My phone rang as I was leaving the station tonight. It was Stef with cookies baking in the oven. Roxie was supervising.
When she lived here Stef needed a map to find the kitchen. It’s been established beyond a reasonable doubt she didn’t know where the sink or dishwasher were nor the purpose of either.
That was then, this is now.
She’s seeing people tomorrow night. Tonight it’s bake to impress.
Butter cookies with raspberry jam centers were rising in her kitchen at the base of the Hollywood Hills. She will impress! Even I was tempted to drive to Hollywood Blvd. for a taste!
It’s interesting to see how as Stef gets older traits from Helaine and me (mostly Helaine), well hidden during the tumult of her teen years, are beginning to show.
Sorry Stef, you’re powerless to stop this. They’re in full bloom now. Baking cookies is something you do because it was something Helaine did. You’re Helaine’s child! Nothing wrong with that.
At one point the timer on her oven began to beep. This is intense work performed with surgical precision. The cookies needed her attention. Stef removed the baking tin. The clock continued to wail.
“Hey, MacGyver, defuse the bomb,” I begged hoping she’d silence this ‘successfully designed to annoy’ noise.
We spent most of my ride home chatting as she baked batch-after-batch and Roxie looked on.
“Roxie’s not sure what’s going on,” Stef said.
No, Roxie knows. I’d be attentive around that scent too!
It’s a good night to be a dad. It’s a good night to be Geoff.
Whomever gets those cookies had better appreciate them.