Sincerely, Mysterious

3 | Rewarded Milestones

I wiggled my fingers, getting ready to type the title when my mother's voice floated into my room, reaching my ears and breaking my concentration.

"Did you touch the glass bowl, mijo?"

"Which one?" I yelled. No answer came.

My voice rose a couple of intonations when I added, "Mamá, which glass bowl?"

Not a word came from my mother's end.

"Mamá? You there?" I rolled off my bed, shouting even louder. I might have as well been shouting to myself because it didn't seem like she had heard me. Which is a good thing, because then my father probably didn't hear me too? He wasn't such a big fan of noise, especially those which ruined his Saturday afternoon nap.

Hurrying down the stairs, I headed to the kitchen, expecting to meet no one, recounting on how my questions were left hanging in the air.

"Were you the one who touched the bowl?"

There was always something tasty to eat whenever the glass bowl appeared in the fridge. It was a divine manifestation to see its presence in that rectangular box, a blessing. And the only way to get it was to check behind the jugs of milk and piles of Tupperware at the right day and time.

"Maybe." If I said yes, I won't be getting a morsel of whatever the bowl contained, because that meant I had already had some. And I was certain saying no wouldn't increase my chances, that would just sound like "I'm not interested" to my mother---which was false, because I was more than curious to find out what treat she had been hiding at the very back of the fridge. "What was in it?"

Her eyebrows turned down and her lip twitched slightly in a sneer. "Like you don't know already."

"I don't, seriously," I said as I let out a small laugh. "Maybe if you tell me what was in it, I'd be able to help you find it."

She didn't respond, and I knew why. If she responded, she would admit to intentionally hiding desserts from everyone in that bowl. Lines appeared on her forehead as she shook her head. The creases made her caramel-coloured skin look a shade darker.

I helped her find her desert-stashing bowl. It didn't take long.

"Ah, here it is," I told her as I lifted the dark bowl off the counter and approached the dining table. "It was by the microwave. Dad took it, I guess."

"God, so help me," she muttered. "The day you start to place things back where you took them will be the day the Lord descends."

As my mother began to complain about all the things I had done wrong since the first breath I took---even though I obviously wasn't the one who took the bowl---I pried off the cover and peeked inside the round sanctuary for sweetness.

I hit gold. It shone off the honey, which was drizzled with sugar on top of crescent sopapilla rolls. These were like the ones my grandma always made during Christmas at her place, except the rolls were baked instead of fried, and cheesecake was tucked in between them. She would flip if she saw the tweaks my mom put in her recipe.

Tentatively, I picked up one of the cheesecake bars while I watched my mother from the corner of my eye.

Nibbling on the corners of the creamy pastry, I reached for two more bars before I stood as quietly as I could. I could have left unnoticed if not for the chair falling over and the sound scaring me into dropping one bar on the floor.