Page 19 of Love By the Slice

The camera swiveled around as Greg propped his phone, and then Shelly had a view of him moving around a much larger kitchen, the appliances stainless steel rather than the 1990s vintage cream-colored ones in hers. Just the way she’d switched to a sales clerk voice, Greg changed his to a sports announcer’s. “Bakers, you may preheat your ovens!”

Shelly giggled. “Vroom!”

“375,” he said, “and we’ll get everything ready while they warm up.”

He showed her the equipment he’d gathered, and she hunted the cabinets to find similar. She didn’t know what any of these were called. Mom had never taught her a thing, so once she’d gotten out on her own, it had been a matter of subsisting on PBJs until she could obtain a frying pan, a pot, a spatula, and a strainer. Even at that, the first places she’d crashed had limited kitchen access, and minuscule storage in the fridge.

Cooking for yourself was so much cheaper than buying takeout or even buying prefab microwavable food. Still, Shelly didn’t always know what to do with things. It had been a massive shock when Ezra got a job at a pizza kitchen because he knew as much about cooking as she did, but with his job on the line, Ezra had taught himself. Things like how to toss dough, Ezra had looked up online.

Shelly had no idea who’d taught Greg. “You’ll need two mixing bowls,” he said.

Into the smaller bowl went the flour, baking powder, and baking soda. Into the larger went the egg, butter, and sugar. “You’re going to cream all that together,” he said, and then explained what he meant by that (“creaming” didn’t involve cream) and finally apologized because her butter was cold and it’s easier to “cream” it when it’s room temperature.

Shelly said, “At least room temperature here isn’t fifty-two degrees.” When Greg made a “brr” noise, she added, “Did you know a refrigerator stops working when the house gets below fifty-eight?”

On the camera, Greg would explain something, then show it, and she’d follow. It was almost like being in the same kitchen: his phone stood on a counter, hers leaned in the dish drainer, and both of them used speakerphone. He talked her through adding the flour to the creamed butter and egg mixture, and then when it was all mixed up right, he had her start rolling little balls of dough. “About walnut sized.”

“Are you talking about the walnuts in the grocery store,” she said, “or the big fruity walnut things that dent your car and then leave stains all over the hood?”

He paused. “Um…the ones at the grocery store. Still in the shell.” He paused. “Maybe roll a few around in your hand and see what size you come up with?”

She held one up to the camera, and he said, “Smaller,” and then they both spent time setting little dough balls onto their respective baking sheets.

Shelly said, “This isn’t anywhere near as difficult as I thought it would be.”

Greg said, “It’s a nice thing to do when it’s stormy, and then afterward, you get to enjoy cookies.”

She said, “Assuming the power doesn’t go out.”

“I guess we used to bake before the storms came,” Greg admitted, sounding surprised. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

Shelly snickered. “Right. ‘It’ll all work out,’ except your mom was the one who worked it out in advance, and then as far as you were concerned, there was never a problem.”

Greg paused mid-roll. “That’s not entirely fair.”

“You admitted you didn’t pay attention to the timing of this blizzard activity that the blizzard itself could stop.” She giggled. “I was listening.”

With the pan full and the oven preheated, Greg had her put the cookies on the middle rack, and he set a timer on his side.

Shelly glanced back out the window. “It’s really coming down. Do you think Rowan’s okay?”

Greg said, “Probably fine.”

Yes, everyone was always probably fine. “What if they don’t have heat?”

“I assume someone would have noticed if they didn’t have heat.” Greg sounded unflappable. “Also, there’s a warming station in town.”

Assuming they drove to it. A man who didn’t want to sign up for food assistance for his grandson wasn’t going to call 911 because the apartment was freezing and the car wouldn’t start.

The wind slammed into the windows, and Shelly braced herself instinctually for a cold draft that never came, for the rocking that didn’t move the foundation. Sometimes in her dreams, she was huddled in a twin-sized bed with her youngest two sisters, hearing the wind hiss around the ill-fitting windows of their prefab home and making sure the blankets stayed around their necks to secure their warmth.

Greg asked about her classes, so Shelly listed the massive amount of homework the first week had delivered. Although her first response was panic, Greg reassured her. “Not only can you get it done, but now, thanks to the storm, you’ve got extra time when you aren’t driving.”

“Most of my classmates study full time. I wish I could do that.” She shook her head. “You went to college full time, right?”

He nodded. “Mostly business classes. I liked marketing and human resources.”

She hesitated. “Then why are you working part time at a pizzeria? Why not go get a human resources job?”

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