“Cloudy skies and high winds until the end of this week…” The voice on the radio sounded tinny and far away, though in reality it was right next to me. It sounded like the big storm was going to be staying for a while. I was already sick of it, all the stockpiling flashlights and batteries and dairy products in case we couldn’t leave our houses for a while and lost power. Summer was hurricane season, though we hardly ever got any. It was probably just because we were right by the ocean. A weak fan was trying hard to provide any sort of comfort in the sticky, humid air, though it didn’t feel like anything was happening. I was laying down on the couch, trying to ignore all of the storm warnings and the oppressive heat. I could hear my mother baking up her own storm in the kitchen. She always bakes when she’s stressed. As if sensing the atmosphere of weariness surrounding me like a storm cloud, she left her post by the oven and came into the living room.
“You’re so lazy. Come help me with these cookies.” She said, wiping her hands on her apron. I didn’t protest, and without a word, I followed her into the kitchen. Bowls and plates and measuring cups littered every surface, the dogs prowling for any fallen scraps. I could smell the chocolate chip cookies in the oven, the aroma pleasant.
