Easy Disaster—Only 3 Ingredients!

Ingredient #1: Love

If there was ever a truth written by the poets of the world about love that spoke to me, it was that the way to a man's heart was through his stomach.

Now, I wouldn't say that was the only way, just the best way. The proof is in the—you know what, enough clichés. It worked for my wife. I'll just say that.

Melody and I were friends since middle school, our families and ourselves inseparable as neighbours. Then puberty hit, and the friendship turned into a relationship. But it wasn't until Melody began to show an interest in baking that I felt what could only be described as love.

You know when you just start doing something because other people are doing it? That's what it felt like when we first started dating, going through the motions because everyone around us was. It was nice, some parts were really nice if you catch my meaning, but there was always something missing.

Then, Mel baked a chocolate cake with boiled frosting to bring on a date. She knew chocolate was my favourite, and she made it just for me. She said she practiced and practiced until it was perfect, and by God, it was. The cake was moist and delicate with just a hint of cocoa bitterness that contrasted with the rich, lustrous, sugary frosting on top. And she made it just for me.

My parents weren't skilled in the cooking department. Mainly it was fast food or eating out, or delivery. On the rare occasions that my mom or dad had to cook us something, it was mac and cheese or something from a can. I couldn't remember a time when they had made something from scratch. If I'm honest with myself and how my caveman's brain works, I imagine that's part of the reason I feel ambivalent towards my parents.

You show a particular love when you make something with another person in mind, whether it's food or not. I learned that with Mel's cake, and it made me want to marry her right then and there. We didn't, of course, but we did get our practice in for the wedding night.

Ingredient #2: Lust

"Alright, everyone, settle down," the boss said. Once the talking died away, he continued with the meeting. "As you know already by now, we're welcoming a new member to the team, Kelly." The woman named Kelly stood for a moment and waved to everyone. "She'll be working with Malcolm in sales. She's new to us but has proven herself an asset for our competitors. Now that we've managed to convince her to switch to the winning side, we hope to see great things."

Kelly smiled, a hint of rose on her cheeks and a tremor in her hands belying her nerves. "I hope to meet your expectations, everyone. Glad to be here." Though she looked a touch nervous, her voice was full of confidence, no doubt from her experience in sales.

After the introduction, the boss went over targets, supply management issues, and advertising. I took notes on the things relevant to sales as I took glances at the new girl. She looked slender and tanned, probably into fitness by the look of it, or she knew that looking attractive helped in sales meetings where most executives were lecherous old men.

She caught me looking at her and smiled. I smiled back, then tried to pay attention to the meeting, despite it being long past anything relevant.

After the meeting, I went over to introduce myself. "Hi, I'm Malcolm. I suppose we're going to be working together now."

"I suppose so," she said with a laugh. Her laugh was sharp and short but cute in a way.

"I'll show you to your desk."

We waded through the muted grey cubicles to the corner of the office where my desk was. Kelly's desk was opposite mine, back to back. She put her things down and began booting up the computer.

"Would you like a tour of the office?" I asked.

"Greg already showed me around earlier," she said. "But I think he forgot to show me the lunchroom," she grinned as she said that.

"It probably doesn't help that Greg never goes to the lunchroom," I said with a chuckle, which Kelly mimicked. "C'mon, I'll show you where it is."

I led Kelly to the lunchroom, currently empty of people, and she went to the fridge to try and find some space to store her food. With nothing else to do, I took a seat. I asked her about where she had worked before, intrigued by Greg's comment about working for our competitor.

As Kelly shoved some other food around to make space, she explained how she had been poached by one of our headhunters. Apparently, she was a genius salesperson working for the competition. Kelly was modest and made a joke about not being a genius. Still, I could tell from her demeanour and easy attitude she was likeable and knew the exact right way to act around people. Her laughing at my dumb joke earlier proved that.

She put her food away, then brought one container over and sat down before opening it. Inside was a pile of chocolate chip cookies. "Would you like one?" she said with her easy smile. "I made them myself."

I grinned despite myself. My mind recognized the danger, but it was muted like it was trapped behind a wall of glass by my budding desire. "Of course I would."

Ingredient #3: Lies

"I told you, I'm not sleeping with her," I shouted. My face was hot from anger, embarrassment, and shame.

Mel looked straight at me, her arms folded across her chest like steel bars to keep out my lies. "I saw the texts, Malcolm. Stop lying to me." Her last comment came out half command, half plea, and she bit her lip to hold back tears.

Her look of pain tore at my heart, but my anger, defensive as it was, kept it from penetrating deep enough for me to stop. At this point, I didn't even know why I was lying. To save face, to save our marriage, to delude me into belief. It was impossible to tell without introspection most monks couldn't achieve.

When Mel became a baker as a profession, she slowly stopped wanting to bake at home. What was once a passion and a hobby became work, and work sucks the passion away from anything it touches. Along with the baking, it seemed her business was always the most important and the thing she put the most time into.

I, of course, am not without blame. I always had a wandering eye, and I became desperate for attention I wasn't receiving at home. I could have tried harder to work on it, tried to put in the effort, but I didn't. Like a thief looking for an unlocked door, the path of least resistance, I leaned into the attention that Kelly had given me.

The small smiles, the joking bumps, the way she laughed at every dumb comment I made. It didn't help that she was a great cook and had a great body to boot. I became like one of our clients hooked on her charms, and I bought what she was selling. Now, I was paying the price for it.

They say the way to a man's heart is through his stomach, but they also say the stomach has a mind of its own.