as a child. There was a fire crackling in the grate, and Christmas carols playing chirpily. The living room was decorated from the ceiling, where shiny silver lanterns hung, right down to the floorboards, where a Nativity scene played out, including hay in the manger for baby Jesus.
“Now come through, I’ve made some candy-cane milkshakes, but you can’t have a milkshake without a donut and you can’t have a donut without candyfloss, so I hope it won’t spoil your lunch.”
I groaned. “We’ve only just had breakfast, Aunt Bessie.”
She tutted. “It’s only a drink, Clio!”
There was no denying her. We’d be marshmallow-shaped when we left.
“See what’s for dessert?” Kai said in awe as he unloaded presents under the tree, a tree that seemed to be more lights than branches.
On the kitchen bench sat Aunt Bessie’s donut tower, and I gasped. I’d been expecting something extravagant, but not this. It was truly a marvel, iced donuts in festive red and green stacked atop each other in the shape of a Christmas tree. Edible diamonds twinkled on each layer. A golden star gleamed from the top. “What on earth…” In the window of Puft she’d had something similar but on a much simpler scale. This was another level!
“Your mom helped,” she said, her eyes shining with pride. “She sure has a steady hand for it. It took us just over four hours to assemble, and that doesn’t include making the donuts.”
“Mom helped?”
Aunt Bessie grinned. “She sure did. She’s becoming quite the baker, you know. Her visits to Puft are more frequent. Sure, to start with she just helped out the kitchen hand, cleaning and sorting the fridges, but now she’s learning to bake too. And decorate. She’s got the patience for the finicky work.”
My eyebrows shot up. I knew Mom went to Puft and ‘helped’ but I’d thought it was just a reason to catch up with Aunt Bessie, and have some time outside the house with someone she felt safe and comfortable around. I’d never for one second thought she would be learning to bake. Also, I’d inherited my terrible cooking skills from my mother… or so I’d thought! I stared at the tower again, fresh pride coursing through me.
She gazed in the direction I looked. “Oh, the star? It’s made from tempered dark chocolate and covered in golf leaf. It cost a pretty penny, but it’s worth it, don’t you think?”
“Aunt Bessie, it’s totally amazing. It’s so grand!” The stack of donuts had been truly transformed. It was a piece of art. “You’ve got such an incredible talent, sometimes I think you’re wasted here in Evergreen,” I said.
“Well, funny you should say. About that…” Aunt Bessie said, dipping her head as if shy, which was out of character for her. “I’m not technically minded, I’m more a ‘get your hands dirty in the kitchen’ type, as you can clearly see, but I’ve had a lot of the emails recently…”
“The emails? Go on.” I bit down on a smile.
“Yeah, so the emails are all basically asking the same thing. Where can they see pictures of what I make, what’s my handle on Instagram.” Her face went blank. “I replied I don’t have a handle on it, I don’t have a handle on technology at all.”
Laughter sputtered out of me. “Oh, Aunt Bessie! They mean what’s your name on Instagram, so they can follow you! Not whether you have a handle on using it! Handle means name – for example, it could be something like: @PuftArtisanDonuts.”
“OK, OK, I understand, but what exactly is Instagram?” Her eyebrows pulled together as she poured out enormous candy-cane milkshakes, decorating both with white and red sprinkled donuts and a spiral of whipped cream.
I laughed in spite of her bewildered expression and took my milkshake before I pulled out my phone to teach her the intricacies of Instagram. “So, social media looks scary, but really it could take Puft to the next level. Introducing it to more customers, from, well, pretty much anywhere in the world.”
“So…” Her nose wrinkled. “You’re telling me I’ll post pictures of my artisan donuts and strangers are going to like them? With a click of the button? And this will sell more donuts?” Her expression remained bewildered.
I nodded and took a gulp of my milkshake, relishing the minty freshness. Puft definitely deserved more fans, even if demand in Evergreen was already pretty high. I just knew New Yorkers would love to ‘discover’ those artisan creations.
Still confused she asked, “But how will they find me?”
“Hashtags.” I tried to hold back the laughter as I caught Kai’s gaze. Explaining social media seemed completely mad – hashtags, handles, likes? “Okay, so let’s not worry about all the terms or anything, let’s just get you an account set up. It’s easier to show you that way.”
With a big smile, and a lot of dramatic sighing and exclaiming over remembering passwords and how her nails were too long to click-clack at a phone, we set up an Instagram account and I promised to help her with Facebook and Twitter once she got a handle (!) on using Instagram first.
“So these strangers will like my posts and send orders through my website? Seems pretty crazy to me…”
“It’s the way of the world, Aunt Bessie,” I said, smiling. “Amory will design you a stunning webpage that will suit Puft and she can link your social media accounts to that. Then when you get an order you simply ship it. Easy peasy. We’d better sort out some nice packaging for shipping too, because I bet it won’t take long for the word to spread.”
“You’re a sweet girl, Clio, believing in me like that. This all came about after Cedarwood was written up in the newspaper, you know. It’s more to do with you than me.”
I kissed the top of her head. “It came about because you’re exceptional at what you do. It has nothing to do with me.”
Looking up at the clock Aunt Bessie suddenly exclaimed, “Look at the time! We’d best get a wriggle on now or this Christmas lunch is going to be a real turkey!” she cackled at her bad joke and I followed her back to the kitchen.
I sat at the counter and watched Aunt Bessie work as she pulled out vegetables and instructed me to stay well away from any pot or pan. But she called Kai over to be her helper and I watched as he confidently chopped and prepared the carrots. I was almost jealous – seeing as Aunt Bessie had been able to teach Mom how to bake, I wondered if she could teach me how to boil water without burning the pot…
“Where’s Mom?” I asked
Aunt Bessie stopped stirring and checked her watch. “Should be on her way.” She paused, turning toward me and catching my eye. “Clio, you know it’s a big thing for her, coming here today when there’s going to be people she doesn’t know.” She motioned to Kai, who seemed to be in his own world meticulously julienning carrots to the same length.
I nodded. My mom could hide out in the kitchen at Puft, stick her head into the bakery and say hello to a friendly face, but real socializing – sitting down, eating, drinking and making conversation for hours on end – was another thing entirely. I couldn’t remember ever seeing my mom handle a social situation well – I guess she just used the avoidance tactic, or made excuses and we left it at that.
“I
