She left us a cookbook before heading down South-
I don't know why, we don't know how to cook
nor was her cooking ever good,
so it's hard to say if we can even trust this book


"A Gentleman's Essentials in the Kitchen"


My brothers and I (three of us) were in a diner,
debating on what to do-
after Mom left the funeral we were forced to
acknowledge each other for the first time in years


1 cup white sugar, 1/2 cup butter, 2 eggs, 1/2 cup milk


She did not remarry after the divorce,
so I think she probably took it hard coming to Dad's
"Life Celebration"
She probably had some lingering love for him
But I don't know, it is the first time I've seen her in 17 years


1 1/2 cup of flour, 1 3/4 teaspoons of baking powder


I hear my older brothers arguing over the logistics of the funeral,
how cheap it was, how weak the amount of attendees was,
how smelly the reception was, how shaky the transitions were,
how sad they were, how mad they were,
how defeated I was


Preheat oven to 350 degrees F and grease and flour a large pan


Dad never spoke to Mom (not that I know of) since they split-
I don't think there was anyway he could ever see her face without
falling down crying over her mistakes/
I can still smell her putrid odor walking through the front door 17 years ago
I can still hear them yelling knives, gravely ripping through the air with arguments and deflections through many rooms 17 years ago
I can still feel the spike of pain and blood running down my face by "motherly" hands 17 years ago


Cream the sugar and butter, beat the eggs, and stir the milk in


He wasn't a good dad, he was just objectively better than Mom
He remembered our birthdays, but never got us a cake-
I think he tried to bake one for my 10th birthday, but
all I remember is him taking off his oven mitts and taking us to
McDonald's
saying, "You can get a happy meal today, the rest of y'all, pick from the dollar menu- or share a 2 for $5 with me"/
Mom always baked us a cake
My brothers used to love my birthdays when I was a baby because she would still bake a cake, even when I can't eat it
For my 7th birthday, it was a simple white cake


Bake for 30 to 40 minutes in the preheated oven


Why did she even come this weekend? She had nothing to do with Dad's life for years. He was fine where he was, and so was I, and so were my brothers, and probably so was she. Is it a social obligation to go to your ex-husband's funeral? Is it a social obligation to divorce after abuse? Nobody forced them to do anything. I was forced all my life to go there, move there, eat there, study there- but all the freedom lies on my stupid parents. She can leave whenever she wants and it's just me and my brothers arguing and picking up the pieces. She leaves a book and is it supposed to mean something? Is she going to bake 17 awful white cakes from all the years she decided to frolic in the grass and hide from my scars? Is the book a symbol of her love or a ****** way of saying sorry in a poetic manner?

Take it back. I said I didn't need it. Exchange it for a real apology. I don't even want to exchange it for my Dad's life, just say something  meaningful Mom, don't hide behind a ******* book.

Just stand up for something righteous. I can't breathe your unapologetic air that we shared.

I felt a tear drop onto the page of the book that was open on my lap. It was the first time I cried the whole weekend. That single tear had been crawling its way through the trenches of my depressed visual vessels only to be dropped off by gravity onto a recipe for a white cake.


The cake is done when it springs back to the touch


I sink back into my chair being pulled and gravitated towards the floor, exhausted and learned