This week’s Red Writing Hood prompt: write a piece, fiction or non-fiction, inspired by this delicious shot. Word limit is 600—I may have gone over ever so slightly.
I’ve decided to use some of these Red Dress Club prompts to create a back story for the characters that I hope will some day inhabit a novel. I shared my first piece involving Michaela a few weeks back. Constructive criticism is most welcome! Personally, I think the title is a little dorky.
Saturday morning cartoons sedate the kids while they eat their Honey Nut Cheerios. I’m on my hands and knees in the bathroom trying not to gag as I wash the floor. How do three people manage to get a room this disgusting?
John calls from downstairs, “Mom! Adam’s truck is in the driveway!”
I smile at the thought of him dropping by and then catch sight of myself in the bathroom mirror. I’m wearing a bleach-stained Patriot’s tee shirt from the 2005 Superbowl that’s a little too tight and faded khaki shorts so old and stretched out they hang from my hips. My hair is in a ponytail and a headband to keep my mop of hair out of my face while I clean. My face isn’t even washed.
I briefly consider trying to make myself look better but the task seems hopeless. “Besides,” I tell my reflection. “He’s dating a single mom—he can’t possibly be expecting a super model at 9am on a Saturday.”
I wash my hands and head downstairs.
“This is a surprise,” I say when I open the door.
“I don’t mean to intrude,” he hands me a white bakery box tied with a string. “I have a new client who is a baker. She was really happy with my work and sent doughnuts over. I thought you and the kids would like them.”
“The kids will be thrilled—thanks! Come on in. The coffee’s already made.” I tell him as I lead him to the kitchen.
“I hope you weren’t in the middle of anything.”
“Just cleaning. Nothing that won’t wait.”
Brianna and John leap up when they see the box in my hands. “What’s that?” Brianna asks.
“Are those doughnuts?” asks John.
I look down at the box. There is a gold seal that reads Delores’ Doughnuts—terrible name I think. Adam reads my expression and laughs. “I didn’t come up with the name,” he tells me. “I’m just the landscaper not the marketing guru. Yes John, these might just be the most delicious doughnuts on earth.”
“Turn the TV off and come in the kitchen,” I say.
I pour milk and coffee and set out three plates. The kids reach for the gooiest looking chocolate doughnuts. Adam notices that I don’t take one for myself. “Aren’t you going to have one?” he asks.
“I’m not a big fan of doughnuts.” I tell him.
Adam reacts as if I told him I’m not a big fan of oxygen, “Really?”
“I don’t dislike them,” I assure him. “I’ve just always felt like they weren’t worth the calories. If I’m going to splurge I’d rather have some Ben & Jerry’s or something fried.”
He shakes his head and tells me, “These are different.”
“They’re gourmet doughnuts.”
Gourmet doughnuts? I think to myself. Is that like gourmet Velveeta? Or gourmet corn dogs?
“Try this,” Adam insists. He lifts a shiny pink confection out of the box like it’s a holy offering. “This one is raspberry margarita.”
“Really?” I begin to cave. I love the combination of raspberry and lime. I guess he’s been paying attention in the short time we’ve been dating. The doughnut is small and the icing is the color of raspberry sherbet with a few white and pink sprinkles. He holds it closer to my mouth and I take a bite. It reminds me of the raspberry lime rickeys my grandmother used to make when I was a kid. So sweet but saved from being too sweet by the sharp tang of citrus. I take another bite. I’m hooked. He’s right. These are not just doughnuts.
“Well,” he says. “What do you think?”
“These are amazing,” I confess. “What is that grin on your face about?”
“You just look really cute with pink frosting on your nose.”
I wipe it away and he adds, “And you look really hot in that Patriot’s shirt.”
Well, he was right about the doughnut. Maybe he’s right about that too.