A Dash of Grief

It’s like the scent of sweetness from a fresh caramel slice, with a hint of the dark chocolate.

Dorothea embraced the comforting smell of the coffee. She thought that William would have liked this tiny bit of espresso powder she added to the recipe. It had been almost 18 months since she’d seen him and almost 3 years since the incident. It feels like another life ago, one of the benefits of being in and out of lockdown during a pandemic.

Why did I put coffee in this?

Dorothea lost her train of thought and looked back down at her phone. She had barely started the making the cake but had somehow managed to get half a cup of flour on her hands, sleeves, and the front of her Green Day shirt.

This should wash out, I hope.

Dorothea stared at the dry mixture in the bowl. It looked awfully pale for the beginnings of a chocolate cake. She searched the small, disorganised bench in her kitchen for the cocoa box. Nothing. She hated the feeling of claustrophobia in the kitchen, but she loved in the convenience of inner city living and being 22 floors off the ground. There’s only one-way in. Only one door to check at night.

Whoever designed this kitchen surely hated people.

There were four tiny cupboards above the bench and four more squeezed in below. The space each cupboard offered was almost in-practical. Somewhere in this maze of inconvenient storage was the cocoa. Door lucky number seven. Dorothea opened the cocoa box and emptied out ¾ cup of cocoa powder into the bowl.

It smelt like earth, with notes of banana and vanilla.

Dorothea glimpsed over her shoulder at Frederick. He was sitting in the spare room at his computer. Well, it would be tough to call it a spare room as it is only walled off by some sliding partitions.

He better like this.

Frederick was wearing his beige hoodie. Sitting there with his perfect posture. Listening to music and probably reading some obscure piece in the New York Times. Frederick constantly complains about how crap and biased the New York Times is, but he reads it from digital cover to cover.

How do people do this?

Dorothea squinted at her phone. The recipe wanted her to slowly fold in the wet ingredients and place the eggs in last. This can’t be right, by the time she has cracked 5 eggs, the milk, vegetable oil, and vanilla in the bowl are going to be mush. Dorothea rifled through her cupboards and found another bowl to put the milk, vegetable oil, and vanilla in while she cracks the eggs. She opened the vanilla first.

It’s so calming. Like the warmth in sugar cookies or the creaminess in ice cream.

Dorothea wished she could live in this smell. It wafts over to Frederick who turns around to see what is driving the smell. His thick fringe drifted down onto his black glasses. Frederick was an odd find. He had moved here only a month before the pandemic. They had run into each other on his first night in the country. Well, there is no way to make a Tinder hook up sound romantic. He was here to study and they had a natural chemistry that warranted a second night together. At the start of the first lockdown, Frederick had stayed over the night. He didn’t go home for another eight months. Two people, together in a small apartment, for a couple of months of lockdown and then for a couple of months for no reason. There were fights and frustrations. Tempers. Sadness. And a long trip to the hospital when Dorothea broke her arm. It wasn’t perfect, but life never is.

At least he didn’t try to kill me.

Sadness crept over Dorothea and she got stuck in a loop thinking about William. He had tried to commit suicide in her apartment. A few times. The last time he tried, he threatened to take Dorothea with him over the balcony. She managed to lock the door just in time. Waiting there for the police to come as he banged on the glass balcony door and tried to yank it open. She had never thought the man she married would do this.

A dash of grief from mourning a broken heart.

Dorothea exhaled nervously and greased the cake pans. Of course, this recipe had two cake pans. The batter is thick, and she had no idea how she was going to spread this mixture evenly. How does anything with five eggs in it become so thick? She does her best, then slaps those bad boys into the oven. Her mind tried to drift to relaxation mode before her eyes registered the ginormous mess she had made.

I need coffee.

…

Frederick doesn’t understand. Dorothea is drinking a coffee while cleaning up the kitchen. She is just going to make another mess when she tries to ice the cake. She should just clean once and not waste the effort. Frederick turned back to his computer. There are 12 articles on his screen, with a bit of each article poking its head out trying to occupy the precious real estate on his computer monitor. Frederick paused for a second trying to remember which one he was reading. He reached to his left to grab his tea and knocked it slightly, spilling most of the tea. Frederick looked around and found an old napkin he can use to clean up the tea.

This apartment is too small.

Frederick hated it here. Everything is too cramped. The food doesn’t quite taste the way it should and there is nowhere around here with food that comes close to back home. He hated this apartment. It had ghosts. Every now and then he found something that use to belong to Dorothea’s ex. Some weird bottle of sauce. A book no-one would ever read. A stray cigarette butt. Frederick knows Dorothea’s ex was a jerk to her, but why does she keep so much of his stuff. Why doesn’t she just clean the place properly? Occasionally, he found a weird dent in the floor or scratch on the wall or a crack in a tile. It’s like someone had thrown rocks all through the apartment.

There’s a dense rich chocolatey smell, with a slight hint of coffee.

The smell made Frederick hungry. He turned around to look at the oven, which he can see from the spare room. This apartment is too small. He is supposed to be in another room, but from here he can see the kitchen, the loungeroom, the bedroom and the bathroom. They call it a kitchen? Frederick wonders what his mum would think of this. It’s barely a bench with cupboards no bigger than a surfboard. Frederick wondered how Dorothea puts up with this. She seemed to love it here.

She doesn’t make sense.

Nothing about her is logical. Dorothea is a clean freak who makes the biggest messes. She hates laundry but she is always doing it. She doesn’t like a lot of fruit, but she loves fruit flavoured food. She loves coffee, but she religiously goes to Starbucks. She has the same food for breakfast every day and never gets tired of it. She seems aimless but had a rigid routine.

That sweet, buttery, creamy smell of frosting.

Dorothea has started making the chocolate frosting for the cake. Frederick turned back to his computer and continued reading the New York Times. There is this obnoxious idiot running for mayor of New York. Frederick hated him with a passion. The Times had a good article deconstructing a recent blooper made by the candidate and how it reveals his inadequacies in social policy.

The writing is sloppy, and the author doesn’t know what he’s talking about!

Frederick finished the article and checked on Dorothea’s progress. The cake was out of the oven and was cooling now. She’s a good woman at heart. Frederick cared for her, but she’s not like his sister. It’s going to be years before Frederick can trust Dorothea enough to put her as his next of kin. He knew his sister. He knew his sister would work out where he wants to be buried. The thought prompted Frederick to make a mental note to tell his sister where he wants to be buried. Dorothea asked Frederick if he wanted a slice of chocolate cake and a glass of milk. Yes. Yes, he did.

There is a slight, pleasantly sweet smell of milk.

Frederick sat down next to Dorothea in the loungeroom. In this tiny apartment there was nowhere to eat except the loungeroom. On the coffee table in front of them, Dorothea had placed two slices of chocolate cake and two glasses of fresh milk. It’s sweet that she went to all this effort. Frederick didn’t love Dorothea. For him, that sudden puppy dog kind love was too much, too deep, too harsh. He wanted something that grows over time. Something you could put your future into. He saw that with Dorothea. Not something as messy as falling in love. Frederick tried the chocolate cake. Beneath the thick chocolate flavour, there were hints of vanilla and coffee, but there was also something else here. Something that was hard for Frederick to put his finger on. One by one, the feelings Dorothea went through while baking the cake hit Frederick.

The cake starts with a confusing recollection of a painful memory. What follows is some hope that although things may seem ruined, Dorothea can move forward. She becomes frustrated or annoyed with where she is. Now, there is some bitterness towards Frederick, she feels unappreciated. A deep and painful sadness hits. It’s like the hardest punch to the stomach. Dorothea must have gone through something horrible. It ends with a dash of grief.