As a child, Sundays were my favorite day of the week. My dad would hold my small hands in his and we would often to to church together. On our way back, we would take the village route that allowed us to see and greet everyone on the island. I was always so excited about holding small conversations with everyone and having them give me a cookie, a candy, or even a dollar bill.
At home, my daddy would don his apron and I would don my tiny one too, and we would bake to the ends of the earth. My daddy was such an explorer with food. His explorations mostly went well, but on days when it went south, we were happy to devour the mess. We would laugh heartily and eat just as heartily while talking about how bad the food was.
Later, as I got older, I stopped taking the village route. I didn’t like talking to so many people anymore. I didn’t want their cookies or their money. I stopped going to church too. I was content to spend my Sunday mornings in bed with Loretta Lynn playing from the record player in my dad’s room.
But even when I lost interest in everything, I didn’t lose interest in the Sunday baking. Even when I left home for college, it was still my favorite thing to do whenever I’d come home. Now, with so much on my mind this morning, and with no other way to spend my Sunday morning, I decide to go back to my favorite thing to do. If eating a slice of cake could make my whole day, imagine what baking a giant cake, and eating almost all of it after could do for me.
Because I’m up earlier than most, I am already prepping my ingredients when the maids start coming down. At first, they’re alarmed to see me actually working in the kitchen, but they soon ease into it. By 7:30, my batter is already in the oven with Sara cleaning the mess I made. On impulse, I decide to do the cooking for this morning.
With bacon sizzling in a pan, and Sarah peeling the back off some rope bananas, I crack eggs into a bowl. Sarah makes a joke about never having had a boss who knew her way about the kitchen and I laugh. It is this picture that Brandon sees when he walks into the kitchen. My hands deftly whisking eggs, my cheeks stained with flour, my hair tousled about my head, and a huge smile on my face. When my eyes drift to him, there is an unrecognizable expression on his face.
“Good morning!” I chirp in high spirits.
The expression is immediately gone from his face and he grunts in response. He walks towards the coffeemaker, and Sarah makes to help him but I signal to her to finish with the bananas. With a mug in his hands, Brandon rests against the kitchen counter across from me and just continues to watch us. When she’s done peeling, Sarah mumbles about something she has to do and leaves the kitchen.
I give Brandon a look of disapproval.
“What?” He asks.
“You made her leave.” I say.
He looks at me like I have grown two heads. “What do you mean I made her leave? I was just standing here.”
I turn my back towards him as I get the bacon out of the pan, and place smith set in the pan. “I don’t know. You unnerve them somehow.”
I open a cabinet, and bring out a loaf of bread that I wave at him.
“What?” He asks again.
“I mean, if you’re going to scare my help away, the least you could do is help me somehow.”
The expression on his face is hilarious. “Natalie, I do not cook!”
I look at him pointedly. “And this is because?”
“This is because I pay enough people to do it. What the hell am I going to do with that bread anyway?”
Fighting to hold back my laughter, I continue to stare at him. “I just need you to make the toast. We were going to make banana bread before, but now, that would have to wait until afternoon so….”
He continues to stare at me incredulously, and just when I think he’s going to walk out, he surprises me and takes the bread out of my hands. Finally letting that smile out, I turn to check the bacon on the stove and then, pour the eggs into another pan. We both work in silence until the timer goes off, and I walk towards the oven to get my cake out.
I am giddy with excitement as I place the pan on the countertop. I check with a fork to make sure the cake is completely done on the inside and when it comes out clean, I let that smile grow even bigger. Brandon looks at me with surprised amusement before speaking.
“So what’s the occasion?”
“Nothing. I had a lot on my mind this morning, so I thought I’d do some baking to clear my head. I could only find this gigantic pan and an overly small one in the pantry so I thought I’d as well make a gigantic cake.”
He laughs easily, to my surprise. “Do you always bake a cake when you need to clear your head?”
“Only when it’s a Sunday.” I reply without missing a beat. When I see his confusion, I explain to him about my dad’s Sunday baking tradition. “It always made everything better when we baked.”
Brandon is quiet for a while before he responds. “You really miss him, don’t you?”
“Everyday of my life. Before he died, I had never envisioned my life without him in it.” A look of sadness settles temporarily on my face. Brandon steps closer to me and raises his hands to my face. I find myself leaning in subconsciously to what I think is a show of affection, but he only rubs the flour off my cheeks.
He steps back to get the bread out of the toaster and put another set in. I also return my attention to the eggs which I am now transferring to a fancy table pot. Sarah comes back in and offers me a look of apology. She helps move the food to the dining table while I cut a part of the cake to be eaten with breakfast.
Just as Brandon takes another set of bread out of the toaster, his phone rings. “Hello” he says to whoever is on the other side. His face seems to harden as he registers the voice, but it soon takes on a look of surprise. “What?” He asks with a precise calmness. “I’ll be there in 15.” Without another word, Brandon stalks out of the kitchen, and to his room.
By the time he rushes back down the stairs, his mother is already at the table and she demands to know where he is going. He waves her off and says something about work. When I point out that he’s going to miss out on breakfast, he says briefly, “You can bring me some of that cake later”, and then he is gone.
Although I know they Brandon’s suggestion that I bring him some of my cake is offhanded, I somehow find myself feeling giddy about it. The chairwoman and I sit down to breakfast and she fills me in on the charity work that she’s been doing. With all the charity events that Rebecca Martinez is busy attending, I wonder what time she has to work.
Later, at noon, I throw on a flowery dress that holds tight at the waist and fladdl gracefully to my knees, and comb my auburn curls down my back. I apply a slight layer of makeup, and touch it all up with a fine amount of perfume. If I’m going to show up at Brandon’s work place, I might as well go all out.
With a small lunch basket that houses the cake he requested, some of that banana bread I was going to bake earlier, and some leftover bacon strips, I step outside the house to find Baldwin holding the door open. I smile slightly at him, and wait till we’re well on our way before asking why he’s working on a Sunday. He replies that the chairwoman had called him earlier to ask that he be available to take to see Brandon.
Now knowing about his family and understanding that he might have preferred to stay home with his wife and kids, I apologize for the inconvenience before alighting from the car outside s tall building that I know is the headquarters of the Martinez enterprises.
Inside, I introduce myself to the receptionist, and she greets me rather excitedly leading me to believe that she, like many others, believe Brandon and I to be a couple in love. She tells me that Brandon is inside with a visitor, but I assure her that he knows I’m coming so she directs me to his office.
Before stepping out of the elevator, I look at my reflection in the small mirror in my bag. I stop for a second outside the door where a door tag clearly announces “Brandon Martinez”. I plaster a smile on my face before turning the knob and pushing the door open.
The sight that greets my eyes causes the food basket in my hands to clatter to the floor at the same time that a small scream escapes from my lips. Brandon immediately breaks off from the embrace of a blond woman in a shirt skirt and suit. The panicked look on his face does nothing to ebb the pain in my chest; the feeling of twisted pain at the base of my stomach. With what little will I can muster, I turn on my heels, and back out of his office, shutting the door in my wake.