She breezed through my front door. I have good news! She said. And bad news.
The good news was that she had finally gotten her dream job. In spite of the bad news hovering like an elephant in the room, it was the good news that we wanted to celebrate and discuss. Afterall, how many people can really say they are working in their dream job?
I look around the carriage of my train some mornings and wonder why people look so sad or hurt and angry. It is as though someone has shouted in their ear and dragged them out of bed, scrubbed their face with soap, handed them a briefcase and pushed them out the door. I know I have days when I dread getting out of bed because the whole cycle begins, the moment your feet touch the floor. But it’s all we can do sometimes to try to stay afloat in a world drifting faster than we can manage. Stuffed into heavy suits and shiny shoes, we breathe in with forgotten lungs and tread water.
Because she and I were celebrating on one of those days when none of the above exists, I had to make a cake. Even though I don’t often bake with white chocolate, I know she loves it, and after making this, I could not stop myself from eating the trimmings. Leonor calls it a blondie, but I actually think it’s more of a cross between a cake and a blondie. It is light, but impossibly moist and truly celebrates the flavour of white chocolate like no other cake I’ve tasted.
Despite this, it looks deceptively like a functional cake, which the world is already filled to the rafters with. Functional cakes are the lubricant for social discourse between the hours of 10 and 11am or 3 and 4pm.
This is not a functional cake. It doesn’t facilitate discussion. It is a cake baked with words, and I hope she can hear it when she eats it. It says, I value your friendship. I’m sorry you’re having relationship issues at a time in your life when you are feeling ready to settle down and have children. I admire you. I am proud of your achievements. I hope to always be there for you.