They would be making chocolate decadence.

Seriously, Dad. We all know what a sweet tooth you have, and how you miss Mom’s baking.

MIXMASTER BY JULIE ZUCKERMAN 34THPARALLEL MAGAZINE ISSUE 16

Jeremiah kept thinking that the wet teabag in his peripheral vision was a glazed donut hole, and each time he looked up and saw that it wasn’t, he felt a wave of disappointment. The gnawing for something sweet tugged at his stomach.

He shifted his weight to his better leg, eased himself out of the desk chair and made his way to the kitchen. He opened the cupboards and closed them, opened the refrigerator and closed it, and then the freezer. He knew exactly what was in them, but he played the opening and closing game hoping there was some hidden-away treat he had failed to see the first time.

There were a thousand ways he missed Molly, but it was the lack of home-cooked food that upset him late at night, made him feel off-kilter. Sure, he was managing—at least that’s what he told his daughter—he had taught himself how to make eggs and pasta, …