She had simply left it beside the welcome mat where anyone walking past could have picked it up.
I knew something was wrong before I touched it.
Dried yellow frosting was crusted around the seam where the head met the body.
Something sticky had hardened on the cord.
The whisk attachment was sitting in the bowl coated in old icing.
She hadn’t even rinsed it.
Sophie came up behind me.
“She just left it there?”
“Apparently.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“Yes.”
I carried it inside.
I cleaned the bowl.
Then the whisk.
Then the cord.
It took nearly twenty minutes to get the dried cream out of the seam.
I kept telling myself not to be angry.
At least it was home.
At least nothing had happened to it.
Then I plugged it in.
I flipped the switch.
The motor made a sound I had never heard in thirty-six years.
A deep grinding hum.
Then a click.
The head jerked once.
Stopped.
I switched it off immediately.
Waited.
Tried again.
Same grinding.
Same click.
Nothing moved.
I unplugged it.
For a few seconds, I just stood there with one hand still resting on the switch.
Sophie looked at me.
“Mom?”
I didn’t answer.
