Making Cheesecake

By Katy Sumsion

It’s sweet and savory and sour and soft. . . All at the same time.

I throw my backpack down on the floor of our little two-bedroom apartment. David isn’t home yet. It’s been a really long day. I sit on our overstuffed black leather couch, thinking, but I’m not thinking about anything in particular. The chaotic events, ideas, and feelings of the day swirl like mist through my brain and seep out of my ears and eyes and nose, never to be remembered or thought again. They leave behind a bitter feeling. I can’t quite put my finger on what it is, so I get up. I’ve decided I need to create, to bake something sweet to cut through that bitterness. I fling my shoes off of my feet and trudge my way to the cupboard. It squeaks as it swings open.

Now I drop some cream cheese in a plastic blue bowl. I take a spatula and swirl in the sticky sweetened milk. I crack an egg. It falls with a soft plop into the cream cheese, the golden yolk breaking gently and spreading into the surrounding firm whiteness. The mixture puts up a gentle resistance as I move the spatula, my muscles contracting rhythmically. I stir faster.

The kitchen is cluttered, measuring cups strewn across the stovetop, the sink overflowing with dishes from last night's potato soup. The kitchen feels overwhelming. But I don’t think about that. I am separate, as I continue mixing, transfixed by the gold and white in my light blue bowl, swirling, mixing, becoming one.

Funny, I think, I’ve never really liked cream cheese. Cream cheese is sour and salty and bland all at once. But I love cheesecake. I think how excited David will be when he gets home and sees my creation. Warmth shoots through me. Last time I made cheesecake was during his Mechanics of Materials class. That class had been difficult for him, so I had tried to take the edge off his stress with baking, and the cheesecake had been a first-time experiment. I remember his bright blue eyes and the swift kiss on my cheek, how he dug in to the cake and raved about how good it was. Now, there is no Mechanics of Materials class, and David is happier. I pour the cream cheese mixture into the chocolate crust. It spreads and fills the whole shape. It’s strange how that mixture is liquid and solid all at once.

The oven beeps. I open the door and slide the pan inside. The solid-liquid jiggles as I push it into place. I push the buttons to set the timer for twenty minutes.

Now I begin to set in on the kitchen, slowly attempting to create order out of chaos. The potato soup sticks stubbornly to the bowls. I push the knob on the sink further to the left, hoping the heat will loosen the debris. I swirl the water around and around, watching clouds of yellow white begin to unfurl in the liquid.

My mind flashes to yesterday afternoon. I had walked into the kitchen, expecting a sink full of dishes, and had been met with a full dishrack and an empty sink instead. David had done the dishes quietly that morning. The dishes are ours now, not mine or his. The kitchen must be cleaned, either by David or by me. Sometimes we clean together, sometimes separately. But it is our responsibility, together.

I am sweeping the floor when the oven beeps again. I open the door and a cloud of invisible steam hits me in the face. The cake looks perfect. I transfer it to the fridge. Now it’s time to wait. The heat cooked the eggs, and now the cold will stiffen that solid-liquid cream cheese.

Anger and love have mingled these past eight months. Anger when in the cold darkness of the early morning, I will slump my way to the bathroom and find that the toilet seat has been left up. Love as I feel David’s arms sneak around me when I climb back into bed. Anger when I ask him for the third time today, could you clean your tools out of the living room? Love when he shows me the beautiful necklaces he is working on, gifts for his family. Those quick flashes of annoyance and love harden and soften us over and over again, shaping us, molding us.

David arrives just in time. Excitement builds in my stomach as he walks through the door. He is weary, his blue eyes are circled by dark, and his hair has become disheveled. He grabs me and gives me a quick kiss.

I run to the fridge and pull out my creation. “Look what I made you!”

He smiles, “Wow, thank you so much, that looks delicious!”