“It’s brownies, not treason.”
She huffs but doesn’t leave, hovering as I slide both pans into the oven. I try to make my case and also tell her about the mint chocolate chip brownies in the third pan. Thankfully, the timer goes off before she kicks me out of the house.
Grandma Joyce circles the counter like a shark as the brownies cool. “Judy’s look … adequate.”
Puffing my cheeks, I flash her a look of exasperation.
“What? I’m being generous.”
The doorbell rings.
It’s after nine at night.
We look at each other.
“Are you expecting someone?” I ask.
“At this hour? Absolutely not.”
But when we open the door, Judy Waples holds a covered casserole dish. “Saw the light on over here at this hour, so I brought?—”
My grandmother stiffens. “We don’t need charity from?—”
“Grandma, don’t you dare finish that sentence.”
They stare at each other like two gunslingers at high noon.
Not sure what’s in the casserole dish, I grab it before things escalate, and it ends up across the room. “Thank you, Judy. That’s very thoughtful. Would you like to come in?”
“I would.”
“Wonderful!” I practically yank her inside before Grandma can protest.
Now we’re all standing in the kitchen—three women, two brownie battle recipes, and approximately forty years of accumulated rivalry.
I cut into both batches, plating samples with the precision of someone defusing a bomb. “Sit. Both of you. Taste these and tell me honestly which is better. They were baked by yours truly.”
They sit at opposite ends of the table like reluctant peace negotiators from warring nations.
Each tries the other’s batch of brownies.
The silence stretches so long that I consider taking extreme measures and contacting the market to ban them from buying chocolate.
Finally, Judy speaks. “Yours are lighter than I remember.”
Joyce, grudgingly says, “Yours have better texture than last time.”
I hold my breath.
“Did you change your recipe?” Judy asks.
“Added a pinch of cayenne. You know, for a kick.” Joyce’s voice is careful. “After all, you said I’m a spicy lady.”
I almost laugh.
Judy admits, “You told me I’m salty, but I’ve been using your sea salt trick. Makes them less cloying.”
I blink. “You’ve been borrowing from each other?”
