making macarons during a quarter-life crisis

barefoot in this bright kitchen

we have roles

because we don’t have jobs because we don’t have degrees because we don’t have–

stop. you read the recipe, I grab the:

almond flour, check.

powdered sugar, yes, big heavy bags of it, remember that time you spilled it all over, the kitchen a white, sweet cloud?

I set the eggs out one hour ago because this is one thing I can do right, you can depend on it. hardworking, responsible, hire me.

food coloring, you’ll add that. I don’t want to be blamed again for the bloodred, the highlighter yellow, we have pictures to live up to and you have the steady hand.

I will fold, though, batter into eggwhites, batter into eggwhites, macaronage and my arms hurt but I will not stop and betray you.

we watch the oven the whole 18 minutes–it was 18?–peer through cloudy glass like our lives depend on it and maybe they do.

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