hostile veins (h.s)

Chapter Twelve

"Harry went home?" My mother's voice travels through the den as I walk in through the front door and slam it behind me. A wall of cold air from outside fights against the heat of the house.

"Yeah," I sigh with frustration. I stop the snow off my feet and slip off my shoes.

"Why?"

"Homework, I guess," I lie.

My feet carry me into the kitchen where I stop at the island and bend over. The drawer slides open and I pull out various sets of baking dishes, each clattering as they drop onto the marble countertop.

"Oh, boy," my mum huffs with a slight smirk which she appears to be trying to hide. Her and my father still sit at the couch in a similar position to when I left.

"Shove it," I tell her as I slam the drawer shut. "I'm not in the mood for teasing."

My father coughs loudly, looking confused between my mother and I. "That's not how you speak to your mother."

I turn around and roll my eyes as I reach into the pantry and start pulling out ingredients.

"What are you doing?" Dad asks.

"What it looks like I'm doing," I grunt.

"Okay, Callie, honey, you can tell us if he broke your heart or whatever he did-"

"He didn't break my damn heart, Mom. This isn't about him." The latter's a lie. "Can't I just do some damned baking?"

She shrugs. "I'm your mother, hon. I know the difference between cravings and stress-baking."

"Stress-baking?" My father asks in a deep voice.

"She bakes when she's stressed. You'll see. In three hours, the entire island will be covered in at least ten different cookies or pastries."

"I'm just baking!" I exclaim.

My mother rolls her eyes. "Sure, sure."

I pull out the 2kg bag of chocolate chips and drop it loudly on the island.

It turns out my mother knows me better than I thought. Exactly three hours and fifteen minutes later, half-past midnight, I'm leaning back against the oven handle wiping sweat off my forehead. Before me sits four types of cookies: chocolate chip, double chocolate chip, oatmeal raisin, and sugar cookies; two types of pastries: apple turnovers and blueberry braids, and some cherry tarts. The heat in the room is sweltering, almost drowning me.

"See?" My mother says as she peels herself from the couch lazily. "Feast for days."

"It's not for you," I snap at her before I can retract my voice. I quickly change my tone and apologize. "Choose three things and put them away. They're for someone else."

"I'm sure Harry will love them," my mother smiles.

"They're for my math teacher," I lie. "I'm bribing him to bump my mark."

"Don't mention that in front of your father," my mother tuts, striding to the island and picking up a hot cherry tart.

"Don't burn yourself," I respond. "They just came out."

I toss the last pan in the dishwasher and shut it with my hip. "I'm going to bed. If these are gone in the morning, I'm gonna flip."

"No need to warn me. Go talk to your brother."

With a tired huff, I drag each limb up the stairs and finally make it to my room. My hair begs for a shower but my lack of sleep disagrees. After quickly sticking my head in Matt's room and warning him not to eat the goodies, I curl up in my bed and lose myself in the waves of sleep to come.