Have Some Cake

Nolan and Carter stand behind a countertop in a kitchen. On the countertop are various baking ingredients, baking equipment, and a smartphone.

Nolan has his palms against the granite surface and gazes at the goalie. “Okay, so today, we are going to be baking brownies.”

Carter shoots him a grin and throws his pointer finger in the air. “Fudgy brownies!”

He drops his eyebrows into a flat expression. “They’re still brownies.”

“But they’re fudgy!”

“Whatever.” Nolan turns away from him. “What do we need to make this?”

Carter lowers his finger as uncertainty clouds his face. “Uh…” He scoops his phone off from the countertop and taps on it a few times.

“‘Four large eggs…,’” he reads off from his screen.

Nolan raises his eyebrows at him. ‘“Large’?”

Carter darts his eyes to the closed egg carton. “I guess that’s good for a size…”

“If it turns out to be a wreck, it’s your fault.”

Carter lowers his phone and snaps his eyes at him. “You can’t even bake a cake. I can.”

Nolan simply walks away.

Carter drops his mouth into a gape, watching Nolan exit the kitchen. “Pat...! Pat!”






The two Flyers are back in their positions behind the countertop.

Carter reads off from his phone, “Next on our list: one and four quarter cups of cocoa powder.”

Nolan cocks his eyebrow in suspicion. “‘Four quarters’? That’s a whole.”

The goalie squints at the phone and points to its screen. “It’s a fraction of one over a four—“

“That’s one-quarter, smart guy,” he cuts in flatly, peeking at the phone.

Carter lowers his phone and gazes at him. “I know who’s gonna do the measuring.”

Nolan turns away from him. “What’s next?”

He peers back at his phone. “Uh, one teaspoon of salt!”

Nolan narrows his eyes. “Why?”

Carter reverts to him and shrugs. “You can google it.”

“Whatever.” He rolls his eyes. “And...?”

Carter turns back to his phone. “Uh, one teaspoon of baking powder.”

Nolan looks at the countertop and points to a small container. “Check.”

“One tablespoon of vanilla extract.”

Nolan reverts his pointer finger to a plastic bottle with brown liquid. “Got it.”

Carter lifts his eyes from his phone with contemplation. “Do you ever wonder why it’s called ‘teaspoon and tablespoon’? It’s strange if you think about it…”

Nolan shows no interest. “Next?”

Embarrassment overtakes Carter’s face. “Oh, um…” He looks back at his phone. “One cup of unsalted butter.”

Nolan pats the stick of unsalted butler. “Good call. And?”

“Two and…” Carter leans away from his phone with squinted eyes. “...one quarter, yeah—” He nods. “—one quarter cups of sugar.”

Nolan grimaces at him. “Oh, yikes.”

Carter lowers his phone and states matter-of-factly, “It’s for twenty servings.”

Nolan softens his expression. “Next?”

He excitedly reads from his phone, “One and a half cups of flour!”

Nolan places his hand on the bag of flour. “Right here.”

“And the best part—” Carter raises his head to reveal his mighty large smile to his friend. “—two cups of mini chocolate chips!”

Nolan grabs the bag of chocolate chips and shakes it in the air. “Got ‘em.” He places it back on the countertop.

The goalie places his phone on the table and gazes at the ingredients. “Awesome!” He turns to Nolan. “Let’s get cooking!”

Nolan places his palms on the table. “What’s first?”

“Uh…” Carter swipes his phone back into his hand and reads, “‘Preheat the oven to three hundred and fifteen degrees--Fahrenheit--and lightly grease a nine-by-thirteen--inch--pan.’”

Nolan flings his pointer finger to him. “You preheat—” He reverts it to him. “—I grease.”

Carter gapes at him, “But I wanted to—”

“Preheat.” Nolan holds a look of stone.

He lets out a heavy sigh. “Okay...!” He turns around and steps over to the oven.

Nolan bends over, disappearing behind the countertop. He then comes back up with his hands occupied by a baking sheet.

He scrutinizes it while tilting it side to side. “Is this the right pan?”

“Anyone should work,” Carter calls out from behind him, pressing the oven’s buttons.

Nolan eyes him from behind his shoulder. “It says nine-by-thirteen.”

“Look at the bottom.”

Nolan flips the baking sheet over and gazes down at its flat bottom. “Nope: seven-by-eleven.”

He then drops behind the countertop once again. Clanking, scuffling, and scratching of metal surfaces, and are heard. One by one, his hand pops back into view, each time with a new baking sheet of a different size and shape.

Once the countertop is filled with various baking sheets, Nolan rises back into view. His hair his messy, his eyes are weary.

He throws his hands in the air and cries out at the mess, “There’s none that are nine-by-thirteen!”

Carter steps back to him from the oven and gazes at the many baking sheets. “Get the one that’s the closest.”

“No!” Nolan whirls to him, his eyes wide in a frenzy. “Then the brownies would be all ruined!”

Carter makes an askew frown. “So what are you gonna do then?”

Resolve takes over his face. “Get one.” He then storms off from the countertop.

Carter watches him exit the kitchen with a gawk. “Pat! You’re really going to the store right now—?”

The door is heard slamming. Silence takes over the room.

Carter turns back to the countertop in subtle shock. “He is.”






Nolan is back standing behind the countertop. Plopped in front of him is a rectangular-shaped baking sheet.

He gazes at it contently while piping in, “Okay, the correct pan is lightly greased and the oven is preheating, so now what?” He turns his head to look at his friend.

Carter, who is standing next to him, reads from his phone, “‘In a bowl, beat the four eggs with the cocoa powder, salt, baking powder, and vanilla till smooth.’”

“Bowl…” Nolan grabs a silver bowl from the middle of the countertop and sets it in between them.

He looks at the bowl before looking at him. “Can you grab the mixer?”

Nolan walks off.

Carter faces the countertop and grabs an egg from the egg carton. To crack it, he slams it against the countertop. The clear liquid from the egg begins oozing out from the cracks and onto the countertop and hand.

Carter’s eyes fly open at the sensation of cold liquid dripping onto his hand and spreading out onto the surface. “Oh shoot—!”

He swings his egg-covered hand at the bowl. The egg flies out from his palm and splatters into the bowl.

Carter stares at the mess on the countertop and in the bowl with large eyes.

“What?”

With a jolt, Carter whirls around, his hands out and limp in front of him.

Nolan is staring apathetically at him with the mixer in his hands.

“Um—” The goalie flicks his hands at the bowl behind him. “—I think I dropped the whole egg in there—”

Nolan approaches the bowl, places the mixer on the edge of the countertop, and peers inside the bowl. “Ugh, Carter!”

He pulls out a drawer from underneath the countertop and grabs a fork. He skillfully, one by one, fishes the shell bits out and places them on a napkin.

Carter watches his actions with surprise. “Oh, wow, that was fast!”

“And you say fishing is a waste of time,” he grumbles, continuing removing the shells.

“Ohhhh I see...!”

Nolan then places the fork down on the napkin and wipes his fingers on it. “There.” He holds a hand out to him. “Give me an egg.”

“I can crack it—”

Nolan shoots sharp eyes at him. “After this? No.”

“Okay…” Carter pushes the carton of eggs up to him.

Nolan swipes one egg, taps it on the edge of the bowl, and splits it over the bowl. The egg spills its contents into the bowl before he closes it and places its shells on the napkin.

Carter gawks at the sight in awe. “How do you do that?”

“Fishing,” Nolan replies matter-of-factly. He takes another egg and repeats the process.

Carter narrows his eyes at him in deep thought.

He drops the shells on the napkin and turns to him. “Practice, duh.”

“Well, I guess I need more practice then...?” Carter’s shoulders rise into a shrug.

Nolan picks out the last egg and holds it out to him.

Carter relaxes and raises his eyebrows at the egg. “Really?”

“I know when you’re whining.”

Carter gives him a grin. He points to the egg. “So I bang it—”

“Pat it—”

“Like your name?”

Nolan simply stares beyond his teammate with no emotion.

Carter rolls his lips, pushing down a rising laughter. “So I tap it lightly—”

Nolan looks back at him. “Yes.”

“—on the counter—”

“Bowl.”

Carter raises his eyebrows. “Bowl?”

Nolan shoots him a flat look. “The egg isn’t gonna get mixed on the counter, isn’t it?”

“Oh okay!”

With that, Carter takes the egg, turns to the countertop, and taps it on bowl’s edge. He pauses before peering at his friend with a slight frown. “It’s not cracking.”

Nolan nods at the egg. “Do it a bit harder.”

Carter continues to tap the egg against the bowl.

Nolan scowls at his actions. “Harder, Carts.”

He grimaces. “I’m scared I might break it...!”

Nolan slips his hand over his egg-occupied hand and guides it up before slamming it onto the bowl’s edge.

With the impact and no grip on the surface, the bowl tilts over and throws its contents across the countertop.

“Oh shoot!”

Carter rips away from the egg and Pat’s hand and snatches the bowl, placing it upright. He stands still, panting. His eyes dart around.

The countertop is slathered with cocoa powder, egg, and other of the brownies’ ingredients. The liquids ooze past the edge, dripping onto the floor.

Tense with trepidation, Carter rotates his head to Nolan. Nolan stares at the mess, apathetic.

“I’ll clean that up,” Carter forces out.






Laid out on the cleaned countertop is the silver bowl and the plugged mixer lying next to it. The two teammates stand behind the scene.

Nolan hovers his hand over the bowl. “Eggs are in the bowl, measured ingredients in the bowl too, and now and we beat.”

Carter turns to him, pointing at the mixer. “I can beat and you can do the next part to the first step.”

He raises his eyebrows. “We’re still on step one?”

“Yeah.”

Nolan picks up the mixer and hands it to him. Carter exchanges his smartphone to him.

Nolan gazes at the screen and reads from it: “‘In a saucepan over low heat, melt the butter, then add the sugar and stir to—’”

Cocoa powder blasts at his face. Nolan tenses and squeezes his eyes and mouth shut.

Carter, also covered in the dark powder, pushes the switch of the mixer to off and turns to Nolan. He makes a worried look at his cocoa-powder-covered face. “Whoops.”

Nolan wipes the dark powder off his face with his shirt’s collar and storms past him.

Carter watches Nolan exit the kitchen. “Sorry!”

“And you say I can’t bake a cake!” Nolan hurls at him.

“We all have our weaknesses, okay?”

No response.

Carter continues beyond the kitchen, hopelessly. “You’re abandoning me now?”

“Give me a minute to get this powder off, gosh,” Nolan mutters loudly.

Carter sets the mixer onto the counter and dusts his face and shirt off.

With brown powder freckling his hair, face, and shirt, he looks back in front of him. “You can just dust yourself off.”






A pot along with the bowl now sit on the countertop.

“You got the hot mixture,” Carter starts, pointing to the pot, “I got my dry mixture, and now…”

Nolan looks at the smartphone. “‘Add the hot butter and sugar mixture to the egg and cocoa powder mixture, stirring until smooth.’”

Nolan trades Carter’s smartphone for his pot with oven mitts and pours the hot mixture into the bowl.

“Alright!” Carter then reveals a beater from behind the countertop.

Nolan’s eyes fly open at the sight of the utensil. “Whoa, it says says ‘stir,’ not ‘beat.’” He then pulls out a wooden spoon and hands it to him.

With a slight frown, Carter puts down the beater and takes the wooden spoon. “Aw man.”

Nolan puts the beater on the other side of him. “Anyways, I don’t trust you with the beater.”

“Well, it’s not like there’s…” Carter’s eyes land on the hot content inside the bowl. “Oh yeah, okay, I’ll just…” His voice fades as he begins working the spoon into the two mixtures.

Nolan takes his smartphone and continues reading out loud: “‘Add the flour and chocolate chips, again stirring until smooth.’” He takes a peek at Carter’s work and nods.

Carter halts his mixing motions and turns to him. “Okay, is that smooth to your standards, Pat?”

Nolan simply grabs the measured flour and pours it in the mixture. He then takes the measured chocolate chips and plops them in as well.

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

Nolan beams at him.

Carter shoots him a grin as he stirs again.

“And after that’s smoothed out, pour the batter onto the sheet,” Nolan tells him.

After a few more whips, Carter puts the spoon to aside. “Is this smooth enough?”

Nolan nods at the dark batter in the bowl. “Yeah. Now pour it into the sheet.”

Carter picks up the bowl and holds it over the baking sheet. With a tilt, the substance slips out and layers onto the baking sheet.

Nolan reaches over Carter to grab the wooden spoon. He then holds the suspended bowl in one hand and uses the other to scrap every last bit out onto the pan.

“Okay..., that’s good,” Nolan murmurs.

Carter lowers the bowl and places it on the countertop.

Nolan uses the underside of the spoon to level out the batter across the baking sheet. He then places the spoon on a napkin and turns to him. “And now pop it in the oven for thirty minutes.”

Carter gives him a grin. “Yes, sir.” He takes the baking pan and whisks off to the oven.

Nolan gazes at him with narrowed eyes. “Did you just call me ‘sir’?”

Carter peers behind his shoulder at him from the oven. “Yeah, is that fine?”

He shrugs.

Carter opens up the oven with one hand, instantly backing away with a grimace. “Oh geez, I just got a blast of hell in here.”

Nolan chuckles.

Carter slips the pan in the oven and closes it. He then presses the buttons on the oven, setting the baking time to thirty minutes.

“Okay, and now it’s baking!” Carter skips over to Nolan and halts next to him. “So, what should we do in the meantime?”






The two end up on the large concrete slab in the backyard, where a roller hockey net is set. Nolan, with his hockey gloves, cradles a roller hockey puck with his street hockey stick before sending it to the net.

The puck soars through the corner of the net.

“Oh yeah!” Nolan throws his hands and stick in the air. “All four corners!”

“Let me try!” Carter shouts from behind him.

Nolan steps back to let Carter take his place facing the net. With his own street hockey stick, Carter takes a roller hockey puck and swings at it. The puck flies off to a side.

Nolan scoffs.

Carter takes another puck and whacks it. The puck skids across the concrete before slamming into the wooden fence.

With a groan, Carter takes a third puck and launches it into the air. The puck flips in the air before arching over the fence. It disappears from view.

“Carter, this isn’t soccer, you know,” Nolan teases from behind him.

Carter slides the last puck into his stick’s blade. “I know, I know...!”

He pushes the puck toward the net. The puck slides into the net.

Carter peers behind his shoulder to him. “At least I got it in the net?”

Nolan rolls his eyes. “Where the goalie is.”

“That’s me!” He faces him, leaning against his propped stick. “And don’t forget, I was once a skater.”

“How long ago, exactly?”

Carter presses his lips. “Nine years…”

“That just proves my point.” Nolan gazes around with a gape. “You had to send a puck over the fence.”

Carter shrugs. “You inspired me to try shooting in the top corner.”

Nolan then breezes by him, crossing the backyard. “Let’s go look for it.”






The two friends are back in the kitchen, behind the counter.

Carter holds up a canister of toothpicks while looking at Nolan. “Do you wanna test out the brownies with the toothpick?”

“Sure.”

Carter pulls out a toothpick and hands it to him. Nolan strolls to the over door, opens it, and sticks the toothpick inside.

Carter stares at him with anticipation. “Good?”

“Yeah!” Nolan calls out into the oven.

Carter watches with glee as Nolan exchanges the toothpick for oven mittens and straightens up with the steaming brownies in his hands.

Nolan ambles to the counter and slides the baking sheet onto the surface. He then catches Carter gawking at him with amusement.

“Oh my goodness,” he breathes out, “your cheeks.”

Nolan shoots a glare at him. “Don’t talk about my rosy cheeks.”

Carter dips his head with guilt. “Sorry, sorry, it must’ve been from the heat of the oven because they’re really…” He flicks his eyes up at him. “...um, blushed.”

Nolan stares at him with his reddening face and matted hair, silently fuming.

Carter straightens up, holding his palms out at him in innocence. “It looks good though, you pull it off really well.”

Nolan whips out a cake knife with sharp eyes burning at him.

Carter’s eyes fly open as he stumbles back with his hands flying over his shoulders. “Whoa, okay, I’ll stop talking about them; wow, I didn’t know that would affect you that much—”

Nolan holds the utensil out to him. “Shut up and cut the brownies.”

Carter lowers his hands as he relaxes. “Ohhh…” He steps back up to him and takes the knife. “Right.”

He then faces the pan and sticks the knife into the edge of the bread. He draws its blade across in a jagged, diagonal line.

Nolan frowns at the work being done. “Don’t you know how to cut a straight line?”

Carter takes out the knife and draws it across the bread in another uneven line. “We’re gonna eat them anyway.”

“Stop cutting.”

Carter halts. “So how are we gonna have brownies?” He perks up to spot his friend strutting away from him. “Pat!”

He stands alone in the kitchen, looking ahead in confusion. He then watches Nolan make his way back into the kitchen, halting next to him. He pulls out a ruler and hovers it over the bread in the baking sheet.

Carter gapes at him. “You’re kidding.”

Nolan adjusts the ruler. “I want these to be perfect.”

He pulls out the knife from the bread. “Okay.”

With that, Carter realigns the knife to the ruler and cuts it against the ruler. Together, they work their way horizontally through the bread before cutting vertically to create small brownie squares.

Nolan places the ruler down. “See, that wasn’t so bad.” He eyes the even lines through the moist, brown bread. “That looks really good.”

Carter gives him a small smile. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, you’re welcome,” he waves off.

Carter then holds the knife up to him. “You can serve them since I just might do a terrible job at it.”

He turns to him and takes the knife. “Okay, then get the plates.”

Carter then strolls across the kitchen for the plates as Nolan pulls out the drawer and reveals the spatula.

Carter places two saucers in between them, in front of the pan. Nolan scoops one sharp square and slides it onto the nearest saucer.

Carter raises his eyebrows with surprise at the serving presentation. “Wow, that is perfect.”

Nolan serves another on the other plate.

Carter’s eyes then light up. “Ooo! You know what we can have ‘em with?”

Nolan lowers the spatula and watches him rush to the refrigerator and freezer and select a few items. Carter dashes back to him.

“Bam!” He dumps out the contents in his arms: a pint of vanilla ice cream, whipped cream, and maraschino cherries.

Nolan gawks at the options to have with the brownies. “Are you trying to give us diabetes?”

Carter’s enthusiasm melts away as he cowards back with guilt in his eyes. “Uh, no...just making things more...yummy?”

Nolan grabs the pint, opens it, whips out an ice cream scooper, scoops some ice cream out, and plops it onto his plate.

He turns to him with a sly expression. “I like your thinking.” He hands him the ice cream pint. “Grab the chocolate syrup.”

With a chuckle, Carter takes the pint, places it down and hurries to the cabinet behind them to pull out the chocolate syrup.

Nolan picks up the whipped cream while uncapping it, shakes it, and sprays the substances on the ice cream in a perfect swirl.






The two are back in the backyard. This time, they lounge on the patio chairs next to each other with the patio table in between them. They enjoy their brownies decked with ice cream, whipped cream, cherries, and chocolate syrup.

Carter swallows. “These are the best brownies I’ve ever had.”

Nolan pulls his spoon out of his mouth. “Obviously.”

“We make a great baking team.” Carter gazes at him. “Maybe next time, we can try a cake?” Confusion then settles on his face.

In his sight, Nolan stares ahead in shock.

Carter keeps his eyes on him, holding still. “You okay there?”

“The dishes,” Nolan breathes out.

Carter presses his lips. “The dishes…” He looks away with weariness. “Oh, that’ll be a blast.”



The End.

Notes