Page 62 of The Baby Dragon Bakery
She hung up, and guilt needled through him. He rubbed a hand over his face, then got out of bed, going to the bathroom to freshen up. When he glanced in the mirror, he saw that he didn’t look too bad. There was just a cut on his lower lip, which was a little swollen, and some bruises here and there.
He felt much, much worse than he looked, but he knew it wasn’t from the collision during his match, but everything that had come after. It was why Theo hadn’t encouraged Lavinia to come over; he was scared of what he would do or say when he saw her again.
Last night was still fresh in his mind, how he had let himself get carried away by his desire for her. Even as the moment unfurled, he knew he shouldn’t have asked her to stay, but it was impossible to suppress his want for her, impossible not to ask.
Having her in his arms was better than any medicine, any balm. The memory sent a shot of heat through his body, and he got into the shower, turning it straight to cold.
After he’d showered, he got dressed in a sweatshirt and sweatpants, going out to find something to eat. He saw their plates from last night, and it reminded him of Lavinia all over again. A futile fight—everything reminded him of her.
He picked up the plates to wash them, and as the water ran, he thought of how she had taken care of him last night. It made him want to cry.
“God,” he muttered to himself, blinking fast.
She always took care of him—she was sogood. So kind and perfect, it astounded him sometimes how she could be real. He was unbelievably lucky to exist in the same world at the same time as her, and luckier still to be in her life—and to be her best friend on top of that! It felt like winning the lottery.
It didn’t matter that he had gotten the short end of the stick with his parents because he had her. She was his brightest star, the guidepost from which everything else took direction. If he lived a hundred lives, he’d find her in every one; the way sailors unerringly found the North Star in the night sky no matter the century.
Holding her in his bed last night had driven him crazy. He had leaned in closer and closer, until it would seem like an accident when their lips brushed. He hated himself for taking liberties when she was with someone else, but he couldn’t hate himself entirely, either, because he was selfish.
It wasn’t an accident: he had wanted to kiss her; he just didn’t know how to steal one. During the match, he had seen her with Calahan, the two of them laughing, and the sight had knifed through him, more excruciating than getting rammed into by a guy at full speed on the field.
He wanted her badly, and he couldn’t have her.
What was he supposed to do with himself? With all this desire? With all this love he had for her?
He was utterly losing his mind. Theo finished up with thedishes and threw some sourdough in the toaster, hoping the carbs slathered in butter would rectify his foul mood. The mug of strong chai he made to accompany the late breakfast did help a little.
He went over to his couch, sitting down with his chai, staring out the window. He lasted about thirty seconds before his thoughts wound back to Lavinia, and he outwardly groaned, throwing his head back to stare at the ceiling.
After she had left last night, he couldn’t sleep for a long, long time, his blood pounding through his body with unspent desire. He couldn’t think of anything else but her, and when he finally slept, it was her he dreamed of. Now that he was awake, it was still her he thought of.
He stared at the ceiling, hardly functioning. He was restless, agitated, and miserable, and he knew he had been strange on the phone with Lavinia. Surely she had noticed, but he didn’t know how to stop.
She knew him too well—and yet she couldn’t recognize this major thing, how he had fallen irreparably and irrevocably in love with her.
He wondered how it was that she didn’t see such a glaringly obvious truth when she otherwise saw him so well, but perhaps she did see it, and she acted as if she didn’t.
It didn’t matter, either way. The result was the same. She was with someone else—something he had to remind himself about fifty times a day.
He didn’t understand what he was supposed to do with himself now that he was in love with her. He suspected that he had been in love with her for some time, he had just never allowed himself to acknowledge the fact. But now that he had,he couldn’t think of anything else. He was in love with her! He wanted to shout it from the rooftops.
Theo got off the couch, heading for the kitchen. He pulled out his notebook from the drawer, paging through the notes he’d written down for new recipes he wanted to try. He settled on one, rolling back the sleeves of his sweatshirt.
He was testing out fried kulfi falooda. He’d gotten the basic recipe for kulfi from Beena a long time ago, but this would be a remix of the classic. Kulfi was made of milk, sugar, and condensed milk, and it was a bit denser and fudgier than ice-cream.
Theo grabbed the base ingredients, throwing them together in his blender, along with a bit of cardamom, saffron, and kewra water for taste. At the end, he threw in a half-piece of toast as well, which was a trick Beena had told him about to keep the kulfi smooth and not icy.
Once it was ready, he poured the mixture into little paper cups, using them as molds. He put the tray of cups into the back of his freezer; he would check on them every hour or so, mixing with a spoon to push the thicker cream back to the bottom so the kulfi wouldn’t be unbalanced.
As he worked, Theo felt a little bit better. He released a long breath, going to the next portion of the recipe. This part, he hadn’t done before. He was going to fry the kulfi to be served the way fried ice-cream was.
He made a wet batter of milk and eggs with a dash of vanilla essence, then a dry batter of breadcrumbs and coconut flakes. When the kulfi was frozen enough, he sliced them into thick disks, dipping them in the wet batter, then the dry.
While that set in the freezer, he took tukmaria—sweet basilseeds—and added water so they would swell and double in size over the next hour or two. Once that was done, he boiled the vermicelli and took out the rose syrup, which he already had.
It ended up being a lot of components, but he didn’t mind it. Baking helped him relax, and this was definitely helping. He jotted down notes as he worked, sketching little pictures beside his notes to help him remember the recipe.
The whole process ended up taking most of the day, since there was a lot of waiting required with the kulfi; it probably would have been better to let the kulfi freeze overnight, then fry it in the morning, adding on the tukmaria, falooda, and rose syrup, but he had nothing else to do.
