by Larisa Dawn
He slammed his book shut and pushed the wooden chair away from the small kitchen table. He had to do something. They had been sharing an office for more than three months. The semester was almost over. Randall couldn’t let Kayla choose another statistician for her thesis. He knew her work better than anyone, and he definitely wanted the chance to spend more time with her.
Randall began to devise a plan as he showered away the sweat and grime from his workout session earlier that evening. He had to think of some way to casually open up the lines of communication in a positive direction. Not that talking about work wasn’t positive for the sake of their careers, but it did nothing for their social lives. “What social life?” he muttered to himself.
Suddenly, a light bulb appeared over his head so vividly he thought, in the midst of his shower, it might actually electrocute him. He scrambled across the wet tile floor, grabbing a towel from the rack as he slid past. He returned to the kitchen and frantically searched through the recipe box on the counter. “Here it is,” he said aloud, for no one else to hear.
As he carefully mixed together the ingredients of his Grandmother’s Christmas Cookie recipe, he couldn’t help but wonder if God created the holidays just so people would have a reason to talk. The cookies would be his ice-breaker.
He had known from the moment he met her in August that they would be perfect for each other. Kayla was at the University to complete a Ph.D. in Applied Psychology, and he would soon be done with his doctorate in Statistical Analysis. They were both 28. He had worked for two years compiling stats at the state university before returning for the final leg of his education. She had joined the service right out of high school which accounted for the delay in her completion. Unfortunately, they also shared a habit that had kept them from conversing much socially thus far: They were both wholly dedicated to their work.
Randall had planned to ask Kayla over to his apartment for some of his famous enchiladas after the bustle of the beginning of the semester. Mid-terms arrived before he even gave the idea another thought. They did speak, but in short, choppy, to-the-point sentences about work. They proof-read each other’s grant proposals. They did normal office-mate activities. Randall knew that if he didn’t make his move now, it was possible that she would find another statistician and change offices over the break. Randall had taken the time to check up on her a little. It was not only with him that she kept a tight lip; it seemed to be with everyone. He was determined to break through that shell and get her to open up.
Kayla Ellen Frank spritzed her short hair into place in the university gym locker room. She dabbed on a few strokes of make-up and then sat for a moment to review the plans for the day. She removed the leather schedule book from her matching leather soft-sided briefcase and crossed the 6:30 a.m. aerobics class off of the top of her day. She would go directly to Founders Hall to teach the 8:00 a.m. freshman psych class with only a brief stop at her office. From 10:00 until 1:00 a.m. she would work on research. For lunch, she would grab a sandwich at the deli and then type in her latest findings. “I have to learn to type faster,” she scolded herself, eyeing the one hour block of time that she knew the task would exceed. She had a few minutes to review the chapter for her own class and then another freshman psych class in the evening.
Kayla dropped the briefcase on her desk with a loud thud. She opened the bottom drawer to remove the graded term papers to return to her students.
“Would you like a cookie?”
The familiar voice disturbed Kayla’s trance-like concentration. “What?” she asked hastily as she spun around to see her office-mate. She hadn’t even noticed him when she walked in.
“A cookie.” Randall held out the plate of painstakingly decorated cookies.
“No thanks,” she said, returning to her work. “I just finished my aerobics class, I’d hate to spoil all my hard work.” Kayla scooped up the pile of papers and turned to leave the tiny office. “Maybe I’ll have one at lunch,” she said to Randall who still had the plate half extended toward her.
Her stomach grumbled as she stepped into the hallway. Kayla had forgotten to go to the grocery store for three nights in a row now. The only thing edible in her apartment that morning had been a few crumbs at the bottom of the package of crackers that she had eaten as a snack the night before. “Maybe I will take one now,” she said, poking her head back in the door.
“Help yourself.” Keeping his face toward his reading, Randall motioned to the plate now situated at the corner of his desk. He smiled to himself. It was quite an accomplishment to make Kayla Frank change her direction midstride.
“Did you make these?” Kayla asked taking a bite of a bell with yellow icing and a sparkly sugar coating.
“It’s my Grandmother’s recipe. I made them last night,” he said, succumbing to the urge to turn and face her.
Why?”
“Why, what?”
“Why did you take the time to make cookies for no apparent reason. This is the end of the semester. We have finals coming up. We have. …”
He interrupted her all too familiar list of demands upon them. “I made them because I wanted to wish you Merry Christmas. I know that finals are coming, but Christmas is, too.”
I know Christmas is coming,” Kayla said, defending herself. “I scheduled an hour for shopping next week sometime.”
Randall grinned as he watched her pop the last bite of the cookie into her mouth.
“Oh, don’t analyze me,” she said with a sneer.
“I’m not.”
“Yes you were. I do it myself when I stop to think how ridiculous I sound sometimes.” She returned his smile. “I’m just very driven.”
“I know,” he said feeling more sure of himself with every word of their brief encounter. That was one of the many reasons he couldn’t stop thinking about her. She shared his love of research and knowledge. He wanted to share more.
“Could I have another?” she asked, pointing toward the plate.
“Of course.”
And then she was gone.
The plate was now neatly covered with plastic wrap still in its place at the corner of Randall’s desk. Her typing went even slower than usual. She couldn’t help but think that another cookie would be a delicious finish to her bland lunch. Each time the thought crossed her mind, she would then scold herself, “I am not supposed to eat anything sweet until Sunday.”
Kayla allowed herself one day a week to binge on sinful food. Health was important to her. She walked to campus each day. She attended aerobics classes four mornings a week, and she counted every calorie that touched her lips. She was in complete control of every ounce of the 120 pounds on her 5′5″ frame.
She had resigned herself to being a hopeless control freak years ago. When she was a sophomore in college, she decided that she was going to try to break her compulsive habits. For a week, she didn’t allow herself to look at her schedule book. It was the worst 7 days of her life. She couldn’t sleep at night, worrying that she may have forgotten something. Ultimately, she’d learned to accept herself for who she was, bad habits included. Balance was what she knew she needed in her life. But at the present time, balance was what she did not have.
Calories or not, the temptation was too great. “He did make them for me,” she said to justify taking the cookie from his desk in his absence.
“I wonder if he really did make them just for me,” she thought as enjoyed the melt-in-your-mouth confection. “I haven’t taken the time to make a batch of cookies in years. I barely have time to make a salad.” She sighed. “I barely have time to even carry on a conversation.”
She stopped typing as she contemplated her last thought. She really could not remember the last time she had talked to someone simply for the joy of the other person’s company. She had one hour blocked off on Sunday and Thursday evenings to return phone messages, but for the past several weeks, she had appropriated that time for research. She ate her meals in her office buried in her work. The few sentences she had shared with Randall that morning were probably the most socializing she had done since the department’s Halloween party. She had meant to ask Randall why he hadn’t attended, but of course, she hadn’t. There always seemed to be more important things demanding her immediate attention.
A wave of panic moved over her. “What if he made me cookies, because he is moving to another office?” He couldn’t move. He was the perfect statistician for her work. She had planned on him compiling the data for her thesis, even if she hadn’t gotten around to asking him yet. She had assumed that he knew her intentions. “If I haven’t told him, how could he know?” she asked herself. Grabbing her schedule book from the corner of her cluttered desk, she scrawled, in pen, “Ask Randall to do Stat work on Thesis.”
Now that she was taking the time to think about it, she actually liked just talking to Randall. They did not do it very often, but every once in a while they would exchange a few words about something other than work. With the schedule book still open, she entertained the idea of making a note to herself to strike up a gregarious conversation with him. She abandoned the idea. Ordering herself to speak with him on friendly terms would only seem contrived. Dialogue had to flow. It had a certain amount of spontaneity that had to be respected. That, she remembered. Even if she hadn’t practiced the art in quite some time.
She reached for another cookie as she unsuccessfully tried to concentrate on her typing.
It was late in the evening when Randall opened the door of the darkened office. He knew that Kayla would not be done for another hour. He could use the time to grade some of the papers his undergraduate students had handed him a few moments before. He couldn’t help but notice that there were a few cookies missing. “She likes them,” he thought, smiling as a rush of pride put an involuntary grin on his face.
With red pen poised, he pulled a paper off of the top of the lofty stack. He was able to concentrate on the task at hand for only moments at a time. His mind kept returning to Kayla. He didn’t have the slightest clue what his next move would be.
“I’ll march right up and kiss her,” he told himself boldly, followed immediately by a boom of his own laughter. That wasn’t his style.
“I’ll offer to do the statistical analysis for her thesis.” He abandoned that idea, knowing that it would only launch them into a long discussion about research and work. He looked forward to those topics, but that could wait. He needed something personal for tonight.
“Maybe she’ll actually let me walk her home,” he thought with skepticism. He had offered to do so on several occasions when Kayla worked late. She only lived about a half mile from campus, but he worried about her just the same. It was a little out of the way for him, but he would have gladly made the extra steps. He had to admire her steadfast independence. Sometimes he would walk by her apartment later in the night, to make sure that her light was on and that she had made it home safely.
“Be calm. Be yourself. Offer her another cookie,” Randall coached himself as the time for Kayla’s return approached.
“You’re still here,” she said as she slung her coat over the back of her chair.
“I had some papers to grade,” he said as he turned to face the object of his desire. The statement was almost a lie. The papers did have to be graded, but he could just as easily have taken them home. The truth was, he wanted to see her again.
“Thank you for the cookies. They were delicious.”
“There are more.” He motioned toward the plate.
“I really shouldn’t.”
“But you will,” he said playfully, pulling the plastic wrap back and holding them close enough for her to breath in their sweet aroma.
With cookie in hand, she sat to face the ever present mound of demands on her desk. “I am so tired. I don’t even want to work on anything else tonight.”
“I’m about done here,” he lied. “Would you like me to walk you home?”
Her familiar statement, “No thanks. I can make it on my own,” almost passed her lips. “Why not?” she asked herself. “That would be nice,” she said with a smile.
The cool night air brought Randall back to reality. He was stunned that she had actually accepted his offer. It was all coming together. They didn’t charge forth, trying to reach their destination in record time as was usual for them both; they casually strolled. Their frozen breath mingled together to form a cloud above them as they talked about old movies and music rather than bio-psychology and bell-curves.
“Why did you make those cookies?” Kayla asked point blank as they neared her apartment.
“Because I wanted you to enjoy them.” He hoped he was saying the right things. It all felt incredible.
“I have a party to go to on Sunday. It’s not really a party, just brunch with some old friends,” she stammered. “Could I have your cookie recipe? I would like to take some along.”
“How about I help you make them on Saturday?’ he suggested.
Kayla liked the warm feeling that she had not felt in so long as she accepted his offer. She had not taken the time to think of Randall as more than just a statistician. She liked how she thought of him now.
“How about some dinner first?” he added to the offer.
“That sounds even better.” She stopped at the front door of her building. She debated about asking him the question that had haunted her the entire walk home, but then decided she had to know. “You aren’t moving to a different office, are you?”
“No. What gave you that idea?”
“Never mind,” she said with a slightly embarrassed laugh. “I’m glad. I like you where you are.” She looked up at his deep brown eyes.
“I’m happy right where I am … now.” He added the last word with just enough emphasis for Kayla to know the real reason for the cookies.
Though uncomfortable, the cool nip of the night air had reminded Kayla not only that she needed to shop for a warmer parka but of sensation in itself. She had been so preoccupied lately that she had ignored all signals around her. How long had it been since she had allowed herself to linger in the faculty lounge long enough to smell the fantastic fragrance of freshly-brewed coffee? How long had it been since she had called her mother and listened to what she had to say? After all, listening didn’t obligate her to agree with what was said. How long had it been since she had taken the time to feel anything?
“Far too long,” she said aloud as she settled back to relax on the couch to savor her last cookie of the day.
“What a difference a day can make.”
Copyright © 1998-2008 Larisa Dawn Sutton
All rights reserved.
Author bio:
“Larisa Dawn is an Ohio writer and is the married mother of three children. She has her BSN from Bowling Green State University and works as a nurse at St. Rita’s Medical Center in Lima, Ohio. Lara writes fiction and humor. Her work has also appeared in previous editions of The Blue Rose Bouquet, The Journal of Nursing Jocularity, and in local newspapers. She was also the tech editor for a diabetes cookbook. You can reach her at lara [at] blueroses [dot] com. “
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Pammy, the main character in the 
Many of those 
Editor of The Blue Rose Bouquet since 1998 and a professional writer since 1984,