Page 8 of Salty, Spiced, and a Little Bit Nice

The minute I got home, I stalked to the kitchen and pulled out my mixer, some mixing bowls, and a cupcake pan. Then I dumped the bag of low-carb flour, cocoa, baking powder, and the carton of eggs on the counter, before flicking the oven switch to preheat. I needed to regroup and figure out my next move, and I did it best while beating some eggs and butter together. Baking had always helped me to relax and unwind, a safe space where I could justbe.

I’d started experimenting in the kitchen a year post-diagnosis, because I was getting tired of my mother limiting what I could or couldn’t eat. She had even gone as far as banning everything remotely sweet at our house; although she knew perfectly well that I could have anything I wanted, as long as I took the correct amount of insulin for it. My ten-year-old self had reasoned that maybe my mother wouldn’t be so strict if I learned to make things with as little carbohydrates as possible. I’d borrowed recipe books from the library, spent endless hours watching the Food Network, then started with the easier stuff—brownies, chocolate chip cookies, blueberry muffins. Naomi was my number onevictimtaste tester, and although she never complained, I knew the first year was painful for her. I tried different types of natural sweeteners and sugar substitutes, while slowly improving (to Naomi’s relief) and graduating from chocolate chip cookies to chocolate croissants, brownies to macarons, and muffins to kue lapis legit, a traditional—and very time-consuming—Indonesian type of layer cake.

Today I was trying a sugar-free salted caramel cupcake recipe that had been living rent-free in my mind for the past week. My hand worked rhythmically, whisking the flour and the baking powder together, while my mind began to plan.

Eric had made an excellent point about not rushing into something I might regret. For all my displays of bravado earlier, I didn’t know what to do. I was jobless, the reluctant star of an embarrassing, viral YouTube video, and the black sheep of the family.

What a superb way to kick off the new year.

But things would never change as long as I lived in the same city as my family. I had to get away as far as humanly possible.The ramifications of that might one day come back to bite me in the ass, but right now I was too fed up to care.

I turned the mixer on and slowly poured the eggs and melted butter in.It’s time, a small voice piped up at the back of my brain.Dust off that plan. There’s nothing, and no one, to stop you from going ahead now.

Turning off the mixer, I poured the batter into the cupcake pan and shoved it into the oven. I glanced at the messy countertop as the sweet scent of caramel infused my apartment, and just like that, I knew what I had to do. Naomi was right—it was time to finally put those baking classes to good use. It might be an enormous gamble, but I had no job, and anything was better than living under my mother’s manipulative thumb. I was finally going to take the plunge; expensive education be damned.

For as long as I could remember, my dream had always been to open a bakery. Not justanybakery, but one that could cater to clientele like myself. A place that offered a wide variety of options for people who wanted healthier, guilt-free alternatives to traditional desserts. I’d been saving up since my first-ever paycheck years ago, done extensive research and put together an equally extensive business plan for it, and created at least fifteen Pinterest boards full of ideas and inspirations for my dream décor. I’d never had the guts to do anything about it, because it had always been too scary, too uncertain, and not worth the hassle of upsetting my parents.

But it was a whole different ball game now.

Grabbing my laptop, I opened the plan I’d prepared a long time ago. I scrolled through it, pausing to read the list of pros and cons I’d put together:

Pro:

Con:

1. I’d be doing something I really loved. Something I was passionate about. And if my business concept worked, then I’d also be helping people live a healthier life (1,000 points).

1. It’d be risky as hell, and the possibility of failure is high. Statistics show that only half of new businesses survive five years or longer, and only one-third are around a decade after launching (minus 1,000 points).

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