Something Sweet

Jada and Alex sat at the kitchen table looking at one another, silent. Jada poured herself a second glass of wine. Drawing in a large breath, she broke the silence. “She’s really gone, isn’t she?”

After a long pause, Alex said, “I don’t think it has really hit me yet.”

“You know, being in this kitchen really makes it sink in for me.” Her eyes glistened, and Alex reached out, taking her hand.

“I know,” he said quietly. He looked at her for a moment before saying, “You know what might cheer you up?”

Jada looked at him skeptically.

“Let’s bake some of Mom’s Christmas cookies,” he suggested.

Jada’s look softened. “That would be nice,” she said. “Let’s.”

Traditionally, their mother had been an avid Christmas baker. At this time of the year the house would be filled with the scents of cinnamon, peppermint and almond. The freezer would be overflowing with treats for family and friends. Sadly, their mother had not done any Christmas baking this year. She had been either too sick, tired, or in treatment. The cancer had taken her quickly.

Alex set the large ceramic bowl onto the counter while Jada rummaged around for the ingredients. As children they had made these cookies with their mother every Christmas. After they had finished, they would always make some popcorn and sit down to watch Mickey’s Christmas Carol. As she got older, there was always something more important to do. Hanging out with friends, working, university— they seemed so important then. She had let the time with her mom slip past. Now Jada wanted just five more minutes.

She set the ingredients on the counter, almost breaking the eggs.

“This is why you shouldn’t be in the kitchen,” Alex joked.

Ignoring him, Jada said, “Okay, Alex. I think this is everything.” She rhymed off the ingredients: 4 cups of flour, 1 ½ cups of white sugar, ½ teaspoon of salt, 1 teaspoon baking powder, 2 eggs, 1 cup margarine and 2 teaspoons of vanilla. She looked at her brother; his face looked pensive.

“Are you sure that’s everything?” he asked.

“Pretty sure,” she replied.

As the dough began to take form they laughed and reminisced about their mother. She had been a strong lady with a wicked sense of humour. One of Jada’s favourite memories was of the time Mom had convinced Alex that she had eyes in the back of her head. He was standing behind her as she sat at the table facing the china hutch. He kept doing silly things and she would catch him every time, while he was oblivious to the fact that she could she him in the cabinet’s glass doors. He seriously believed this for years. It still made Jada laugh to think about it. It was always the three of them. Together. That is until Alex and Jada had gone off to school.

Alex snagged some dough from the wooden spoon and popped it into his mouth. He made a funny face.

“Don’t tell me—I forgot something.” Jada said, glaring at her brother.

“I don’t know. You taste it,” he said, handing her the spoon.

Jada took a sampling. “You’re right,” she said, wrinkling her nose. “I can’t quite place my finger on it. Does margarine go bad?” she asked, picking up the container looking for an expiry date.   

“No. I don’t think so. It has to be something else.”

Jada thought for a moment then her face lit up. “Didn’t Mom add something from a little paper packet? I think maybe it was some sort of spice. It was greyish, and she called it Nana Bell’s secret ingredient. I can’t believe you forgot about that.”

“We forgot about that,” he corrected. Alex’s face split into a grin. “Right, the mystery ingredient. She always added it at the end. I always thought it was some sort of magic powder,” he said, laughing aloud. Jada rolled her eyes. “Didn’t she keep it in a red tin?” he asked.

Jada scratched her head. “It had a bird on it, remember?” It had been years since Jada had baked anything in her mother’s kitchen. “Where did she keep it?”

Alex quickly searched the kitchen. Finally, in the cupboard above the refrigerator, he located the tin. It was square, perhaps having been used for chocolates in another life. The cardinal embossed on top made him smile. It had always been Mom’s favourite bird.

“What’s that?” Jada asked, as Alex pried off the lid. Peering inside, she quickly pulled out a small parchment envelope; next to it a larger cream-coloured one.

“There—that’s it!” This time it was Alex doing the snatching, and he nicked the packet before Jada could object.

“Hold up,” Jada said, while removing the larger envelope. She looked at it quizzically, then opened it. Squinting, she read it aloud:

My Dearest Emily,

If you are reading this then you know I have passed, and according to my wishes, have been cremated. I am hoping to continue to spread a bit of sweetness even after my death. Enclosed in this tin you will find a number of small packets along with a recipe for my soft Christmas cookies. Save this recipe for the holidays (my secret ingredient will not last forever) and help me spread some Christmas cheer for generations to come.

Love,

Nana Bell

Emily looked pale. She swallowed and said, “You don’t suppose that … that Nana … No. That’s insane.”

“What? That these packets contain Nana’s ashes?” Alex said, unable to control his laughter.

They both looked at the packet, the bowl, each other, and then burst into nervous giggles. The siblings stood in silence for two minutes until Jada disrupted the stillness.

“I really don’t think they’ll taste them same without it. Do you?” Jada asked.

Alex nodded in agreement. “I mean, it looks like they have been making these for generations. Nana Bell gave this recipe to Grandma and she obviously passed it on to Mom. I bet she would have shared it with us eventually.” He shrugged, tilting his head to the right. He waved the packet back and forth in his hand.

Wordlessly, they tore open the packet, mixing it in with the dough. Jada spooned out the dough onto the baking sheet. Alex then opened the oven door, allowing her to set the tray on the rack. Jada closed the door and set the timer.

With the cookies baking, Alex and Jada sat down, and each picked up a glass.

“Merry Christmas, M om,” they said in unison.