d4 . mary merengue

m a r y .

I’ve been awake in every state line,
dyin’ to make it last us a lifetime,
tryin’ to shake that it’s all on an incline,
find me a way, I’ll be yours in a landslide

It bled across the sky on stormy days, a gentle reminder that the sun is about to set, it fades into the darkness as the stars begin to shine and the moon awakens the night. It’s the first colour she saw when the sun rose against the backdrop of her home. Pink is her favourite colour. It’s the reminder of love and an embrace on a chilly evening, where the fire is crackling beside you. But it isn’t the flames, it’s the stacks of books piled high. The cup of steaming tea that sits by your side as you tug at the blanket on your lap.

Streaks reach high into the sky, whispers that tell her it’s going to be a good day. When it touched the clouds it made her pause, blue eyes gazed at the highlights that balance against grey. A pale hand rubbed against a cheek, fighting back a yawn as she parked her bike up against the side of the building. She didn’t sleep much, her day shifting to the chill of night, where the stars guide her back to their house a few streets away. Then, before the sun has even risen she’d be up again, the bakery her father’s own awakened by her touch.

The flowers that poked out from the vase on the register table were a reflection of her personality, sweet, light, and gentle. She pushed them to the side, as she grabbed her apron, tying it around her waist with nimble hands. It’s covered in flowers, and a pink rhino sits in the centre drawn in a cartoonish design. On a shelf beside the bench is a book that she always pulled out every single morning, she had a bad habit of being indecisive. Filling the pages was pictures and hastily drawn instructions on how to make the delightful looking items featured. Flipping through the pages, she nibbled on her lip, unsure of which ones to pick. By the time her dad arrived he would expect her to know exactly what she was going to make. It would be the first thing he asked.

If she didn’t know or paused too long he would sigh, rolling his eyes, before listing off four quick recipes that he knew she struggled with the most. By the time everything was baked and sitting in the display cabinet at the front she would be running late for her Career classes at the training centre. So, she had to make a decision, she couldn’t afford another snappy conversation with Felicia, where her temper got the better of her. It took enough effort to bite her tongue when her dad made a comment.

One, two, three, she decided, making a mental note of each item. Cookies, cupcakes, and merengues.

She snapped the book shut, recipes already imprinted in her mind from years of work. Moving quickly she swept her long red hair into a messy bun before slipping into the kitchen behind the front of the store. A gentle hum escaped her lips as she got to work, every step of the process muscle memory, there was enjoyment in allowing herself to fall into the rhythm. Mindless and calming, the process was one of the better ways to relieve stress after a hard week.

The back door opened, reminding Mary that the sun would now have greeted the district. The bread that her dad had asked her to put on was sitting on a nearby table, tendrils of steam rising. The room was filled with the smell of freshly baked goods and her dad let out a low whistle of appreciation as he put his bag down. Rubbing his hands together he moved to the hooks by the door, pulling on his apron.

“You chose, and are well on your way to finishing already,” he said, nodding his head with a cheeky smile. He looked tired, the usual residual from his sleep worn under puffy eyes. She had his red hair and eyes, he was her biological father, her other dad was still her dad, just not the one she shared the genes with, although he would say otherwise. According to both of them she had developed his snarky attitude and short temper. “You bet, I didn’t want you to give me the hardest ones, so I made it really quick this morning,” she flashed him a toothy grin.

There were trays lined with prepared goods, flour littered her apron, and she pushed each tray to the edge of the table nearest the ovens. “They’re ready to be baked,” she moved to the back door where her dad was standing, untying her apron and hanging it up. “I’ll be back tonight to clean up and close the shop once classes are finished.” Her dad nodded, bending down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Your father is making us dinner tonight, so make sure you’re home before eight, he was very excited when I left this morning.” Mary laughed, a fond smile lighting up her face as she pushed the back door open and raced over to her bike. Glancing down at her watch she cursed, the smile quickly replaced by an annoyed scowl. Throwing a leg over the bike she began pedalling as fast as she could.