Sorry Kid—

by | Feb 14, 2023 | Fiction, Issue Thirty-One

“Sorry Kid.” That’s what Carrie on Season 5 Episode 23 of Kids Baking Championship says to Kyle before she steals his cinnamon during a speed challenge. This ten year old has her own cream cheese frosting recipe and I can’t stop praying long enough to get off the couch. The car has been smoking for days, I just paid $800 to have my dog diagnosed with an anxiety disorder, my mom takes issue with how often I want to step in front of the F train, and this ten year old girl has her own goddamn cream cheese frosting recipe. We haven’t stepped in front of this train or off this couch. My Hail Mary has become a Food Network commercial. A Food Network commercial has become my Hail Mary. My mother might be proud that I’m finally learning her language of rosary. Our Lady of The Slightly Soggy Tiramisu. If I keep telling myself I can still feel your line of heat against mine, I will continue to feel solid. I close my eyes and suddenly that guy from Cake Boss sounds like Ryan Gosling. I’m calm. You make me pause Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives while you clean up your spilled beer – how un-American. We’re arguing over New Years Eve plans and I’m trying not to suggest letting our bodies atrophy between the cushions. Sometimes I can’t remember what I did before I began my novena for New England clam chowder; Were we dull? Were you kind? Were we happy before we knew this altar? You spit at me and Worsts Cooks In America reminds me that we’re not special in our ineptitude; we are instead awkward in our incompetence. I know reminding you of that will start a fight and shit all I want is to slot my body between your legs and think, but that’s not an option and all I hear when I look at you is Sorry Kid. Sorry Kid. Sorry Kid. Sorry Kid. Sorry Kid. Sorry Kid.

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