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Rated: E · Short Story · Contest Entry · #2315689
Mother and her visiting daughter bake bread.
Let’s Bake Bread

I read the recipe to my mother as she removed the ingredients from the cupboard.

"And one cup of flour."

"What type of flower? Kalanchoe, peony, hyacinth--"

"F l o u r," I said. "Mom, how many years have you been baking?"

"I thought we were making something exotic, perhaps. You have gotten very fancy since you left home."

I had moved to Chicago two years earlier. I knew I didn't have a ghost of a chance to use my accounting degree in our little farm town of Cherry Valley and make any real money. I guess I had gotten citified and a bit fancy. Money will do that.

"So we're just making plain old bread?"

"I guess, Mom."

"They just gave it a fancy name."

"Ciabatta is not a fancy name, Mom. It's Italian."

"Ah, yes. Chicago, Italian Mafia. Al Capone."

I was getting a headache and had only been home for fewer than 24 hours.

"It's late Mom. Why don't I finish up here, and you can call it a night."

"Okay, sweetie. I am a bit tired. A tad slaphappy. Don’t forget to turn off the light. "

"I won't."

We hugged, and she padded off to bed.

Down the hall, I could hear her singing, " Ciabatta, Ciabatta that toddlin' town. Ciabatta, Ciabatta, I'll show you around. Bet your bottom dollar you’ll lose the blues in Ciabatta, Ciabatta..."

Her voice faded as she disappeared into her bedroom.

Gotta love my mom.
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