(A short story by Irene B.) “T-minus three hours!” Popped up Denise’s text, breaking my once chill morning of scrolling. That was how much time I had before I was supposed to bake my very first loaf of sourdough bread. This is what I get for trying to support a friend… a mate. This is what I get for greedily eating every piece and version of the delicious offering my mate, Krissy, makes. Now here’s me, enrolled in a five-plus-hour class. I blame my stomach. Then Denise adds, all casual and shit. “Who’s excited to make bread?” Immediately my stomach dropped, and a loud “fuck” slipped past my lips, but I hearted her comment. Nikki: “Wait, so we’re starting…
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The Right Cake
(A short story by Irene B.) Kira stood in the long, winding pickup line at Bake My Day bakery, already late and already irritated. Her thick, mid-length hair was pulled into a neat, low bun, with loose curls escaping just enough to brush her warm brown cheeks. The place should have been fast. It always was when she wanted a quick sneaky treat, no latte needed, which meant she could skip the second line for the custom, overly complicated orders. She’d placed the cake order last week for pickup today. In the past, it took a few extra minutes to add in a few more sprinkles, encouraged by the competent…
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When It’s Not Your Turn
(A short story by Irene B.) “Yes, yes, yes… okay, girl! I’m going to lock up as soon as you get off my line, crazy!” she said, half-laughing into the phone.Then she paused.“Mmm-hmm. Bedroom’s already locked.” Another pause, then a soft giggle. “You and your single-girl fortress routine.”Silence lingered on the other end, until more laughter broke through.“And you know I appreciate you, so thank you.”Her voice dropped just slightly, as if still listening.The call ended, and the room went still. Tisha liked to measure her mornings by sound. The hum of the refrigerator intermittently followed the grinding of the ice machine. And now, with it being summer, the rush…
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Dear Wine: After The Happy Hour
(A short journal story by Irene B.) 📖 Accessible version: Read the full journal entry (PDF document) Practicing out loud Sharing some of my writing, these fiction bits as part of my creative reps, flaws and all. Keep going with your “thing,” too. Small consistent steps, even imperfect ones, make big moves forward.
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The Time I Lied About Loving Jazz
(A short story by Irene B.) The Trio House Presents: THE JAZZ SETFriday, April 25 – 7 PMFeaturing Lonnie BassettePerformances by Joel Hicks, Joy Bailey, and The PriseTicket: $125 – Limited VIP Seating AvailableMystery Guest: The One… The Only… Corinne had stared at the flyer, laptop, phone and now back to laptop, for the past three hours. She was half-dressed, hair and makeup done, in her bra and camisole, trying to figure out what to wear. The flyer hadn’t miraculously changed and still advertised The Jazz Set at The Trio House, on Friday, April 25th: Lonnie Bassette, Joel Hicks, Amber Bailey, The Prise. The Prise, spelled with an S not Z. Special…
