I was standing in my kitchen holding the bowl with eggs, trying not to think about the other house. I hold the egg between my thumb and my pointer finger and smack the shell on the side of the bowl. I take my thumbs and pull the white eggshell apart. I let the clear and orange yolk slip out of the shell and plop right into the glass bowl. The sunlight made the kitchen shine a light blue color. The picture of a turkey was fastened to the wall and tilted to the side. I cleaned off the ice blue counter that matched perfectly with the walls. I always slid the window open when I would cook and let the fresh breeze blow into the house. The pink curtains swayed in the wind over the white border around the glass window.

I pick up the whisk and bowl and begin to beat the eggs. First I stick the tip of the whisk into the orange yolk and spin it. Starting to break apart the orange yolk and watch the white liquid disappear, leaving the bright orange color. But beating the eggs seemed to harsh. My stepmother always watched me closely and carefully mixing the eggs to just be one color. She will come to my side take the bowl out of my hands and smack the eggs back and forth saying, “You have to beat them, or it is no good.”
That’s really where I learned how to beat.

I would sit in my dad’s kitchen. The kitchen is a cranberry color. Black shades covered the windows, and there were bottles of different spices spread across the charcoal counter top. I’ll sit there while my stepmom complains to me about another thing I did wrong, like when I bought my brother a fish or how I don’t come over enough, or even how I’m tearing my dad apart.

Can she really not understand why I don’t go there anymore?

I grab the bowl off of the ice blue counter and pour the eggs into the wooden bowl with the dry dough. Each egg has its separate “plop” when it hits the dough, taking its time to spread out on the top.

That day replays in my mind over and over again.

“Dad you know why.” I plopped down on the couch next to my dad.
“Tia, I don’t understand what the big deal is.” He puts one hand on my back, and then quickly pulls it back to him when he notices the uncomfortable expression on my face.

“Dad, I have explained it to you many times. Over and over again it is all that I have told you since I was little.” I couldn’t help but stand and walk towards the window and stare out to my siblings playing in the summer heat. And realize what I am leaving behind.
“You can’t even do it for me?”

“Are you kidding me? You didn’t just ask that. She has abused me dad, abused me. And all you can say is you cant even do it for me?” I now have burst into tears, noticing that all he sees is her side, not mine.

“Honey please.” The shift in his posture tells me he won’t change his mind.

“No Dad. I’m not coming here any more, and there is nothing you can do to change my mind.”

“Fine, then leave. Don’t come back until you have realized that you are wrong.” There was a long pause. Right then I knew what I had to do. I wiped the tears from my eyes. I grabbed my coat, purse and my keys. I headed for the door but stopped with my hand at the knob.
“Dad, when I leave out that door I am never coming back.” My hand turns and I swing the door open. I go outside and try to hide that I was just crying inside. I kiss my two brothers and sister goodbye knowing that I won’t be seeing them for a long time.

Every time that I make these cupcakes and beat the eggs I always think back to this moment. When I told my dad I am not going back to his house anymore. When I told my stepmom that she is the reason for my dad’s pain, not me. When I kissed my siblings goodbye.
I take the whisk off the table and press it into the bowl and combine the eggs with the flour, sugar and vanilla extract. Mixing everything together, my hand cramps up. Every time I stretch out my fingers and relieve the pain in my hand. I pour the batter into the tins slowly allowing a small amount to enter the tin and I pull the bowl away so it won’t flow over.

On that day when I got into my car and I’m driving home from my dad’s house, my head begins to pound and the hole in my stomach gets larger every time I push harder on the gas. When I get home, I storm out of my car. I run to the one tree in my backyard and begin to climb. When I look down the ground seems so far away. But the lake, looking out it seems so calm. The little ripples flowing back and forth stuck between the rocks. The wind blows through the trees, making each leaf fall off one at a time. The leaf floats down and grazes the sidewalk. Underneath the blue water is chaos veiled in the blue, gray shadow of death.

It has been two years since I had this conversation with my dad. Now, I only see my siblings 5 times a year: during Christmas, St. Patrick’s Day, and all of their birthdays. On Christmas, I saw my sister and noticed how much she has grown. I remember the last time I saw her she was up to my hip and now she is up to my shoulder. I notice how much my little brother has grown, too. He once was the little boy I would play star wars with, but is now texting girls and playing on his iPhone. But my stepmom, I think that she is stuck. She can’t escape the empty feeling in her stomach. Only remembering the fighting and beating we shared together. We are civil to each other now, but we keep our distance. My dad just plops on the recliner chair like he always does in my grandpa’s house and sees that I am happy now. His hands grasp the sides and he will put the feet holder up and take a nap. Everyday I wonder if he feels the same. It sure doesn’t look like it. But I will wait. Wait for the phone call that says Maria and him are done. Of course I will fell sorrow for him and I will be there for him. But it won’t heal the wounds he has caused me those many years back.

The ringer goes off. I pull out the cupcakes and set them on the table to cool off. I take out the frosting and a spatula. I put a big glob of frosting on the first cupcake and spread it around, covering the whole top in vanilla frosting. I remove the paper tin and bring the cupcake to my mouth. I take a bite and watch the steam fly out of the cupcake and into the air.