Like Fire & Gasoline

Bridgette woke up the next morning, a feeling of dread encompassing her. Her eyelids felt heavy from all the crying she had done the night before, and she was almost positive a mirror would break if she dare look into one.

Her bare feet padded against the stairs as she grudgingly made her way to the kitchen. The aroma of warm pancakes and coffee flooded her nostrils, and she, if only for a moment, smiled. Brushing the tangled mop of hair from her face, she turned into the kitchen, nibbling gently on her nails.

Adele looked her up and down, one hand on her hip. “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

“James and I got into a fight,” she mumbled against her hand, her eyes immediately welling with tears.

“Come here,” Adele said softly, embracing her daughter. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Bridgette buried her face into her mother’s shoulder, shaking her head. While she had managed to keep the floodgates shut, talking about it would surely cause them to crash down.

“I’ll tell you what. I’m gonna run to the store, and you eat something. Then, when I get back, we’ll bake some cookies, just like we used to. Sound like a plan?”

Bridgette looked into Adele’s eyes, which were mirror images of her own. With a shaky breath, she nodded, a small grin tugging at her lips. Adele kissed her forehead, brushing the golden locks away.

“Love you,” Bridgette mumbled as her mom grabbed her purse.

“Love you too, Bee. See you in a bit.”



“You wanna grab the flour from the cabinet?” Adele asked, digging through the pantry.

Bridgette nodded, hopping up on the granite counter tops, searching through the endless shelves. Finally, she grasped the blue plastic container full of starch white powder. She set it beside her before carefully returning to the tiled floor.

“Is that everything?” Adele asked, looking around as she set the mixer on the counter.

Bridgette ran through everything in her head, double-checking and all. Slowly, she nodded, grabbing a measuring cup and handing it to her mom.

“Alrighty. Uh, sweetheart, you have the recipe, right?”

Bridgette laughed, rolling her eyes as she started measuring out ingredients into the large bowl before them.

“Mom, I know this like the back of my hand,” she teased.

“So do I. I was just making sure, you know, for you,” Adele said sheepishly.

“Uh-huh. Whatever you say, Mom.”

It was quiet aside from the occasional clanging of a tablespoon against the metal bowl, or the powdery ingredients falling into place.

“You ready to talk yet, baby girl?”

A lock of golden hair tickled her cheek, breaking free from the messy knot on the top of her head. She brushed it aside with the back of her hand, most likely leaving a flour mark across it. She sighed, carefully pouring some vanilla into a tablespoon.

“I want to trust him. I mean, relationships are all about trust, right?” She didn’t wait for her mother’s answer before rolling on. “It’s just, that stupid tabloid. I know it’s probably all crap, but with his past, I’m just not sure.”

She dumped the sweet smelling liquid into the bowl with more force than necessary. Adele inconspicuously moved the eggs away and out of Bridgette’s reach. Bridgette didn’t notice as she angrily scooped up some brown sugar.

“I’m sorry, kid, you lost me,” Adele admitted, cracking the egg on the rounded edge of the bowl.

“I was with Liv yesterday when she was re-stocking magazines at the library. In one of them, there were pictures of him with some girl, claiming they hooked up.”

“Did you ask him about it?”

“Well yeah. He said it was probably just a business partner, old picture or a friend; he didn’t actually see it, so he didn’t know. But he assured me I am the only girl he’s seeing.”

“Well, did you believe him?”

Bridgette looked up from the mixture, biting down on her chapped lip.

“Well, yeah.”

Adele set down the wooden spoon, cocking an eyebrow as her hand found it’s way to her hip.

“Then what’s the problem?”

Bridgette opened her mouth, struggling for the right words. “It was like it didn’t even matter to him that they were saying he was with these girls. It felt like he didn’t care if the world thought he was dating someone else, even though he’s dating me.”

The loud whir of the mixer filled the air as Adele thought the words over. The sound seemed to mock Bridgette, because in many ways, the high pitched waves were worse than the unbearable silence.

It finally faded away, and Adele set the mixer to the side. “So, you felt like your relationship with him is just dispensable, like the other ones.”

“Exactly,” Bridgette nodded, grabbing a piece of the dough and rolling it into a small orb. “It always comes back to me feeling like I’m just another stupid fling.”

Adele placed a marble-sized piece onto the cookie sheet, giving Bridgette a soft smile. “Have you tried telling him that?”

“Sorta.”

“Kid, you gotta give me more than that.”

“Sorry. I try to, and then we just end up fighting. He says something, and I take it wrong, then I make up some sarcastic, hurtful retort, which naturally makes him defensive. It’s one big mess.”

“You’re both so incredibly stubborn,” Adele noted, sneaking a small piece of cookie dough into her mouth.

“James might be, a little bit, but I’m not stubborn,” Bridgette argued, tossing a pinch of the dough into her own mouth.

“Yeah, okay,” Adele snorted, straightening the cookie sheet on the tray.

“I’m not!”

“Sweetie, I hate to break it to you, but you’re one of the most stubborn people I know. You get it from your father.”

“Mom!”

“I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

“That was uncalled for,” Bridgette pouted, crossing her arms.

Adele smoothed the hair out of Bridgette’s face, lightly bopping her nose. Bridgette wrinkled it in response, her lips set in a upset frown.

“You know it’s the truth. You got my hair, his bullheaded stubbornness,” Adele whispered lightly, setting the tray gently on the oven rack before closing the oven and wiping her hands on her jeans.

“I know,” Bridgette admitted grudgingly, eating some stray cookie dough off of the spoon.

“You care for James, a lot,” Adele observed with a sly smile. “So talk to him. Try to see things from his point of view for a minute, or if you start to lose your temper.”

“Okay,” Bridgette said in a small voice.

“Relationships aren’t easy, Bee, but sometimes they’re worth it. You just have to fight like hell to hold onto the good.”

Bridgette played with the hem of her shirt, trying to think of any excuse not to talk to James. Her heart was still reeling from the argument, and her pride was wounded as well. Yet, no viable excuse popped into her mind.

“Okay,” she repeated, trying to imprint the advice in her mind.

“And by the way,” Adele said suddenly, leaning against the island. “You might want to get the flour off your face before talking to him.”

Bridgette shot her a look, impulsively reaching for the flour bag and flicking a bit at her mom. Adele’s mouth dropped open as the powder speckled her face.

“Oops,” Bridgette said innocently, darting away before Adele could retaliate.