It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Chick Lit

by S. E. Babin

  “I suppose I could decorate the house for Christmas... Or perhaps I could volunteer at the kids’ school this afternoon,” she told herself. Instead, she fixed herself a cup of detoxifying tea and turned on the television.

  She flipped from channel to channel, trying to find something that would take her mind off the impending doom of tomorrow’s birthday. She was about to turn off the television when a familiar face caught her attention.

  “Welcome back to Baking with Jessie,” purred the woman on the television screen. “Today I’m going to show you how to make the perfect Christmas cookie platter.”

  Brandi sipped her tea, glaring at the screen. “As if you know anything about making cookies,” she muttered. “No one can make cookies like my mom did.” She wiped a stray tear from her face.

  “The secret,” said the woman on the television “is that your butter needs to be the perfect temperature. Some recipes call for melted butter, some for room temperature butter, and some for cold butter. Don’t get creative with the temperate. Remember: Baking is science. You need to follow recipes exactly or they won’t turn out right.” Then she smiled a warm, sweet smile, to soften the critical sting.

  “Why do you look so familiar?” Brandi asked the woman on the screen.

  “Let’s bring out my mama. The woman who taught me everything I know. Please give a big welcome to my mother Kristina,” she said, and her studio audience broke into a robust round of applause.

  Out walked a perfectly preserved woman in her late sixties. Fluffy, silver hair. Chic linen pantsuit. Gigantic ruby ring on her gnarled, knotty claw. Brandi dropped what was left of her detox tea onto the floor with a clatter, and let out a small shriek. This moment was so big, so obnoxious, that it led her to do something she hadn’t done in over five years: She picked up the phone and called her sister Barbara.

  * * *

  “I’m not sure why you wanted to bring us all together,” said Bonnie, brushing wiry gray strands from her face and moving her toddler Selma to her other breast. “She’s a hungry little turd,” she added, patting her daughter’s head.

  “No kidding,” said Barbara. “So, Brandi, I thought you were too good for us low-lifes? Now here you come, crawling out of the woodwork. Is this because you’re turning forty tomorrow? Are you having some kind of meltdown?”

  “No. But thanks for remembering my birthday.”

  “I wouldn’t have if you hadn’t contacted me,” said Barbara.

  Brandi coughed and took a sip of her coffee. The sisters were gathered together, along with two of Bonnie’s seven children, in the upstairs of Stack O’ Cakes Cafe in Madison. Brandi had prepared an outline of her plan, to make their meeting as quick and painless as possible, but, as usual, her inefficient sisters were going off on tangents.

  “Listen up,” she told them. “Do you remember Jessica Spader?” Her sisters looked at her blankly. “From when we lived in LA?” she added.

  “Nope,” said Bonnie.

  “Can’t say I do,” said Barbara.

  “Well, anyway, I was watching TV this morning…”

  “Must be nice,” Barbara muttered.

  “And who should come on, but Jessica. She has her own baking show! And her mom, that horrible woman Kristina Spader, the one who kicked mom and me out of the bake sale, causing us to have to move to Nebraska – you two do remember that whole chain of events, right? – Well, she was on there, too. It really got my blood boiling!”

  “Nebraska wasn’t so bad,” said Bonnie.

  “I met Tank in Nebraska,” Barbara said, bringing up her abusive ex-husband.

  “And Dad’s still out there, somewhere,” Bonnie said, shaking her head sadly.

  “Are you sure about that? Have you seen him?” asked Barbara.

  “Back to the here and now,” said Brandi. “It’s not right that Jessica Spader has her own baking show and we don’t. We need to pull together, for Mom. She was the best cookie baker on the whole entire planet, and it would be inexcusable for us to let her recipes die. She may be gone, but we can keep her alive by baking her cookies. But I need you two to help me. I don’t remember all the recipes, and she hardly ever wrote them down, but I’m sure if the three of us work together, we can figure out how to bring them all back to life. We helped her in the kitchen for years. We can do this! For Mom!”

  “Is this really about Mom, or is it about you being jealous of Jessica Spader?” asked Bonnie.

  “Or is this some kind of freak-out since you’re turning forty?” Barbara suggested again.

  Brandi shrugged. “Little bit of all of those?” she admitted.

  “I’m too busy working nights at the nursing home to help you,” said Barbara.

  “And I’m too busy with my kids,” said Bonnie. “Most of them are at that age where they’re getting smart, and I’m exhausted from helping them with their homework. All I do, day and night, is fractions. Geometry. Division. I’m one big, sad, math whiz. I don’t have the time or energy to bond with you over a hot oven.”

  “There’s one other thing I didn’t mention,” said Brandi. “Jessica and her mom are entering the First Annual Yodel-ay-hee-hoo Yuletide Cookie Bake Off, which just happens to be taking place in New Glarus in two weeks. The contest is going to be aired on the Baking Network. It’s a really big deal!”

  “So?” said Barbara.

  “Well, the Yodel-ay-hee-hoo Yuletide Cookie Bake Off is still accepting entries, but only for one more day,” said Brandi.

  “Looks like we pretty much missed our chance,” said Bonnie, yawning.

  “I’m so not interested,” Barbara added.

  “The contest is taking place on the same weekend that Chet’s taking the twins to violin camp,” Brandi continued, “so my house will be free for you to both stay with me. It’ll be just like old times!”

  “Who’s Chet?” asked Barbara.

  “My husband,” Brandi said, glaring at her sister.

  “I still don’t understand what any of this has to do with us,” said Bonnie.

  “I haven’t told you two the most important part,” Brandi said. “The grand prize winning team gets their own TV show and a hundred thousand dollars.”

  “A hundred dollars?” Barbara repeated, her eyes lighting up a little in consideration.

  “A hundred thousand dollars,” Brandi said.

  “Count us in!” yelled Barbara and Bonnie in unison.

  * * *

  “Okay,” Brandi said to her sisters, both of whom were doing their best to not appear intimidated by the Wolf range and shiny mixers in Brandi’s kitchen. “I had these Team Buefred aprons made up for us. Don’t worry if you get batter on them, because these are our practice aprons. The real ones say Team Buefred, too, but they’re much prettier than these.”

  “Why do they say Team Buefred?” asked Barbara. “My last name is Bunson, and Bonnie’s last name is Perkins, and your last name is something different now, too. Right?”

  “My last name is Bliss,” said Brandi, doing her best to keep her breathing even, “which it has been since I got married fourteen years ago – I cannot believe you don’t know that – but we needed a team name. So we’re the Buefred girls, baking in honor of our mother Sally Buefred. It just makes sense.”

  “Mmm, I dunno,” said Bonnie.

  “Put on your stinkin’ aprons,” said Brandi. “We need to get down to business. We’ve only got eleven days until the contest, and there’s a lot of work ahead of us. Barbara, I want you to work on whipping up Mom’s special peppermint stick frosting. And Bonnie, you and I are each going to throw together a batch of Mom’s famous snowman sugar cookies, basing it on memory, and then we’re going to compare notes after we taste them.”

  “Man, you’re bossy,” said Barbara. “And what’s up with that lady over there, holding that bowl of brown batter?”

  “That’s not batter,” said Brandi. “It’s hair dye. Barbara and Bonnie, meet my personal stylist Carmella. She’s going to give you two the teensiest li
ttle makeovers, while we’re working.”

  “Not me! I like to look natural,” said Bonnie, scratching at her fuzzy mustache.

  “I’ll take a free dye job, if you’re handing ‘em out,” said Barbara.

  “That’s the spirit, Barbara! Consider it my early Christmas present to you,” said Brandi. She turned to Bonnie. “Remember: We’re going to be on television. This is our big debut! Getting spiffed up couldn’t hurt our outcome.”

  “But will my friends still respect me if I dye my hair?” Bonnie asked.

  “They will unless they’re really shallow. Now, where were we? I think a little music will get us in the mood for this,” said Brandi, putting her Mannheim Steamroller Christmas CD into the small stereo she kept on her kitchen counter. Moments later Carmella was painting Barbara’s hair brown and Bonnie’s mustache blonde. Fat flakes of snow were dancing across the New Glarus sky, and the kitchen was filled with unprecedented cheer and laughter, along with the delicious aroma of Sally’s cookies coming back to life.

  The sisters worked on their recipes all day long. They were back at it the next Saturday, and Bonnie and Barbara both called in sick the following Wednesday to have another go at it. When the older sisters had to work, Brandi kept at it on her own, adjusting the ingredients this way or that, testing out slightly different cooking temperatures and pans, working towards those elusive, perfect cookies of yesteryear. She even enlisted the help of her normally-distant children, Nicholas and Cassandra, and her chilly husband Chet. Slowly but surely, their cookie recipes were evolving into the formulas for taste bud heaven that would have made Sally Buefred proud.

  The night before the contest, New Glarus was a-buzz with television crews and reporters. Barbara and Bonnie arrived after dinner with their overnight bags, so they could be up bright and early when the contest started the next morning.

  Instead of putting them each in their own guest rooms, Brandi unfolded the sleeper sofa in the den and made up the bed. She topped it off with three pillows. “Just like old times at the Big Platte Lodge,” she murmured, remembering those days with an unexpected twinge of longing.

  The three women snuggled up together and were dozing contentedly when an explosion rocked the night sky over Brandi’s McMansion. At first she thought it was the nearby butane plant exploding, but to her relief, it was just some celebratory fireworks, in honor of the next day’s big event.

  “Beautiful,” Barbara said, pulling the blanket around her shoulders, looking up through the skylights at the cascading sparkles above them.

  “Mom would be so happy that the three of us are finally together again,” said Bonnie. “And just in time for the holidays!”

  “It’s crazy to think that, in a way, Kristina Spader and her daughter Jessica are the reason behind this,” mused Brandi.

  “Yeah, I still don’t know who you’re talking about,” Bonnie admitted.

  “Me neither,” said Barbara, going back to sleep.

  * * *

  “Hear ye, hear ye, cookie lovers,” said the man dressed like a giant Swiss elf, who, apparently, was the event’s emcee. “It’s almost time to begin.”

  Brandi, Barbara, and Bonnie were decked out in their fancy aprons, grasping each other’s hands, practically shaking with nervous anticipation. They were in the New Glarus High School gymnasium, which had been temporarily converted into a baking kitchen. Twelve other teams stood around them. There was a mix of amateur and professional bakers. Directly to their right stood Team Spader, comprised of Kristina, Jessica, and Jessica’s seventeen year old daughter Samantha. They also wore matching aprons, but they hadn’t stopped there. They had a turquoise theme going on. From the chunky turquoise highlights in their hair to their turquoise nail polish, the three generations of Spader ladies were a perfectly matched set. All cameras were on them, with the rest of the contestants seeming to be merely their supporting cast.

  “I feel like those turquoise gals have already got us licked,” Barbara whispered to her sisters.

  “Nonsense,” said Brandi. “We haven’t even gotten started yet. Don’t get discouraged!”

  “Round one,” said the elf, into his nutcracker shaped microphone, “will be frosted bars.”

  “Frosted bars?” Bonnie cried. “How can bars be part of a cookie competition?”

  “Don’t worry,” Brandi assured her sisters. “I’ve been practicing everything. Even bars! We’re going to be fine!”

  “Quit your whispering, and pay attention,” the elf warned the contestants. “Each team gets five minutes to collect ingredients from the mini-grocery store we’ve set up outside for you, and an additional fifty-five minutes to bake, frost, and plate their bars. Sixty minutes from now, our judges will taste the outcomes. Ready … Set … Go!”

  Brandi darted outside while Barbara and Bonnie stayed back, preparing their prep and baking space. There was a large white tent holding all the ingredients just outside the school, and people were stampeding towards it. Brandi noticed that most teams hadn’t thought to leave anyone behind to get working in the kitchen. She hoped she was able to gather everything she’d need in just her two arms.

  “Are you all by yourself?” hissed a voice in Brandi’s ear, just as her hand closed around a lemon.

  “Oh. So we meet again,” Brandi said to Jessica Spader. “Nice seeing you, but I’m afraid I don’t have time for chitchat.” She scooped two lemons into the hem of her shirt, and spun around to locate the vanilla, but Jessica was on her like a barnacle on a sunken ship.

  “Lemon bars? How original. And how un-Christmasy! You do realize that’s the theme of this competition, don’t you?”

  “Why don’t you mind your own business?” Brandi suggested.

  “I’m having too much fun minding yours. Plus, I was smart and brought my daughter along to collect ingredients, so I have a little extra time on my hands to catch up with you. By the way, you’re never going to be able to carry all the ingredients you need. Why didn’t you have one of those trolls you call your sister help you out?”

  “Three minutes in the mini-grocery store remaining!” called the elf over the loudspeaker.

  “Don’t insult my sisters,” Brandi warned, grabbing a bag of flour, a bag of sugar, and dashing off towards the section with the butter and eggs.

  “Two and a half minutes!” hollered the elf.

  “Mom, do you want me to get this kind of baking soda or this kind?” Jessica’s daughter Samantha asked, holding up two containers.

  “Just bring back both,” snapped Jessica.

  “The rules say you can only bring back one type of each ingredient you use,” Samantha told her mother.

  “Two minutes!” bellowed the elf.

  “Oh. I didn’t realize that. In that case…” Jessica looked back and forth between the two, while Brandi piled her shirt with butter and eggs. She couldn’t help but feel a little smug; the baking soda in Samantha’s right hand was the only correct answer, but Jessica didn’t know it.

  “Let’s do this one,” said Samantha, accidently picking the better choice, to Brandi’s disappointment.

  “Just one minute to go, folks!” yelled the elf. Brandi double-checked that she had everything she needed, and was halfway back to the gymnasium when Kristina Spader appeared out of nowhere, her alligator loafer shooting out with cougar-like precision and deftly tripping Brandi. All of Brandi’s ingredients flew up in the air, while Kristina continued on her way, never looking back. Somehow, Brandi managed to catch them all, save for one of her eggs, which lay splattered in the dirty, trampled snow. Brandi turned around to gauge whether there might be time to return to the mini-grocery store, just in time to see the elf untie the open flaps, closing off the tent. “Tent’s closed,” he yelled to Brandi.

  She jumped up, clutching her remaining ingredients, her hopes shot. As Jessica had said on her baking show, baking was a science. This, unfortunately, was true. Trying to make a recipe come together without the correct number of eggs was never going to work.
Their bars were doomed.

  “What’s the matter?” Barbara asked, when Brandi unloaded her pile of ingredients on the table beside her sisters.

  “That bitch Kristina Spader tripped me, and I broke an egg. How are we supposed to make Mom’s special lemon eggnog bars with only four eggs?” Brandi shook her head. “We need four for the bars and one for the eggnog frosting. We might as well give up now.”

  “Let’s throw in the towel,” Barbara said, tossing a towel onto the floor.

  “Do you have everything else you need?” Bonnie asked Brandi.

  “Well, yes,” said Brandi.

  “But what good will the rest of the ingredients be if we don’t have the right number of eggs? This isn’t some pile of treats we’re making for some hungry teenagers. This is the biggest challenge of our lives,” Barbara declared.

  “You two!” said Bonnie. “All we need to do is cut the rest of the ingredients by twenty-five percent. Honestly, it’s not that complicated.”

  Brandi wiped her tears away while Bonnie got a scrap of paper and calmly wrote down their new, adjusted recipe. All around them were other groups of scrambling, stressed-out contestants. The nearby teams were just beginning to preheat their ovens, and were just pulling mixing bowls from the cupboards. Since Barbara and Bonnie had stayed behind, their kitchen was perfectly in order.

  “We’ve got this,” Bonnie said, squeezing Brandi’s shoulders. “Do you believe me?”

  Brandi nodded. “Yes. Thank you.”

  Bonnie and Brandi made the bars while Barbara worked on the frosting. They were like a finely oiled machine, while all around them other teams were shouting, crying, and bumping into one another. Team Buefred was pulling their bars out of the oven to cool before some teams had even started baking theirs.