Red Velvet

It was January and she felt like crying. Those two things she was certain of.

She watched him quietly as he worked. The haphazard way he threw ingredients into the bowl was both mesmerizing and relaxing. He used no recipe. He removed sugar, baking powder and flour from the cupboard. He bent his tall frame to just above the counter and measured a cup of flour with only his eyes. His mouth never stopped moving, as if his chatter were the rhythm of the erratic yet confident dance he made around the kitchen.

And she said nothing, because speaking meant releasing the knot that had recently taken residence in her abdomen. A release that would inevitably be accompanied by tears, which she knew, so she stayed quiet.

She envied the confident way his hands worked, mixing all the ingredients around and around in the bowl. The rhythmic scraping of the spatula along the bowls walls was distracting.

“Hey,” a voice broke through her daydream, “you going to help me or not?” He smiled at her, his blue eyes laughing before his lips even curled into a matching smile.

“You want to help stir?” He prodded.

She shook her head, “No, I think you are doing a great job. Besides, I’d make a mess. I am terrible at cooking.”

He watched her intently as she spoke. “I can teach you, you know.” Again she declined, and he shook his head but kept stirring.

Once all the ingredients were mixed into a smooth batter, he greased and floured two round pans, and with the same ease and dexterity he’d shown moments before, he filled the pans to the brim and slid them into the oven.

“If I cook them just right, this should be a very moist cake.”

Moist. She scrunched up her nose. Gross.

“ I hate that word so much.” She smiled.

“ What word?” He asked, his forehead creased, “Moist?” Again she cringed.

This time his brow relaxed and he released a loud laugh that reverberated off the kitchen walls. His reaction startled her. And he kept on laughing, and laughing and laughing. Eventually he turned his back to her, forearms resting on the sink. He remained hunched over the sink, his laughter echoing off the dishes until eventually he turned back around, wiping tears from his eyes.

His laugh was infectious and she could not help but laugh at the stupidity of the whole situation. Normally she'd have been embarassed by someone belly laughing at her expense, but today his laughter gave her something that felt like permission He let out a long breath, as if he had been holding his breath that whole time.

“ I have never met someone that hates the word…. That word.” He caught himself.

“It’s weird….I know. But I just hate how it sounds.” She laughed, not quite meeting his eyes.

He rested his palms on the edge of the sink behind him, leaning casually.

“Do you laugh this hard with anyone else?” He asked, still smiling, “ Because if there is one thing you should be able to do with someone, it's laugh.”

She wanted to say that many people made her laugh that hard, but she would be lying. She didn’t have to tell him about the knot in her stomach or the tears waiting just behind her eyes. He knew about them. He could sense her feelings regardless of physical signs. He always could.

As he pulled the steaming cakes from the oven, she felt the knot loosen, and she smiled from deep down in her gut. She watched as he removed the cake from the hot pans, and with the rising steam came two certainties: she loved him, and she felt like crying.