, so did Silvia. She wondered if she should give her a call, maybe they were both in need of a little magic this holiday season.

Silvia shook her head to refocus her mind on the recipe box. Where could it be? She began to open cabinets, doors, even windows. She searched in every nook and cranny until she found herself sitting on the kitchen floor weeping over the loss of a box. Over the loss of so much more. 

Silvia stood up and composed herself, this was not getting her anywhere. She went to the sink, splashed some cold water on her face, and drank an entire pint of water in what felt like one gulp. She forced herself to take three deep breaths, picked up the phone, and called her Aunt Carol. 

“Hello?” The sing-song of Aunt Carol's voice still gave her pause, but she reminded herself, this voice did not belong to her mother.

“Hello, Aunt Carol. It’s Silvia.”

“Yes dear,” Carol replied with a tone that implied she was being interrupted from a highly important task. “What can I do for you?”

“Well,” Silvia hesitated a moment before blurting out her thoughts in a rapid jumble of words without taking so much as a breath. “I went to the cabinet today, the one where my mother always kept the recipe box, so I could make cookies, as we always did around this season, only to find the box is nowhere to be found. I’ve searched absolutely everywhere and cannot find it anywhere. Would you by any chance happen to know what happened to it?”

There was a long pause as Silvia caught her breath. She heard Aunt Carol sigh in her usual manner that implied the current subject bored her to no end. 

“Well,” she said slow and low, drawing out the suspense, “I happen to know exactly where it is. Seeing as it was passed down from my mother, and my sister only received it because she was born first, I decided to retrieve it when you were preoccupied with all the... arrangements. I didn’t want to bother you at the time, and was sure you would agree, seeing that I am the rightful owner.” 

Silvia sat there with her mouth ajar, tears streaming down her cheeks. She was utterly speechless. 

“Don’t worry, dear,” Aunt Carol cooed into the phone, “I’ll make sure to put in my will that the box will be yours.”

Silvia bit her lip and took a deep breath. “But Aunt Carol, I was hoping to make my mother’s peppermint kitchen sink cookies this year. The only copy of the recipe is in that box.” 

“Well my dear, I’d be happy to make them for you, but I can’t simply give away the recipe! Who knows who you might share it with. No, the recipes all stay in the box and are only to be prepared by the owner of said box. I’m sure you understand, dear. It’s a family tradition, and I know how much you respected your mothers insistence in keeping with family tradition.” There was a long pause, Silvia had no idea what to say. 

“Well then,” Aunt Carol broke the silence. “If that’s all, then I shall let you go. I have much to do and there’s only so many hours in the day! We’ll speak again when you're feeling... more like yourself. Goodbye.” 

Silvia sat there with the phone still pressed against her face. Frozen in pain. Frozen in fear. Frozen in a longing for the comfort of her mother’s warmth, the exact opposite of her Aunt Carol. 

Silvia felt so alone. She felt so frustrated. She felt like calling Charlotte. Not one to be known for her nerve she decided this would be a good time to just go for it. Use some of her mother’s much needed strength and reach out to the women she never got a chance to fall in love with. As luck would have it, Charlotte had been feeling the exact same way. She missed Silvia but wanted to give her the space to grieve and didn’t feel like they’d been seeing each other long enough to be the beacon of strength Silvia needed. But actually, Charlotte thought of Silvia, often. Charlotte confessed to finding herself picking up the phone to call her, only to make yet another lame excuse to herself, and promise to actually hit the green button next time. 

In that first phone call they talked for 3 hours. They talked about work, about the few meaningless dates they’d both been on in the past year, they talked about Christmas, and they talked about Silvia’s mom. About the meal Silvia cooked for Charlotte. The meal she still dreamt up, followed by the best cookies she’d ever had. Peppermint kitchen sink cookies. When Silvia confessed to no longer having access to said recipe, Charlotte insisted that together they could figure it out. And if they couldn’t, she still really wanted to try. 

The cookie exchange party always fell on the Sunday before Christmas, which was now just a week away. Silvia sent out invitations to everyone on her list, even her Aunt Carol. She went to the store and bought every ingredient she could remember, and around 30 more she wasn’t quite sure about. 

For the next week Charlotte spent each day in Silvia’s kitchen. Trying out different recipes, crossing off ingredients they were positive were not to be included, and keeping a detailed list of each they were sure to incorporate. This was the best week either of them had had all year. As they baked they told stories of how they came to be these incredible women. They had food fights that ended with them rolling around the floor, covered in flour, covered in kisses, covered in the love they’d both been missing. By Friday night they were pretty sure they’d gotten the recipe down, or at least one close enough to the one Silvia and her mom used to make. They tasted like home. 

They spent all day Saturday baking these cookies, falling deeper in like with each batch they pulled out of the oven. They must have made 100 cookies. 

Finally it was time for the party. With butterflies dancing in her stomach, and Charlotte’s hand gripped tightly in hers, Silvia welcomed guest after guest into her childhood home. She tried to ignore the tilled heads of sympathy and simply remember all the joy the previous week brought her. Charlotte never left her side, squeezed her hand tighter at all the right moments, and reminded her over and over just how beautiful she looked. 

Finally, an hour before the party was to end, and of course the last to arrive, Aunt Carol came strutting in looking like she spent the last three hours at the beauty parlor preparing for a coronation. At this moment she looked nothing like Silvia’s mother. With her she brought a tray, Silvia’s mothers favorite red and white snowflake cookie platter, overflowing with peppermint kitchen sink cookies. 

Silvia tried to plaster a smile on her face as she kissed her aunt hello and thanked her, through gritted teeth, for joining them and making the cookies. 

Silvia is watched as Aunt Carol made her way through the crowd, accepting condolences as if they were trophies she’d personally won. 

Charlotte laughed out loud at the spectacle that was this woman. And suddenly Silvia couldn’t help herself. The two began to cackle uncontrollably, leaning on each other for support, tears of joy streaming down their faces, until they finally had to excuse themselves and gain a little composure.

Silvia took Charlotte's face in her hands, kissed her deeply with a full heart, and said, “Thank you.”

They rejoined the crowd as the party was beginning to come to an end. As per tradition, Silvia had set out stacks of Christmas boxes for guests to fill with cookies to take home. Silvia and Charlotte stood by the front door, thanking each guest as they escaped with their treasure of treats, until the only guest left was Aunt Carol. 

“Well, I hope you’re happy,” Aunt Carol huffed as she gathered her faux fur coat and her purse, but no box of cookies. “You’re just like your mother, always have to be better than me. I don’t know where you got the recipe, but it’s the last one you’ll receive until I die.” 

Before Silvia or Charlotte had a chance to respond, Aunt Carol walked out the door and slammed it shut behind her. 

Perplexed, yet somewhat vindicated, Silvia and Charlotte made their way into the kitchen to see what cookies were left behind. The first thing they noticed was the red cookie platter, completely full of cookies. A few had missing chunks as if someone tasted one and quickly decided to return it to the pile. There were a few other plates of cookies that hadn’t been entirely consumed, but none came close to the mound of remains sitting on the red platter in the very center of the table. 

Silvia followed Charlotte’s finger as it pointed to the completely empty platters of the cookies she and Charlotte had spent the week perfecting. Not even a crumb was left behind. They looked at each other and smiled the smiles of childhood secrets; of pinky swears and first crushes. Smiles filled with happy memories and promises of making many more. Silvia watched as Charlotte reached under the counter and pulled out two boxes wrapped in red ribbon adorned with white snowflakes. 

“Merry Christmas, Silvia,” Charlotte said with a sly smile. 

“Christmas isn’t for five more days!” Silvia tried to complain as she beamed with joy. 

“Consider this an early gift, a thank you for the last week.”

Silvia carefully unwrapped the bow on the first box. It looked like an ordinary, yet lovely, Christmas tin. She opened it to find a batch of the cookies they’d made together. Their own peppermint kitchen sink creation. She picked up a cookie, closed her eyes, and somehow tasted the memory of her mother. She wrapped her arms around Charlotte, but was gently obstructed. 

“You still have one more box to open,” Charlotte reminded her. 

“How could you possibly top that?” Silvia squealed with delight. This time ripping the ribbon much faster, even more eager to receive her prize. 

She tore off the paper to find a brand new recipe box. Inscribed on the lid it read, Silvia’s Family Recipes. She opened the box to find one completed recipe card, written in Charlotte’s perfect graceful handwriting, “Silvia’s Peppermint Kitchen Sink Cookies”.