𝗔𝗱𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗲 𝗗𝘂𝗯𝗼𝗶𝘀 was a total 'grump.' Majoring in pastry arts, her irritated and seemingly negative personality drove people away, like maybe she had a disease of her own. She had her own little circle of friends that she could trust, it...
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I have a confession. Marie's words resonated with me completely, echoing throughout my mind, "I know enough to know that you deserve to be happy." Who knew a simple phrase could mean so much? I chanted her words in my mind for the next couple days like a mantra, my moving force. Within this time, I hadn't seen or heard from Callahan. Grabbing my phone, I gazed at the black screen debating whether to text him or not. Like many times before, I chickened out, tossing my phone before the cycle repeated.
Putting these thoughts aside, I didn't want to get too distracted on the matter, especially with my upcoming competition. I had to give this my all, no interruptions whatsoever. I huffed, grabbing my belongings and headed out the door. Siding on my headphones, I nodded my head along to the beat of the music while walking to the lab. Ideas of what I should execute whirled around my head. Marie often described baking as an art form, which there's some truth to that. Of course there's the showmanship and presentation aspects to baking. However, my mother always told me that people know when there was no heart put into the product. I 100% believe this statement, companies often pump the pastries with chemicals and random crap they can get their hands on. Although I don't think she meant this in a literal sense...whatever.
Taking off my headphones and scanning my school ID, I stepped into the main entrance of the culinary department. Walking down the hall to the lab, I passed by each classroom. Up ahead, I could hear playful banter and loud laughter. Being somewhat nosey, I chose to peek inside, slowing my walking pace to get a good look. Glancing inside, I managed to get a quick look at a group of people, some of them in a social circle conversing and some scattered around the room. Coming to the end of the doorway, my ears locked on a familiar laugh. Out of sheer instinct, my body did a double take. My eyes locked on Callahan's backside, shoulders rolling in sync with others, all laughing at a joke I assumed he made.
Not that I really wanted it, but I assumed it'd be nice to be someone's center of attention. I was used to being ignored, borderline neglected. Never that I could resent her for it, but my mother somewhat neglected me at times. She always described it as me simply being independent, but as I got older I found that it was so much deeper than that. Throughout the years, I noticed that she'd have her highs and lows. Come to find out, she suffered from bipolar depression.
I noticed before an episode Mom would have a significant less amount of sleep, I'd commonly come downstairs and catch her baking at odd hours of the night. Or on occasion she would get too much sleep and spend many days wallowing in the bed. She'd make impulsive decisions at times, decisions that involved a good amount of money. Other times she'd be indecisive, which was good, it sort of countered her impulsiveness...however sometimes it'd be difficult for her just to choose what shirt to wear that day.
During these times I had to be on my own, making dinner for the week, maintaining appearances, essentially filling in her role. Eventually, during my late teenage years I managed to convince her to get on the proper medication, effectively stabling her condition. And as soon as I turned, 21 I had a long conversation with her, I convinced her to appoint me as her guardian. This was to ensure her wellbeing, if she wasn't coherent to make decisions for herself, I'd be the one to step up and take care of her safety.
The bowl of frosting I was hand mixing slipped out of my hands, snapping me out of my mind.
"Fuck..." I hissed under my breath, irritated that now there was a heap of blue buttercream frosting not only painted all over my lower half, but also on the floor of the kitchen. I began unravelling the paper towel roll, grabbing sheet after sheet, desperately trying to clean up this sticky mess. Once I got the mass of the situation under control, I stepped across the scene, each foot sticking slightly on the floor. Still irritated, I marched my way back down the hall to retrieve a mop from the supply closet.
Pushing the mop bucket back, having to redirect it nearly every second because the first wheel was broken really set me off. Too focused on making sure I made it back, I didn't realize a figure coming up in front of me, assisting the direction of the bucket.
