Big Chicas Don't Cry(55)

Later that afternoon, I couldn’t shake the knot of fury rumbling in my belly. Dawn had really gotten to me. I needed something to distract me from both her and Chris.

I pulled out my box of recipes I’d handwritten on index cards. Some were from Welita and my abuela. And some were my own. When I worked at the catering company, I used to beg the chefs to let me help them prepare the dessert items. Then later, after the event was over, I’d go home and sit at my kitchen table rewriting their recipes and adding my own spices or ingredients for a twist.

As I thought about Dawn and how much she wanted to get her hands on Chris, I kneaded and punched the bread dough for my new capirotada recipe. Most of the time, I’d make the Mexican bread pudding with whatever I had in the pantry. But after talking about it with Welita, I wanted to try a new recipe that was very similar to her traditional recipe. I was excited to serve it at an auxiliary brunch next month.

I’m not sure exactly when I really learned how to bake. It might have begun with the first time Welita let me and my cousins help her make flour tortillas.

One by one, she let us pour one ingredient into her large yellow ceramic mixing bowl. Then we watched with envy as she stuck her hands into the white mixture and began combining it until it became a grainy white dough. Finally, when she was satisfied with the texture, she’d give us each a chunk of the dough so we could knead it and then roll it into a ball. We’d do it over and over again until we had about two dozen little dough balls lined up along the counter. She’d then roll them out into the shape of a tortilla and cook the flat rounds on her cast-iron comal. As she cooked, we cleaned up what we could and then sat at the kitchen table anxiously awaiting our first taste. We each got one tortilla and then promptly slathered butter on top, rolled it into a tube, and took a bite. It was my most favorite thing in the world to eat.

When I was a teenager, I started looking for recipes on my own. I’d see some in magazines or in my mom’s cookbooks (she never used them anyway). If I was sad or lonely, I’d bake a cake or pie. I didn’t do it because I wanted to eat them. I just liked creating something that people would enjoy. Sometimes I’d eat a piece of whatever I’d made or save one for my mom. Most of the time I gave it away—to friends, neighbors, my cousins, whoever wanted it.

Baking became my escape—something to do when I couldn’t sleep or when I needed a distraction.

“Why are you upset?” Letty asked as she walked into the kitchen with two bags full of groceries.

“I’m not upset,” I lied.

She set the bags on the counter. “Pues, I guess you just really, really hate that dough.”

I stopped pounding it and pushed it away. “I had my gala meeting today. Dawn Beck was there.”

Letty grimaced and then pulled a bag of rice out of one bag. “That mujer is a piece of work. I don’t know how you can stand being around her and those huge fake chiches.”

I laughed and wiped my hands on my apron so I could help put things away. “Those aren’t the only fake things about her.”

“What did she say this time?”

“The usual. I guess I just wasn’t in the mood to deal with her today. Especially when she started talking about Chris.”

Shit. Why did I bring him up?

Letty shook her head. “Why does that gringa think that Se?or Ramos could ever be interested in her?”

“Because of her fake chiches,” I joked.

Letty laughed. “Yes, probably. But even if she wasn’t such a bruja, she’s still a married woman. Se?or Ramos is too good of a man to do something like that.”

I had just opened the refrigerator door to put away the orange juice, grateful that she couldn’t see my face and start asking questions.

“Of course,” I said while moving things around on the shelves for no reason. “I know it’s ridiculous to even think that Chris would even be interested in someone like Dawn.”

Because apparently he’s in love with me.

“And you should know better about doing things that can’t be undone,” she said.

Panic heated my cheeks. Had I said that out loud? I spun around to face Letty. “What did you say?”

Letty pointed at the dough still sitting on the counter. “You’ve been baking long enough to know that too much kneading will ruin the dough. You can’t undo it once it’s done, and that looks way overdone.”

My knees nearly gave out from the relief.

“You’re right. It does look like that. I’ll start over.”

And that was probably another reason why I loved baking. Correcting your mistakes was as simple as starting a new batch.

Too bad other things couldn’t be as easily fixed.





Chapter Twenty-Nine


GRACIE


Summer meant a break from school, but not from the fiesta planning committee.

And although I lamented to my family about having to still go to the weekly meetings, secretly I was pleased because that meant I also continued to see Tony.

Sometimes we ate an early dinner together before the meeting, or we ate a late bite after. I never said anything to anyone. But Selena was suspicious and gave me the third degree whenever I told her I couldn’t go out with her.

“Come on, Gracie. I doubt the St. Christopher Fiesta Committee would fall apart if you missed one meeting,” she’d whined this past Thursday.