Archive of Our Own ^beta

Ami took a tentative bite of the cake she'd just baked. It looked mostly fine on the outside, a little dark, sure, but she knew from experience that looks could be deceiving. She chewed slowly, letting the flavors wash over her taste buds, hoping to pick up on something different. Maybe she'd lucked up this time and gotten it right. The chocolate did taste a little better…

Yeah, no, this cake still tasted terrible. She sighed and put the rest of the piece she was holding back on the plate. Ami shook her head mournfully; this marked her third attempt at this cake, and she wasn't getting any closer to anything edible. In fact, she suspected it was getting worse.

"I don't get it!" she complained to her empty kitchen. "I know I'm following the recipe correctly. I double-checked the ingredients and their amounts. I followed every instruction as written. I even recalibrated my oven! And I highly doubt I copied the recipe wrong because I double-checked that, too." She folded her arms in a huff and leaned against the counter. "I just don't understand. There has to be something I'm missing and I'm simply not seeing it. What on earth that is, I have no idea."

She looked back at the abandoned cake. The recipe had come from Makoto; more specifically, it was a recipe that had belonged to Makoto's late mother.

The whole gang had been at Makoto's apartment studying for their various exams (or trying to, in Usagi and Minako's case), when a delivery person showed up with a strange white box. Upon inspection, it turned out to contain some leftover personal effects from her late parents. In the chaos of dealing with her parents' sudden passing years ago, the non-descript box had been overlooked. She thanked the messenger, grateful something so important had been returned to her even after so much time had passed.

Everyone helped her sort through the box's contents. Suddenly, Makoto's face lit up. "Oh, it's one of Mom's recipe books!" she exclaimed. Immediately, she started flipping through it.

Ami watched her, enjoying the excited look on her face. She hadn't said anything, but she'd been a little worried over how Makoto would take seeing her late parents' things out of the blue. To Ami's relief, she seemed to be taking it fairly well.

Eventually, Makoto landed on a page that caught her interest. "Is this what I think it is?" She looked closer. "It is! Guys, this was one of my favorite desserts Mom used to make!" A wistful look came across her face. "She would bake it for us every Valentine's Day, and all three of us, Mom, Dad, and I would have a slice. I think that's why Valentine's Day was my favorite holiday as a kid, because of that cake."

While Makoto was reminiscing with the others, Ami got an idea. She took out her phone and discreetly took a photo of the page with the recipe on it. Valentine's Day was coming up, and making one of Makoto's favorite childhood desserts would be an excellent present.

That had been over a week ago. This cake was seeming less like a genius idea and more like an albatross around her neck. Idly, she picked up her copy of the recipe and compared it to her log notes for what felt like the thousandth time. Yes, at one point she'd gotten so frustrated with her poor results that she took notes about everything she did and measured to make sure she wasn't straying from the recipe. So far, it hadn't helped much.

There were two viable solutions to this whole mess. The first and probably the sanest was to simply stop by one of the nearby bakeries and pick something up to give Makoto. Ami made a face at that, rejecting the idea outright. The bakeries near her apartment had some of the best pastries in the city (a fact that had Usagi and Minako visiting her the most out of the girls for a while). She knew Makoto would be happy with anything from one of them, but that wasn't the point. Ami wanted to make something for Makoto with her own two hands, because she was absolutely worth the time and effort. Of course, that only left one option.

A glance at the seal-themed calendar on her kitchen wall reminded Ami that Valentine's Day was in a few days now. She thought over her situation and sighed again, this time in resignation. Then she picked up the phone and called Makoto to invite her over for the holiday.

"I might not be able to give her the cake from her childhood," she thought, "but if we make it together, that'll be a new, good memory she gets to have."

"Much better," Ami thought as she handed Makoto the next ingredient. Makoto had asked her a couple times if she was sure she didn't want more to do, and Ami had cheerfully turned her down . She was more than happy playing the assistant and handing Makoto whatever she needed.

Ami watched Makoto raptly as she worked her magic on the ingredients. Makoto had told her that, once she was old enough, her mother let her help make the cake, and she'd gotten pretty good at it. That much was evident in how she effortlessly measured things out and added them to the mixing bowl, barely looking at the recipe card. It amazed Ami that she could work so quickly from memory, even after all this time. She knew it required a lot of skill; Makoto only made it look easy, but it was no less impressive.

Admittedly, she became a little distracted staring at Makoto's arms while she stirred everything together. Ami had offered her the use of her mixer, but she turned it down; hand-mixing was how she and her mother had done it, and that's how it would be done this time. Watching her now reminded Ami of all the times those arms had held her to give her comfort, affection, or more. She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks, but didn't bother hiding it.

Makoto happened to look up while she was mixing the batter and saw the expression on Ami's face. "You okay?"

"Oh, I'm fine. I'm just glad you're staying over tonight," Ami replied. She even threw in a wink for good measure. Then, it was Makoto's turn to blush.

A little over an hour later, the cake was ready to come out of the oven. Makoto did the honors, carefully removing it using her oven mitts and setting it down on the counter to cool. This was undoubtedly the hardest part: waiting to see if the hard work put in had paid off and they'd be rewarded with something delicious.

Once Makoto deemed the cake cool enough, she got out a knife and cut a slice big enough for the two of them to share. She got forks for both of them, and they dug in, each excited to see how the cake had turned out.

As soon as the taste hit her, Ami couldn't help the surprised little squeak that escaped her. It was like day and night, the difference between her attempts and this one. The crumb was fine, baked to just the right temperature and soft yet decadent. The flavor wasn't too salty (Ami still hadn't figured out how she messed that up). She'd never had this cake before, the way it was meant to be prepared, but somehow she knew that this was how it was meant to taste. Ami got ready to compliment her, but Makoto spoke first.

"You know, this cake doesn't taste quite as good as it used to," she said.

Ami's eyes widened, and she looked at Makoto with concern. Had this attempt been a failure, too? True, she didn't know what the cake was really supposed to taste like, but the result they got her tasted just fine; fantastic, even. Maybe she'd missed the mark.

Then, Makoto continued, taking another bite with her fork. "I think it tastes even better than what I remember."

Ami stared at her in shock before playfully slapping her shoulder. "Mako-chan, be nice! You had me worried. I had so much trouble with this cake, I didn't think it would ever get baked right."

Makoto wrapped her up in a big, warm hug and chuckled softly into Ami's hair. "I know, I'm sorry. I couldn't resist!"

The two of them stood together in Ami's kitchen for a few moments, basking in the success of their culinary efforts. The whole space was filled with the scent of chocolate and the assortment of spices that went into the batter. Ami didn't do a lot of baking herself; when she did, she tended to take a more scientific approach. After all, what was baking but chemistry and thermodynamics in action? Watching Makoto work, however, was something different. It reminded Ami of the artistry of it all.

"Do you wanna know why I think it tastes better this time?" Makoto asked quietly. Ami nodded. "It's because I made it with you." She pressed a soft kiss against Ami's temple, making her flush and giggle.

"Well," Ami said, "I'm glad I could help out."

Omake

Makoto and Ami are still digging into the big piece Makoto cut with gusto. The piece is nearly crumbs now.

"I can't believe how good this is! I don't know why I had so much trouble getting it right, but I'm glad I get to share it with you."

"So am I. And don't feel bad about struggling with the recipe, it was hard for me the first time I helped Mom make it."

"Really?" Ami arches an eyebrow. She knows Makoto isn't perfect, but she doubts Makoto had as many problems with it as she did, even as a child.

"Mhm." Makoto swallows, not wanting to talk with her mouth full. "Mom tended to be a little vague writing down her recipes. Sometimes, she would leave out entire instructions. She'd forget to put in the units of measurement, too."

Ami winces. "Yes, I found that out the hard way. The recipe isn't all that complicated, but it's difficult to follow when you don't know what you're measuring with."

Makoto nods sympathetically. "And it really didn't help that she liked to bake American-style a lot."

Ami looks at her with confusion on her face. "'American-style'?" she asks.

"Yeah. She did a lot of baking using American units. You know, cups, pounds, ounces, that sort of thing."

"So the measurements for this recipe aren't in metric?"

"Nope! Let me tell you, seeing that high a temperature freaked me out until she told me it was Fahrenheit, not Celsius." Makoto laughs at that particular memory.

Ami goes very quiet. After a while, Makoto looks over to her. She's about to ask what's wrong, but she sees Ami glaring at the recipe card. She doesn't understand at first, but she thinks about it, and something clicks.

"Oh. You, uh, thought everything was in metric?"

Ami closes her eyes and nods stiffly.

Makoto picks up the card, then pecks Ami on the cheek. "How about I rewrite this so it's a little more readable, yeah? Consider it an early White Day present."