First Responders

I won’t know how I feel until I’ve baked them. Until, snapping off their arms and legs, I hear words tumble out between warm, scented mouthfuls. In the beginning, when Mum sent them in foil-wrapped batches to every new place, that was my favourite game of make-believe. That they cared about me, even though I ate them. That, until I licked the last crumb from my fingers, scrunched the buttery foil into a ball and hid it among my underwear, they listened to every word I said.

Now, I have to believe it. Otherwise. Otherwise I don’t know what.

Mum’s recipe card is propped on the window sill, for company rather than guidance. I know each frilled cursive by heart.Place the butter, brown sugar and golden syrup in a bowl and beat until light and creamy… add the eggs…mix in the spices…knead until smooth…until smooth…

I could…