Thirty-Five
"It looks alright on the outside..."
Dylan stared at the pan in my hands, looking over the crisp golden brown outside of the cake I had attempted to bake.
"I just don't see what you're concerned about."
I placed the cake down on the counter and pulled a knife out of one of drawers in the kitchen. As gently as I could, I made a single slit down the center of the cake and it exposed a spongy and entirely under-cooked center.
"Oh."
"If I cook it for any longer, the top will burn. If I cook it for any less time, the middle will be even more raw. I just can't seem to win."
Taking the cake pan in my hands, I scrapped off a small piece of the cooked top of the cake an popped it into my mouth. The texture was unbearable; and there was an overwhelming taste of citrus from the Greek Yogurt substitute I had included in it. I swallowed it uncomfortably, and thrust the rest of the cake into the sink; atop the previous cake, which had also been a failure.
"The other one was just like it. I don't even know if I have enough ingredients to try it again."
Sighing in exasperation, I leaned back against the counter-top and wiped the sweat from my brow.
"You know, it's not exactly easy trying to bake a cake without eggs, milk, or chocolate, right?"
Dylan laughed uncomfortably and I glared at him.
"You and all your allergies."
"I'm sorry about my genetics."
"I just don't want to have ruined your birthday."
He shook his head, taking my hands off the back on the counter-top and pulling me up to stand next to him. His crooked nose took on an even peculiar shape underneath the florescent light of my kitchen, his dark eyes reflecting the artificial glow.
"It can't be ruined if I'm with you."
"You're so corny."
"And you can't bake to save your life."
Suddenly, we were kissing and every vein in my body came to life. Only moments later, he was laughing and pulling his lips away.
"You taste like salt and really old Greek Yogurt."
I kissed him again.
