It had only been a few weeks since Taystee had taken over the kitchen, but already she was sashaying around like she owned the place. From the time everybody woke up til time to put head back to pillow, she had all manner of delicious aromas wafting through the air, making the others bless the day that both Red and Gloria mysteriously turned up with debilitating cases of food poisoning. About damn time a sista got in front of that oven.
Today it was cobbler. A genius idea, for it was dirt cheap to make and only required four ingredients - government canned peaches, Bisquick, cinnamon, and a whole lot of sugar. Well, five ingredients if you counted Taystee's secret, a dash of something extra that she wouldn't reveal to anyone except Chang, which was only because Chang worked in the commissary and could get it on the sly.
So now the whole kitchen felt hot and sticky and smelled like heaven as Taystee readied her dish. As she let it bake, her glorious singing voice echoed, escaped the barred windows, and drifted to the skies.
"I'm a grown woman, I can do whatever I want," she belted out with the power of Aretha. "I'm a grown woman…"
You sure are, Poussey thought to herself as she dragged a sopping wet mop over the floors.
Her ace boon coon had done Poussey a hell of a favor by putting her on kitchen staff as soon as Taystee was appointed head cook. It was the cushiest job available around here, even better than stacking books in the library.
Now it was just the two of them idling in the space between lunch and dinner, and it would be at least another hour before the crowd came back to demand the last meal of the day. But Poussey was already starving.
"Look at you, getting all Barefoot Contessa. Smells better than Thanksgiving in here," she announced with a crooked smile.
As Taystee pulled her dish from the oven, Poussey let the mop fall into a corner and sidled over, stepping through suds without care. It flew in the face of her entire upbringing to dirty a freshly mopped floor. But right now, she wasn't a military brat. She was a woman.
The golden brown surface of the cobbler hissed and sputtered, overpowering them both with its scent. It was perfect. Taystee fanned her arm over it a few times to make it cool, then turned, startled to find her friend right behind her.
"Let me taste it," the words trickled from Poussey's mouth barely above a whisper.
"You got to let it cool first, dummy," Taystee explained as if it was common sense.
"Come on… please."
Poussey's large dark eyes were fixed on Taystee with an expression she didn't recognize. A moment of quiet passed between them. Taystee turned and fished out a bit of the moist, golden crust between a fork and her index finger and brought it to Poussey's lips. She watched Poussey's mouth devour it, then her fingers.
Funny, Taystee thought. In all the time they'd been locked up together she'd never wondered, never even considered, that she and Poussey would be more than friends.
But here they were.