The Challenge

The following story was inspired by a prompt from Reedsy.com titled Write about a group of people determined to win an award for making the biggest cookie ever.

https://blog.reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/contests/71/submissions/45584/

Adam Adams picked up the microphone and stepped forward.

“Hello and welcome to the Ho-Ho-Holidays Cookie Challenge! Today we have 3 teams determined to make the biggest cookie they can in 1 hour! And the winner of today’s challenge will win $10,000 to split between them and a set of these AMAZING spatulas!

Ok, let’s meet our teams. From Philadelphia we have the Millwood Mixers . Kim, why don’t you introduce your team?”

Kim leaned forward into the mic.

“Hi, I’m Kim and this is my sister Carrie and my brother Ed. We love baking as a family and we can’t wait to bring home the $10,000!!! Woooo!”

Kim smiled forcefully but that force never reached her eyes, which remained focused on something in the distance.

Adam nodded several times, as though deeply invested in her story.

“Ok, well, good luck with that!

And now on to the next team, from Grand Rapids we have the… ”

The host’s voice has gone beyond bubbly and entered the realm of the sugary ooze that creeps out of an overfilled éclair.

Kim begins to let her thoughts drift towards that money. Will it be enough? What if they don’t actually win? What’s everyone going to say then? She tries to wrestle those thoughts away and remember what the chill Australian guy on her meditation app said… “be in the moment. Let the thoughts drift by like boats on a river…”

Kim imagines her ex husband tied to the sail, as that boat hurtles towards a waterfall, soon to be a wet memory. She did feel better. She should really practice meditating more.

Her attention snaps back to the present just as Adam points towards the workstations set up in the middle of the large stage, and clicks the stopwatch.

“Your time starts…NOW!”

Kim, Carrie and Ed run to the station, and huddle around the ipad containing their recipe for today. To be honest, they didn’t really need it. Kim had been forcing them to practice this each Saturday at Ed’s house, so no time was wasted. She had no room for error. They could bake a sugar cookie in their sleep. But this wasn’t just any sugar cookie. This thing had to be big. SO big they would need to create it in sections and then fasten it together with frosting and fondant. (Kim hated fondant, but who goes on a baking show and doesn’t use it? Absurd)

Then they would need to assemble it on the table in front of the station. The decorating had already been planned out and assigned to each person, with Kim being the supervisor (of course) The design had already been decided and practiced on page after page of sketch paper until it was efficient and there could be no chance of anything going wrong.

NO Room for mistakes, Kim thought. She glanced over at Ed. He was the weakest part of the team, he didn’t feel the same sense of urgency as she did. This was a game to him, nothing more. And Carrie…she would do whatever Kim asked, being the older sister still had some sway over her. But neither of them NEEDED this like she did.

Kim adjusted the bowl of the stand mixer before scooping the measuring cup into the flour canister. She dumped the flour into the bowl, and scooped again.

Her husband Jim had decided to leave. He stated it manner-of-factly, as if it annoyed him that he had to explain it out loud. Like he was bored with the idea. How long had he had the knowledge, come to grips with it in his own time? How long had he played out scenarios in his head, cried his tears until, finally, he could move on? And why did he expect her to just jump on board the speeding bus that had just crashed into her, knocking the wind out of her body? And oh, by the way, we really should sell the house. It would be best. For both of us. I’ve already come up with some ideas.

More ideas. How long had these ideas existed? Why didn’t she know?

Kim realized she lost count of scoops.

She’d have to start over. Time wasted. This was not in HER plan.

She dumped the flour and took a deep breath.

The next time her mind drifted, she was smoothing cookie dough onto a pizza pan.

Where would she live?

It was obvious she’d have to go somewhere. But her job didn’t pay her enough to save anything. Would she have to borrow money from her parents at this age? She knew they’d help but there would be that LOOK, the one that would briefly appear on her mom’s face that said “we thought you’d be doing better by now”.

Kim looked down at the uneven layer of cookie. She’d scraped one section right down to the metal pan. The part next to it was 3 inches tall. Kim rolled her eyes and and quickly evened out what she could before dashing to the ovens. They were already behind.

Kim felt a bead of sweat run down her forehead and plop into her eye. The salt burned, and she felt her eye begin to tear up. Her hair was escaping from the elastic she had entrapped it in that morning, the heat from the lights causing it to become frizzy.

She looked down at the cookie (can she still call it that?) It was inexplicably burnt and crumbly in some parts, and soggy in others. The fondant had ripped as they tried to roll it out, and then became lumpy as they hastily pressed it together to cover the top. There were large areas of naked raw cookie, unencumbered by fondant. Kim looked out of her watery eye, mascara joining with the salt and sliding down her face in a sticky charcoal trail. The other teams were still working, finishing up the last bits of embellishment before the judging started. She could sense them trying not to look, but when she glanced over at the tall guy from Team Bake , he met her eyes and quickly looked away. Even he didn’t want to witness this wreck.

Kim felt her hopes at winning slipping away like that boat over the falls, except this time it was her that was on board and her ex was on the shoreline shaking his head. It was the pity on his face that enraged her. He never did believe in her.

Kim reached out and broke a piece of cookie off and put it in her mouth. She stood there, thoughts drifting to what would happen now. Would she have to move back home? Rent a place of her own, some little apartment that barely contained one person, let alone someone with a whole life of THINGS beside her?

But that life was over now. Kim reached out and absentmindedly picked off another piece of cookie and shoved it into her face. She slumped against the counter, and slowly slid down onto her butt, still chewing. And chewing. How was it chewy AND burnt?

At the judge’s table, the 3 talking heads huddled together, casting concerned looks at Kim and the mucky station behind her. Carrie and Ed stood silently, unsure of what to do now that their captain had seemingly gone down with the ship. Carrie wiped her hands over and over on her apron, cleaning hands that weren’t even dirty anymore. Ed eyed the camera person’s equipment and wondered if he should get into photography.

Kim saw designer shoes coming towards her in her peripheral vision. Adam had apparently been chosen to approach Kim and her Cookie of Doom. She heard him clear his throat and inhale deeply.

“Hi Kim, how’s it going over here?”

She looked up at him with wet, black stained eyes, unsure if he was being sarcastic or just oblivious. She saw the concerned look in his eyes, with a little bit of timid rabbit mixed in for good measure.

He tentatively reached down a hand to help her up and she accepted gratefully. He felt a bit of sticky batter smear on to his palms, as he pulled her up.

“So, uh…what’s your next move?” he asked

“A studio apartment next to the bus depot, apparently” she answered.

He looked at her, confused.

“Look, Adam, let’s be real. This isn’t working. I mean, look at it…” she gestured towards the bloated corpse of sugar cookie on the table.

“I have to go. I’ll figure it out. I mean, maybe I’ll like being on my own.”

She untied her apron and let it fall on the floor. Looking around for an Exit, she remembered the door behind the stage, pointed out to her during the safety presentation that morning. She walked past the host desk, past the craft services table and the confused assistants milling around behind the stage. She pushed open the door and stepped out on to Melrose. The humidity was bad out here too, and she ripped the elastic out of her hair and shook her head. Deep breath in, like the Australian guy said, and away she walked. Alone but determined.