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Angela hadn't realised Ana's birthday was so close until Fareeha asked her what she'd gotten her. Now, she was struck by the realisation that her girlfriend's mum was turning 60 tomorrow and she hadn't bought her anything.
“Oh, God, she's going to hate me,” Angela said, burying her face in her hands, “I'm the worst girlfriend ever.”
“She's not going to hate you,” Fareeha said, patting her back soothingly, “Look, I'll help you. We can make cookies – she loves cookies.”
“Fareeha, I can't cook,” she said, looking up at her with a pained expression, “I'd burn a salad.”
“How can you not cook?” said Fareeha, her eyes going wide, “How have you lived this long?”
“Hey!” said Angela, shoving her playfully, “I'm not that old. And I can cook a bit, but I can't make cookies.”
“Okay, well, it's easy. I'll help,” Fareeha said, taking her hand and dragging her towards the kitchen, “Honestly, you've never made cookies?”
“You know I don't cook,” she said, trailing reluctantly behind her girlfriend, “It's too... imprecise. Too subjective.”
“You should try baking,” Fareeha said, pushing open the door to the kitchen, “It's more of a science.”
“Hmm,” she said, leaning against the counter as she watched Fareeha pull equipment and ingredients out of the cupboards.
“Hey, look! We have chocolate chips,” Fareeha said, shaking the tub excitedly in Angela's direction, “This is going to be great, trust me.”
“Hmm,” she said, casting a doubtful eye over the ingredients piled on the counter, “What do I do first?”
“Let me pull up a recipe,” Fareeha said, grabbing the tablet lying on the side and searching chocolate chip cookie recipe, “Here. Use this one.”
She handed the tablet over to Angela, who quickly skimmed the recipe before returning to the first instruction.
“Preheat the oven,” she said, reaching over and flicking on the power, “Okay, I can do that.”
“Well done,” said Fareeha, only slightly sarcastically, as she twisted the dial and set the oven to the correct temperature.
“Now I need... a bowl.” Fareeha picked up the bowl from the counter and handed it to her. “A whisk.” Fareeha indicated the whisk. “Flour, uh, how do I measure it?”
“Here,” Fareeha said, taking the measuring cup and handing it to Angela along with the bag of flour, “Use this.”
“Okay, so flour and baking soda... and now I need another bowl?”
Fareeha opened a cupboard and took out another bowl.
“Oh, wait, I need an electric mixer. Do we have one of those?”
Silently, Fareeha handed her the mixer, a poorly suppressed smile on her face.
“Shut up,” said Angela, taking it from her and consulting the instructions again before adding butter and sugar to the bowl. Her first attempt at mixing it didn't go well, ending with a large lump of butter on the side and all the sugar flying out of the bowl.
“Here, let me help you,” Fareeha said, coming up behind her as she tried to wipe up all the butter, “We'll tidy that later, just leave it. Look, like this.”
Fareeha's hands covered hers easily as she guided her on the easiest way to mix the butter and sugar together.
“You're lucky we have this,” she said, resting her chin on Angela's shoulder and loosening her grip as she watched her carefully beat the butter and sugar together, “I remember having to do it by hand.”
“Is that how you got so strong?” Angela teased, turning off the mixer and reaching across to consult the recipe again.
“It can't have hurt.”
“Okay, I need... eggs, salt and vanilla extract.”
“Do you know how to crack eggs?” Fareeha asked, taking the carton in one hand and picking up a small bowl with the other.
“No, I hate eggs,” Angela said, shaking her head.
“Of course,” Fareeha said, grinning, “Okay, let me show you how.”
Fareeha demonstrated with the first egg, and Angela copied with the second. They high-fived triumphantly when she got it right.
“Maybe I'm secretly a culinary genius,” Angela said, as she beat the eggs into the butter-sugar mixture.
“I don't doubt it,” Fareeha said, grinning, “What do you need next?”
“Uh... The flour,” Angela said, after consulting the recipe, “Okay. We're nearly done.”
She mixed the flour in, ending up with only a light dusting on her clothes and the counter.
“Okay, now I just need the chocolate chips,” she said. Fareeha was already handing them to her.
“Great,” Fareeha said, “We'll make a chef of you yet, Angie.”
Angela laughed.
“Don't say that until they're done,” she said, “We still haven't gotten to the cooking part.”
“I have complete faith in you,” Fareeha said.
She helped to distribute the lumps of cookie dough between two baking sheets, with hers somehow coming out far more even than Angela's did. Finally, they put the sheets in the oven.
“They'll be about 10 minutes,” Fareeha said, setting the timer, “We can tidy up while we wait.”
Angela agreed; the kitchen was beginning to look like a war zone. She couldn't stop herself from peering through the oven door every 30 seconds, just to check they weren't burning yet. Fareeha teased her about it, but she maintained that they were better safe than sorry. The cleaning was finished before the cookies were, and Angela crouched in front of the oven, watching them slowly turn golden as they cooked.
“Do you think they're done yet?” she asked, looking up at Fareeha, who was smiling at her.
“Let me see,” Fareeha said, bending over to look at the cookies, “Nearly. Just give them a little longer.”
“How much longer?”
“Well, not much,” Fareeha said, half-laughing.
“Can't you be more exact?” Angela grumbled, shifting her position as her knees started to ache.
“It's not an exact process,” she said, shaking her head, “You just have to do it often enough, then you get a feel for when things are ready.”
“This is why I don't cook.”
Fareeha laughed.
“Okay, you can take them out now,” she said, and Angela was on her feet in a flash, grabbing the oven glove and pulling the trays out. Carefully, she transferred the cookies to a cooling rack.
“They look great,” Fareeha said, admiring the cookies, “Mm, they smell great, too. Well done.”
“Thank you,” Angela said, leaning against her side and wrapping her arm around her waist.
“I love you,” she said, pressing a kiss against her hair.
“No, I love you,” Angela said, shaking her head, “Thank you.”
Fareeha laughed.
The cookies were delicious. If Ana suspected they weren't entirely Angela's doing, she didn't say anything.