Several months ago, Literary Mama invited readers to experiment with writing fiction in response to Sara Dutily’s essay, Daily Bread. Always excited to write about sourdough, I cooked up this short story.
The smell of freshly baked sourdough bread wafts through the neighborhood streets. Pushing her double stroller up the cobblestone alley, Maeve pauses every few steps, confirming her two-year-old twins are still buckled. Last week they learned how to unbuckle themselves and they’ve been escape artists ever since. The toddlers gabble in a dialect only they understand and Maeve wonders if they’ll always share this language of their own.
Maeve stops in front of a simple cape, freshly painted blue with a steep gabled roof and a brick chimney sprouting from its side. The aroma of bread is vivid in the air. “Okay girls, we're here.” Her twins hop out as if performing a magic trick. They clamber up two uneven steps and turn to Maeve with toothy grins on their faces. “We did it, Mama!”
“You did it!” Maeve replies; smiling as she rings the doorbell. Hattie answers the door wearing her favorite apron. The twins barrel inside, running straight to the playroom to find Hattie’s kids.
“Come in!” Hattie opens the door and rushes back to the kitchen. Maeve giggles at white handprints slapped on the rear of Hattie’s black pants. The kitchen floor is covered with flour dust. Bannetons nestled into produce bags are lined up on the kitchen counters, waiting for their turn in the oven. Bowls with sourdough starter stuck to their sides tower out of the kitchen sink.
Maeve rests on a barstool at the counter. “Well, this is it, Hattie. Today your dream comes true.” Hattie pours two cups of coffee and plops herself on the stool next to Maeve. She inhales the steam rising from her mug and sighs at the sight of the mess in her kitchen. Hattie’s been baking sourdough bread for more than twelve years. What started as a hobby became the one way she indulged herself after becoming a mom. Even when her babies were just weeks old, she continued to bake bread. When her oldest turned three, a dream to open a neighborhood bakery sprouted in her mind.
Hattie shakes her head in disbelief. “I can’t believe it’s really happening.” She takes a deep breath. With an audible exhale, her shoulders relax. For the last year, she’s filled out paperwork, applied for licenses, read everything she could find about starting an in-home bakery. Two weeks ago she hung her first sign: “Fresh Bread For Sale. Call Hattie. Delivery available.”
“I didn’t realize how energizing this would be.” Maeve eyes Hattie suspiciously as Hattie continues. “It’s exhausting, yes. But my heart feels more full than ever before. It’s like a piece of me was missing before I made this dream my reality. Thank you for being my first customer.”
“Are you kidding me?” Maeve nods her head, noticing Hattie’s eyes start to glisten. “Your bread is the best in the state. I’ll be here every week.” Maeve stands, leaving her coffee cup on the counter; “Now, what can I do to help?”