Week 8
Isaac has been baking for almost a solid month now, and I gotta say he’s now become a master in the art. He’s made every class of dessert you can think of, and he is constantly coming up with new ideas to tweak his recipes. I’m guessing he’s taking online classes because he never leaves the house unless he’s getting more groceries.
What I find funny most of all is that he is always finding some whacky holiday as an excuse to make another cake. Today he presented the three of us with a giant chocolate cake in celebration of “National Fossil Day.” David joked that if we dug into the cake we’d find the next dinosaur bone, and we all laughed over it.
That night I was going downstairs to grab a glass of milk from the fridge. I stepped into the dark kitchen to see a giant plump figure stooping over the counter and grabbing something in the back. I turn on the light and the figure freezes.
The person turns around, and lo and behold, it’s Isaac. I should’ve guessed from his giant figure by now, but it still surprises me how big he’s gotten. His stomach is now well beyond his pants line, peeping out far beyond what his shirt can cover. His pudgy face is flushed in red from embarrassment, and I can see why – he’s holding the whole National Fossil Day cake in his hands.
“Hey Isaac,” I give a wave.”
“H-hey,” Isaac mumbles in return.
“Something wrong with the cake?” I ask.
“Uh, yeah,” Isaac responds, slowly at first, then a second time more confidently. “Yeah. I tried it out, and it looks like I uh, messed up the ratios. Too much salt, not enough chocolate.”
I found it cute how I could almost see the little cogs in his brain turn. “Well, lemme try and I’ll be the judge,” I step forward.
Isaac’s eyebrows shoot up, “N-no!” He exclaims, then clears his throat. “Uh, no. I’ve already tried it. It’s really gross. No one is going to want to eat this.”
I stare at him for a little bit, then I shrug. “Okay. If it’s that bad, you can throw it out.”
“Y-yeah! Throw it out. I’m going to uh, do it over here.” Isaac brings the plate close to his huge chest and he waddles out from the kitchen. I pretend not to notice as he checks if I’m looking, then quickly hobbles up the stairs. I hear a door close a few seconds later.
After getting my glass of milk I walk up and pass by his door, I swear I can hear him chewing.
I knock. The chewing stops abruptly.
“Make sure you bring the plate down to the kitchen when you’re done,” I whisper, letting a giggle escape while doing so. A few seconds later, and I hear the chewing start again.
I return to my room, thinking about what that cake tastes like, and how I would never be able to find out.