Shortbread Cookies
written by: Jordan Beckett
“Can I help you, dear?”
Ainslie stared at the bookseller helplessly, her unexpectedly emotional reaction to a shelf of cookbooks stunning her into silence.
“Are you looking for something specific?” the woman asked kindly.
Taking a deep breath, Ainslie replied shakily, “Shortbread cookies. My mother always made the cookies….”
“I see,” said the woman, softly. She selected a slim volume from the shelf. “Try this one, dearie. Very authentic.”
Now, the cookbook she’d bought that morning taunted her. Three batches in and all she tasted was regret. She pushed her hair off her face, dusting it with a fine layer of flour, and closed her eyes.
It’s no use, she thought. For generations, Bulloch mothers had taught their daughters how to make perfect Christmas shortbread. But this daughter had been too busy to learn about baking cookies. Too busy for too many things, as if time was a promise. Now, she sat staring at a stranger’s recipe through teary eyes.
Butter, sugar, flour.
“Yes, I know,” she replied absently.
Butter should be soft; the sugar, fine. Here is the secret — one part rice flour to two parts regular flour. You won’t find that in your newfangled recipe book!
Ainslie’s tired eyes snapped open and the fine hair on her arms stood at attention. She knew that voice. She glanced at the recipe. No rice flour. She opened the pantry, and there it was.
Start again, sweetheart.
“Ma?”
Butter.
Sugar.
“Oh, Ma,” she whispered, voice shaking.
The cookbook was forgotten as her mother taught her, step by step.
Flour now. Bring the dough together, gently.
Don’t knead it, Ainslie. It’s not bread!
“Yes, Ma.”
Into the oven. Twenty minutes.
“I’m sorry, Ma. For everything.”
Taste.
Ainslie bit into the finished cookie, caramelized butter sweet against her tongue.
“It’s perfect.”
No regrets, Ains. We had everything. I will love you always.
“I love you too, Ma.”
No response, and yet Ainslie felt less alone than she had in months. She wrapped her arms around herself, staring out the kitchen window at a gently falling snow and accepting, without explanation, this mysterious and unexpected moment of grace.
Tomorrow was Christmas. They would gather at her brother’s house and share memories. And for the first time in a while, Ainslie wanted to remember. Everything.
- Shortbread Cookies - December 27, 2023
