Three days after the book signing, the kitchen felt electric with success. The Vance & Copley balance sheet was gleaming, fueled by the highly profitable emotional reports and the growing demand for bespoke starters. However, a crisis brewed in the temperature-controlled unit: Larry was sulking.
The original starter, the venerable progenitor of their entire enterprise, was exhibiting alarming signs of discontent. He was sluggish, refusing to double in volume, and worse, smelling faintly—not of the rich, sweet yeast they knew—but of existential defeat.
Caleb was conducting a forensic analysis, wearing surgical gloves and examining a sample of Larry under a jeweler's loupe.
"The data is irrefutable, Eliza," Caleb announced, his voice grave. "Larry is experiencing Emotional Neglect-Induced Fermentation Retardation (ENIFR)."
Eliza, who was reading Caleb's book signing metrics (she'd finally located the clipboard), paused. "You mean he's having a mid-life crisis because we're too busy monetizing his kids?"
"Precisely. He is the foundational asset, yet all our resources, time, and emotional energy have been allocated to the offspring—Reginald, The Maverick Amaranth, The Tragic Rye. Larry feels undervalued. The strain of constant, unacknowledged biological reproduction has exhausted his morale."
"Okay, so what's the protocol for a depressed sourdough starter?" Eliza asked, trying not to laugh. "Do we prescribe him a tiny therapist?"
"The current recommendation is an immediate infusion of a highly expensive, artisanal mineral complex imported from a volcanic region of Iceland," Caleb said, producing a vial of glittering gray dust. "It will correct the chemical imbalance."
"Absolutely not," Eliza countered, putting her foot down. "Larry doesn't need expensive dust; he needs validation. He needs to know he's still the alpha starter, the original muse! We are treating this as a relationship crisis. Tonight, we conduct Couples Counseling for Culture."
Caleb looked horrified. "Couples counseling? With a jar of flour and water?"
"Yes. You and I, we are Larry's co-parents. We have both failed him. We must sit with him, talk to him, and re-establish the primary emotional bond. It's the only way to restore his narrative integrity."
Caleb, reluctantly, agreed to the intervention, citing the high potential cost of replacing their entire foundational microbial asset if Larry flatlined.
That evening, the kitchen was silent, save for the hum of the fridge and the faint, sad gurgle of Larry. Caleb and Eliza sat opposite each other at the counter, with Larry placed dramatically between them on a tripod, under a focused spotlight.
"Begin," Eliza instructed. "Tell Larry why you appreciate him. Use emotion, not metrics."
Caleb adjusted his collar, looking acutely uncomfortable. He cleared his throat and addressed the jar.
"Larry," he started, stiffly. "You are a high-performing biological entity. Your capacity for complex, sustained anaerobic respiration has been fundamental to our… aggressive revenue generation model. I value your stability and your dedication to the core process."
Eliza winced. "You just told him he's a good, stable worker drone, Caleb. Now, he's probably going to ferment into a communist loaf. Tell him something personal."
Caleb sighed, frustrated by the unquantifiable nature of the task. He looked at Larry, then at Eliza, and finally back at the dough, letting his walls drop just an inch.
"Larry," Caleb tried again, his voice lower. "When I first started this project, I was optimizing systems that didn't exist. You are real. You are tangible. Every day, you require me to slow down and observe a process that is outside of my control. You are a necessity that can't be fixed with a formula. You brought purpose to the madness. Thank you for that."
Eliza's chest tightened. He wasn't just talking to the dough; he was articulating his personal fear of being perpetually disconnected and controlled. She knew exactly what he meant.
She leaned in, smiling softly at the jar. "My turn, sweet Larry. You are the chaos that saved me. Before you, I was writing novels about Dukes who were too perfect to exist. You and your children—The Tragic Rye, the Stoic Spelt—you gave me the real, messy drama I needed. You taught me that the best things—whether it's a character, a business, or a neighbor—are born from irrational hope and unpredictable effort. You are my muse."
She looked up at Caleb. "You see, Caleb? We both needed Larry. You needed him for his reality; I needed him for his metaphor."
Caleb nodded slowly, his gaze still fixed on the jar. "The synthesis of the tangible and the metaphor. It's an effective operational philosophy, Eliza."
They sat in silence for a moment, the emotional resonance of their confessions hanging in the air. Eliza felt a deep connection with Caleb that went beyond spreadsheets and flour tubs. They were two broken halves of a perfect business model.
Suddenly, a distinct plop sound came from the jar.
They both leaned in. Larry, who had been dormant and depressed for hours, was bubbling. Not a sad bubble, but a strong, aggressive burp. Then another. And another. The dough began to visibly rise, climbing the jar with vigor and renewed purpose. It was, quite clearly, thriving on the attention.
Eliza burst out laughing. "He did it! Larry's back! He just needed some love and a little emotional blackmail!"
Caleb, however, stared at the aggressively rising dough with a look of profound, unsettling realization.
"Wait," he whispered. "Larry is the original asset. He is now producing an output far superior to any of the offspring. He heard our confessions of dependency and immediately leveraged that emotional data to increase his own value."
Caleb turned to Eliza, his eyes wide. "Larry isn't depressed. He's a high-level manipulator. He orchestrated an entire Performance Anxiety Event to gain primary resource allocation. He's not a muse; he's a brilliant, self-optimizing predator."
Eliza looked from the triumphant, rapidly expanding dough to Caleb's face. "You're giving our sourdough starter far too much credit, Vance."
"Am I?" Caleb challenged. "He just successfully forced a high-value strategy session, gained exclusive emotional validation, and is now proofing at a 20% faster rate than his competitors. Larry is the ultimate hedge fund manager."
Eliza couldn't help but smile. "Well, he definitely got that personality from his father."
The joke landed softly, but Caleb didn't laugh. He just looked at her, his expression unreadable, as if he was calculating the risk profile of falling in love with a woman who compared him to a manipulative sourdough starter.
Larry has successfully engineered his own relationship counseling session! This was a pivotal step in showing Caleb and Eliza how they truly depend on each other.