Work Text:
The Cake Problem
You’re a member of a group that meets every week. Maybe it’s a club, or a church group, or a volunteer organization. It doesn’t matter. You go, without fail, every week. There are regulars, Sharon and Carl and Alice and Ben. You see them every week. One week, Sharon comes in with a cake. She sets it in the corner with some paper plates and plastic forks.
Alice asks her what’s the occasion.
“No occasion!” Sharon says brightly. “I’ve just been getting into baking recently, and I’m really loving it! I thought it would be nice to share it with you all.”
That’s nice. Privately, though, you think that she might’ve wanted to be complimented for her cake, which was why she brought it in. Whatever. You love cake. You beeline for the back, slicing yourself a piece.
Oh. It’s good. Man, you really love cake. You go to Sharon.
“Sharon! Your cake is so good!”
She brightens. “Thank you! I’ve really been—”
“It’s such a shame that it’s served on paper plates,” you continue. “Cake like this deserves a proper plate!”
Sharon blinks for a half-beat, before she smiles again. “I’m so glad that you think so. That’s really nice of you to say.”
“Oh wow, thanks so much for bringing in cake, Sharon.” Ben eats another bite. “How’d you get the chocolate so good?”
Sharon’s face lights up. “It’s just a little bit of coffee! I read about it online. You don’t taste the coffee, but if you add a bit, it brings out the sweetness of the chocolate.”
“Whoa,” Alice says. “I never would’ve guessed.”
“Me neither,” Sharon admits with a laugh.
“Are you planning on bringing in cake every week?” you ask eagerly.
“I think so,” Sharon says. “No promises, but I’ve been really into baking recently, and I love sharing it with people.”
Excellent.
Sharon’s right. She brings in cake every week. And every week, you go straight to the back. The second week, the cake is served with paper and plastic again.
“Sorry,” Sharon says, when she sees you. “I don’t have time to wash dishes, so…”
“Oh don’t worry about it,” you laugh. “That was just a joke.”
“Oh right, haha.”
And it was a joke, you think. But, well, that wonderful clink of fork against plate really elevates the experience. Cake is cake, though, so you don’t say anything else. But every week, you feel a little bit disappointed when you see the paper plates.
Sharon notices.
One week she brings in proper plates from home, and real cutlery. The fork clinks against the plate, just right.
“Wow, Sharon,” Carl says. “You don’t mind washing all these extra plates?”
Sharon shrugs. “It’s not that much extra work, really…”
“It’s so much better this way,” you rush to assure her. “I didn’t want to say anything before, but it’s just not the same eating a home-made cake off a paper plate. Paper and plastic are for the storebought crap that you bring to a kid’s birthday party. Your baking isn’t like that garbage.”
“Right,” Sharon says slowly. She exchanges a look with Carl. You don’t notice. “I’m glad that you think so highly of my baking.” She laughs a little bit. “It’s just a silly hobby, but it’s nice that people enjoy it so much.”
Sharon brings in plates and forks from home, every week after that. After every meeting, she looks a little bit dismayed at the mess. You don’t notice. You never notice. After all, you’ve already had your cake, and you like it better this way.
Sharon tends to make chocolate cake more than anything else.
“Chocolate again?” you say one week. “Getting a bit repetitive, Sharon. I mean, don’t get me wrong, chocolate cake is a classic. But the coffee trick was neat the first time. Don’t you want to branch out?”
Alice looks at you, incredulous. She angles her body so that she’s facing Sharon, and away from you. She’s actually slightly between the two of you, which seems rude to you. “I love chocolate cake, Sharon. It’s my absolute favorite. I look forward to your cake every week. Really. It’s the highlight of my entire week.”
That seems a bit much to you. But then again, you didn’t notice the way that Sharon’s face fell. Why would you? You just keep getting your cake, every week, without fail.
“You’re right,” Sharon says. It seems a bit strained. “I keep meaning to branch off into other kinds of cakes. The baking shows I watch always say that a baker needs to have a diverse skillset, and I totally agree.”
“Who has time for that, though?” Carl says encouragingly. “Like, those are professional bakers.”
“I do have a new recipe I was thinking about,” Sharon admits.
“That would be amazing,” you say encouragingly.
It’s terrible. Well, terrible is a strong word. It’s still cake, and you love cake. You seek it out every week. But this one is off. It’s got too much salt. It’s still alright, you suppose. Cake is cake. It’s not even that much salt. The cake overall is still pretty good. But the goodness of the cake just makes the flaws that much more apparent. With every bite, you can’t help but imagine how much better Sharon’s cake could be. She’s, honestly, a fantastic baker. She’s the kind of person that could go on a baking show, someday, if she really applied herself.
And now that you’re thinking about it, Sharon always put a little bit too much salt in her cake. You’d noticed it, but it was easy to ignore. Now it jumps out at you. That settles it. Sharon needs you to give her this advice. You’re doing her a favor, really.
“Sharon,” you say. She was talking with someone else, but she turns to you. “Listen, you’re a great baker. That’s why it’s hard for me to imagine why you put so much salt in this cake. You’re better than this. You should really consider working more from recipes, and being more careful when you measure out the ingredients.”
Sharon’s face falls. For a moment, she just looks at you. Then, she gathers herself and smiles weakly. “Yeah, I know. I accidentally spilled when I was making the batter, and I didn’t have time to make another one. Work was pretty rough this week, but baking always cheers me up.” She turns slightly to Carol. “Or it used to,” she says under her breath. “I’ll be more careful next time.”
You nod, satisfied. She really shouldn’t be giving out cake that’s shoddy workmanship. If anyone thinks anything about you, after that exchange, you certainly don’t notice.
You overhear someone in the background. They spat their cake out onto their plate. “This is awful!” They complain. “God, I hate shit like this.”
You scowl at them. What an asshole. Sharon’s shoulders tighten. Ben loudly talks about how much he loves the cake, actually, and that the buttercream is fantastic. Carl tells Sharon how nicely it was piped, that he noticed. She smiles weakly, thanking them. She carefully avoids looking in the direction of the rude asshole. She’s also not looking in your direction, but that goes over your head, of course.
Next week, there’s no cake.
“Sharon,” you say with dismay. “No cake this week?”
She shrugs. “I didn’t really have time, sorry.”
“I’ll look forward to next week then,” you say brightly.
Except there’s no cake next week either. Or the week after that.
“Work’s been busy,” you hear her say to Carl apologetically. “And the kids…”
“Don’t worry about it,” Carl laughs. “You’ve been spoiling us. Anytime you feel like baking, you know I’ll feel like eating.”
“I do miss baking for you,” she says. “It’s just…”
Carl gives her a sympathetic look.
“Just what?” you pipe in. Sharon jumps a little. She didn’t see you there.
“Nothing,” she laughs.
“Hey Sharon,” Carl says suddenly. “Actually, could you help me over by the meeting room? We need to go over…”
He steers her away. You hope she brings cake next week.
She does.
Sharon’s bubbly when she comes in, cake in hand. You notice with disappointment that she brought paper plates and plastic forks.
“I had a great week!” She says brightly. “And I missed baking. Alice, I heard about your news, and I really wanted to celebrate it with you.”
“Thank you!” Alice says brightly. “Oh man I love your chocolate cake. I can’t wait.”
“I hope it doesn’t have too much salt this time,” you joke. It falls flat.
The cake isn’t as good on paper plates. You notice that it’s the same coffee-in-chocolate trick. You did miss it, you must admit. It’s kind of a classic, by now, though it’s nothing special. But… yes, you taste it again. There’s too much salt. You overhear Sharon talking about it.
“There really is too much salt in this, isn’t there?” Sharon says to Ben.
“I literally don’t know what you’re talking about, Sharon,” Ben says. “It’s chocolate cake. It tastes like deliciousness and happiness.”
But you can see it on her face now. She tastes it. Just like you, she can’t stop tasting it anymore. She grimaces a little bit with every bite. You can’t wait for what she brings in next week. It’s going to be so much better, now.
Except, next week there’s no cake. There’s never another cake, after that. Eventually you ask her why.
“Why is there no more cake?” Sharon repeats, staring at you. “Well, to be totally honest, I started to hate baking. It felt like a chore. I got into knitting instead.”
“That’s a shame,” you say. “I really loved your cake. It brightened my day every week.”
“Maybe someday,” Sharon says, but it doesn’t sound like she means it.
Later, you overhear her talking with Alice.
“I was standing there, over my bowl, with the salt in my hand. I must’ve stood there for a minute, at least. Like, a full sixty seconds. And the whole time, I was dreading putting it in. What if it was too much? Should I read the recipe again? Maybe I should weigh it out instead. And then it hit me. I don’t have to do this. It used to be something I loved, and now it’s something that stressed me out. I’d lay in bed, thinking about how I could make my cakes better and just…” Sharon made a helpless gesture. “Who has time for that?”
“Nobody,” Alice agreed.
“I’m sorry, really, I did love sharing with you, Alice. And most people were so kind, I hated disappointing them.”
“I can buy cake,” Alice laughed. “Or I can make it myself, though it’ll be terrible compared to yours.”
“I’m sure it would be wonderful!” Sharon objected. “I would love to try it.”
“As long as I don’t put too much salt in?” Alice said dryly. Sharon laughed and shook her head ruefully.
You notice, this time and you feel insulted, and a bit guilty.
Or maybe you still don’t notice, and you just go find another hobbyist baker to harass instead.