Sunday, October 16th

19.)

That night, Blossom slept very well, she dreamed of being in the Academy with Mia, in all sorts of permutations and combinations of Candy and Caregiver. But the sound of clattering coming from the kitchen pulled her from her slumber. Blossom whined as consciousness and reality took the reins from her dream self.

She rubbed her eyes to get them to open, and it seemed like even the sun hadn't woken up yet.

That sound? It had to be Mia? But what was Mia doing up?

Blossom groaned as she shuffled out of bed and stretched, her pajamas hanging loosely on her well defined body. Time to investigate.

I didn't see Blossom come out of her room. I was moving one tray of cookies out of the oven and another tray into it. I set a timer on my phone and went back to the mixing bowl. Butter and sugar. Blossom's beach house had one of those fancy mixing bowls that did the work for you, but I didn't want to make any noise. Anyway, I didn't have one at home so it felt routine to do it by hand.

Busy hands. Where did I put those eggs?

"Soooo..."

Blossom leaned over the kitchen island, resting slightly on her boobs, and looked up at Mia who was pretty obviously going through something because she'd baked like a thousand cookies and the sun wasn't even up yet!

"Whatcha doing, Mia Moore?"

I didn't hear Blossom. It wasn't that she hadn't spoken loudly enough - any volume is too loud at five in the morning - but I was just lost in the momentum of my actions. Eggs. Vanilla. Whisk. Automated, like the machine on the counter.

My pajamas - an old pair of long flannel pants and a t-shirt with some silly slogan about sleeping - were splashed with flour and butter. My wrists were caked with a thin sheen of dried cookie dough. My face had smears of white around my forehead and cheeks.

"So you've been at this for a while, huh?"

It hadn't taken Blossom long to come to that conclusion, and her eyes watched Mia with curiosity and care, like she was trying to figure out her next move. Clearly Mia was freaking out about something - the intimacy they shared, maybe? - and Blossom wasn't exactly the pinnacle of support when it came to emotional discontent. Like, she did pretty well for keeping her own stuff under control, but when it came to people having their own breakdowns she was far from a fixer-type personality.

And still, she was worried about Mia. She wanted her to be okay, so this time she'd just do her best for what that was worth.

"Mia, babes, you've made like a thousand cookies, what's up, buttercup?"

The next thing I knew, Blossom's hands were taking the bag of chocolate chips out of mine. I looked up at her with a faraway look, like a program in my brain had crashed. Actually, that was exactly how it felt. I reached for the chocolate chips again and Blossom took my hands instead. They hurt when she touched them, aching from all the whisking and portioning. I didn't understand what she was doing...

"Alright, can I see these? Can I see you for just a second, Mia? Come on, just over here, just for a second."

Blossom held Mia by the hands and worked to get her to take a few steps away from her pathing routine in the kitchen. It was her plan to get her over to the sofa, to get her to sit down, but she wasn't sure how far she would get.

"Come on, you're doing great, just a little more, this way."

I made it halfway to the living room before I took my hands out of Blossom's and turned back toward the kitchen, but she got in my way. I felt a sickness rising in my stomach, like a mixture of acid and anticipation. Anxiety. I didn't want to cry.

"I'm... I'm doing something." It was the first thing I'd said. My throat was dry.

"We have more cookies than we can eat," Blossom said, nodding toward the countertops.

A thousand was an exaggeration. Two hundred, maybe. Three hundred at most. They littered the countertops in piles. I ran out of plates to put them on.

"You're not in any trouble," Blossom continued, "but let's just sit down on the sofa for a sec and talk. I'll hold your hands to keep them busy, if you'd like."

The truth was, Blossom didn't know what to do in this kind of situation. She'd seen compulsive and manic behaviors in people before but she was never the friend people came to when they wanted to be helped with something like this.

"I have cookies in the oven..." I didn't know why I said that. An excuse to go back to the kitchen? An excuse to start things up again? If I could just get back there, I could get those chocolate chips... my routine was falling behind. I needed the cookies portioned and on a fresh tray before the timer went off. I tried to push past Blossom, but she didn't let me. I was feeling something between scared and angry, and I wasn't sure which way the needle was going to fall.

"And I'm sure they're going to be delicious and I like them a bit overdone," Blossom lied with a reassuring smile. She could see the panic and confusion in Mia's eyes and wondered for a second if this were more of a sleepwalking thing and that she shouldn't interfere. Maybe that was just a myth? She couldn't remember.

It's not like the education system prepared her at all for mental health crises.

"Sit with me, Mia. Come on."

Despite her skimpy yellow pajamas, Blossom looked very serious and caring and maternal, with the kind of expression that most people in her life would never have gotten to see. Not aloof, not playful, but seriously caring and concerned.

"No, I... I'm busy, I have to be busy..." I shoved past Blossom again, but this time I found my way back into the kitchen, back into my pathing. Chocolate chips. But Blossom took them off the counter before I could reach them. My frustration was boiling over, and my anxiety started to take a back seat.

"What's your problem!" It wasn't a question: it was an accusation. Was she playing games with me or something? Was she trying to upset me? My chest tightened and I balled my hands at my sides. Don't cry.

"You're stuck in a loop, like that 'one person only tells truths and one person only tells lies' riddle, you're going back and forth, and back and forth, you're making a thousand cookies, which," Blossom took one off the nearest pile to her and took a bite, then continued with her mouth full, "are excellent, by the way."

She hoped the levity would mean something, but Mia only seemed to be getting more and more worked up. Maybe this was like the sleepwalking thing.

"Why does it matter?" I said it a lot meaner than I meant it. I was curious, but I knew a part of me was challenging her. I wanted her to see that I wasn't worth the trouble.

"Because... I care about you?" Blossom said.

It was more like a question, more like she didn't even believe it herself. How was I supposed to believe it if she didn't? Tears formed in the corners of my eyes.

"You care about me? No you don't. I'm just convenient, because I wrote some stories you're into. Because you can do roleplays and live out fantasies with me and you can't with other people. I'm a placeholder. At least be honest about that."

"Mia–" Blossom started.

"Do you even know my name?" I interrupted her. "Not my online name. Not Mia. My actual name."

That stopped Blossom in her tracks, because – to be quite truthful about it – she didn't. And Blossom wasn't the kind of woman who liked people getting the best of her, and all through high school she'd been the type to have a witty response or a diversion or a bitchy comment to distract from an accused shortcoming. In fact, she was sure she must have launched something like that at Mia in the past, statistically speaking.

"Because you never told me," Blossom almost said. But had Blossom ever even asked? She crossed her arms over her ample chest and took a deep breath, deciding instead to lower her defenses. What good would it do to escalate this?

"No, I don't…" Blossom said, full of shame.

I don't know what I expected. I knew she didn't know me. We'd been in high school together for four years, and college for another two. I just thought... maybe I was hoping she knew who I was, at least a little bit. But I was just Mia to her.

I felt tears on my cheeks. I didn't want to cry in front of her. I hurried out of the kitchen, up the stairs, and into the guest room. I slammed the door behind me, fell forward on the bed, and cried until sleep dragged me away from that beach house.

***

We didn't really talk on the drive home. She probably wanted to ask me about Academy Works, but that would just validate what we both knew already: our relationship was just that of a writer and a fan. She shouldn't have pretended like I was anything more than that. I shouldn't have let her suck me in.

She dropped me off at my house and we gave our goodbyes. In truth, they weren't good, but they were very likely byes. She didn't have any reason to talk to me again.

Sunday night, I baked a cake. It wasn't as good as the one I brought to Blossom's beach house, but it was bigger and more extravagant. I was pushing myself. I wanted to think of anything else, anything other than yelling at her in her kitchen.

If I'd only let that go, if I let her win... we could still be friends. Fake friends. But I would have someone to talk about baby stuff with. I would be able to talk about Academy Works. I was back where I started.

No, I was in a worse place. What if Blossom told her friends? What if she sought retribution? What if I went to school on Tuesday – two days from now – and everyone in class was reading my stories? In high school, she would have done it. But now? Why did a part of me have faith in her... I wished I had never gone to that munch in the city. I wished Blossom had never figured me out.