Her Mom's Cookies

Before we start, you should know, I am a procrastinator.

If more people knew the depths of my delays, I'd be a meme. I once washed the same load of laundry in the washer for 2 months because I kept putting off changing it to the dryer. I just got around to rolling up my inflatable pool in December.

So it's probably unsurprising that I found myself riding in a tow truck just two miles from home with a flat tire, en route to a tire shop because I'd put off getting a new spare. At least the place was close.

The driver, Danny, was very nice. He was super chatty, offered me cinnamon candies, complimented my eyes and hair color despite my showing roots and having seen my ID earlier.

I looked around the cab while smiling behind my mask and nodding encouragement while he explained his emergency lights were out and he'd had to pull the face of the dashboard off this morning. There were snack bar wrappers scattered around, a large travel mug and flannel shirt tucked into a plastic bin under the dash, then I noticed a little book with a black cover left haphazardly on the floor on my side with another wrapper. It didn't seem to belong.

I picked it up and asked "Is this yours?"

"Nah" He replied "People leave things in the truck all the time. You're my first passenger today and I didn't even drive this one yesterday."

I opened it up because, well, it was there.

There were sketches inside of a woman, made with a black ball point pen. Her hair was dark. She was wearing pajamas, reading her phone, drinking coffee at a table with a plant on it. Then there were sketches of a cat.

The book didn't have any ID in it or on the ends and it seemed to be new. Most of it was blank, but at the very back, I found one page with a recipie on it. For cookies.

The rest of the trip went as expected. I didn't have to wait too long to get the new tire put on and the others rotated while I half-heartedly played games on my phone and tried to ignore the tv.

I paid my bill then drove home after stopping off at a convience store for gas and iced coffee. At home, I did a little work then stared at my screens, trying to will myself into being productive. I didn't feel like it.

I never feel like doing work lately. I mean, I feel lucky to be alive, lucky to have a job that lets me work from home. Lucky my parents and brothers haven't been sick. Lucky to have a car that's paid off or enough money to get towed and pay for a random new tire.

Thoughts about travel, the book and the cookie recipe seemed far more interesting as the work day and sunlight faded away.

"I don't need cookies." I said to myself as I pulled a few eggs out of the fridge.

"I need to finish my work." I thought as I set the oven to preheat.

"These are not tollhouse" came to mind while I poured chopped pecans into the mix with chocolate chips. I added a generous amount of vanilla and some chai spice and cumin.

I laid a piece of parchment paper on top of a cookie sheet and started making evenly spaced dough blobs on it, smiling and thinking of the baking shows I've watched.

I should be working to make up for today. Coworkers will be annoyed.

Instead, I sat on the floor with the oven light on so I could watch the dough bubble and slowly spread out. The kitchen smelled delightful. Like a home that isn't mine.

A warm, bright home that's filled with people who want to hug you, a loud, happy welcoming family. A family belonging to the woman in the book.

Sitting on the floor, in front of the oven that smelled delicious, I felt my shoulders relax. I took in several deep breaths.

It's going to be all right.