Chapter 34
I’ve always been a bit of an overachiever. So, in typical Claire fashion, I decided to attempt two huge things on the same
day.
Turn my business around and turn my dating life around.
One I’m confident about my part in and the other I’m a nervous wreck.
You could apply that description to either.
When I walk out of my apartment, I half expect to find Miles there waiting to walk me to the bakery, but instead I get a text
message:
Miles: I already got coffee. I’m setting up the Back Porch. See you when you get here.
My heart swells, and I take off in the direction of the bakery, the Pointer Sisters version of “I’m So Excited” racing through
my mind. I pick up the pace. It’s nice to have so much to look forward to.
I bypass the front entrance and head a block over, making my way down the back alley. When I get there, it’s not just Miles
working to get the space ready—Daniel, Kevin, and Duffy are there too.
I stop moving and stare at them. “What are you guys all doing here?”
“Crowd control,” Daniel says.
I laugh, but they don’t.
Miles, who was bending over the corn hole boards, situating them in a spot that’s away from the tables, stands. “Did you walk by the front?”
I frown. “No, I got the green light, and I knew you were back here, so I came straight back.”
“Come here.” Miles motions for me to follow him into the bakery. I’m expecting it to be dark, but the kitchen light is on—Lorraine,
Lennon, Zoey, and Ava are all bustling around the space. The two girls I hired are also here, wiping things down, setting
things up.
Lorraine sees me and grabs my to-do-in-the-morning list from the counter. She waves it at me. “Claire, is there anything else?
We did all of this.” She looks at it again. “Oh, wait, did anyone get the lemon bars out?”
“I did!” Zoey spins around, and I see that she’s wearing a tray, held on by a neck strap. On it are individually packaged
versions of my baked goods.
“What in the world—”
“We got the idea from old-timey cigarette girls,” Ava says. “We figure this way, we can serve more people—we’ll walk up and
down the line and let people pick what they want. Then we’ll restock while someone else goes out with something different.”
“And we’ll serve the ones that aren’t individually wrapped on the Back Porch,” Zoey adds, and I love that this space Miles
created for me already has its own name.
“I’m going to man the lemonade stand,” Lorraine says. “I don’t do walking.”
“And I’m going to hand out invitations to the grand opening next week.” Lennon picks up a stack of postcards and waves it
at me.
“I didn’t even think you could come today,” I say. “I know you have pickleball.”
She shakes her head. “Oh, please. You’re more important than pickleball, Claire. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
And I wonder how I became important to her so quickly—though I suppose maybe it was in the same way she became so important to me. It’s like that with some people. You just instantly know they’re meant to be in your life, and you treat them like they always have been.
“I’m going to film you interacting with the people,” Zoey says. “For social media.”
“When did you all get here?” I ask. “And how did you get in?”
“Miles let us in,” Lennon says.
He holds up a key. “Swiped your extra one yesterday.”
“Thief.”
He grins.
“I don’t know what to say.” And I really don’t. I’m shocked they’re here at all. I didn’t ask them to come because they’ve
already done so much for me, but I guess they’re the kind of people who don’t wait to be asked.
They’re the kind who just show up.
Haven’t had those kinds of people in a really long time.
Certainly not John and his parents. Once, when Minnie was a baby, she was colicky and wouldn’t sleep more than ten-minute
increments for a solid forty-eight hours. John was on a trip, and I was exhausted and hungry and losing my mind.
I called Marilyn just to see if she might be able to relieve me for a couple of hours—sit with Minnie so I could take a nap.
She told me she’d already planned a day at the spa, and this was what motherhood looked like so I’d better get used to it.
Looking around this kitchen, I’m confident that if I had a colicky baby right now, each one—or all—of these people would offer
to take a shift so I could sleep, and I’d do the same for them. Without hesitation.
And we’ve only known each other for a few months.
My heart is so full.
“Claire, what happens if you run out?” Lennon asks.
“Oh, I won’t. I made tons,” I say. “Practically had to take out a second loan.” I chuckle to myself, but they all stare at me blankly.
I frown. “What’s wrong?”
Miles pushes open the door that leads into the main space. “This is what I wanted to show you.”
Out the front windows, I see a line of people, three across, stretching past where I can see down the block.
For a second, I’m confused. “What are they all doing?”
Behind me, Lorraine laughs. “Waiting for you to feed them.”
I spin and face her. “Are they all here for the bakery?”
“Yep. All here for you,” Miles says.
“We have a sandwich board to put out front,” Zoey says, pointing at it. “It’s got all your social accounts listed so people
can tag you and spread the love.”
“So, again I ask,” Lennon says, “what happens if you run out?”
I spin around to face them. “I’m going to run out.”
“Good thing you know the owner,” Miles chips in.
“I printed up tickets,” Zoey says. “In a few minutes, we’re going to go out and give one to each person. We’ll collect them
and make sure nobody comes back for seconds.”
“I didn’t even think of that,” I say.
“I know. I’m awesome.” Zoey wags her eyebrows and grins.
“You’re the baker,” Miles says to me. “We took care of some of the other stuff so you could bake.”
I have friends. They feel like family. And they all showed up.
I look at Miles, tilt my head down and smile, and say, “Let’s get to work.”
And work we did.
We finished all the last-minute prep, handed out tickets to the people in line, and then, right at 10:00 a.m., I opened the door and walked outside. When they saw me, everyone standing in line cheered—loudly—and the noise grew as more people realized why it was happening.
Zoey filmed the whole thing.
Ava came out with a tray of baked goods and moved through the crowd. I introduced myself to countless people, shook dozens
of hands, and felt a little out of place with so much attention.
But as I stand now, at the end of the day, encircled by everyone who helped, I can’t help but think of the connections I made.
One woman told me she saw one of my videos and it inspired her to get back to doing what she loves—ceramics. And another woman
grabbed my hands and said that she was going through a terrible divorce, but seeing me gave her hope that one day, she would
be okay. I told her to come back if she ever needed a friend.
I met a foursome of older people who made a pact to come back for the grand opening. And a guy who confessed he was trying
to figure out how to ask out a woman a little bit ahead of him in the line.
This story—my story—and my little bakery were already connecting people, and The Porch wasn’t even officially open yet.
Invitations for the grand opening went out to everyone we met. I was interviewed by six different Chicago-based influencers—two
of whom review new restaurants around the city—and I directed three different people to the lemonade stand for autographs
with Lorraine, who I suspect is a big part of why this crowd showed up in the first place.
The whole morning felt like a really fun block party, and in rare moments when I wasn’t chatting or laughing or talking to
the camera on someone’s phone, I stood back and marveled at the entire scene.
This was what I wanted to happen.
People coming together to be there for each other.
Connecting.
And it happened because of a giant mistake.
Now that it’s all over and we’ve torn everything down, I gather everyone together around the counter in the kitchen, pour
out cups of lemonade, and retrieve a sampler tray I’d hidden in the pantry. I set it down in the center of the little circle.
They all take a cup, and I raise mine.
“A toast,” I say as everyone lifts their glass. “To my friends—” The word lodges itself in my throat, and I have to swallow
it to go on. “Thank you for showing up.”
I look at Ava. “Thank you for helping.”
I look at Zoey. “Thank you for sharing your creativity.”
I look at Lorraine. “Thank you for your influence.”
I look at Lennon. “Thank you for your friendship.”
I gesture to all of the men in the room. “Thank you for your muscles.”
A quiet laugh filters through the space.
I look at Miles.
My list of things to thank him for is long.
The way he sat with me on the bathroom floor. The way he shared his own story to convince me not to quit on this dream. The
kind words. The encouragement. The Back Porch. Erasing the security camera footage. The dates. I turn to look at him more
fully, and I can feel everyone’s eyes on me.
“Thank you for believing in me. For doing so much—too much—to help make this dream come true.” I hold the cup up a little
higher and scan the circle again. “Without all of you, I would’ve given up. So . . . thank you for not letting me.”
There’s a chorus of “Cheers!” and everyone takes a drink, then Lorraine holds her cup up again and says, “And to Claire! For
finally figuring out the difference between salt and sugar!”
Laughter and words of agreement fill the air.
I take out my phone and hold it up to take a selfie of the whole room. This is definitely a day I never want to forget. “Everyone get close!” I wait until we’re all squished into the frame and snap three photos, then smile down at the image on the back of my phone.
The day I discovered my husband’s affair, I thought my life was over.
But it turns out, that was simply the first day of the next chapter.
And I can’t wait to see what happens next.
Claire: Minnie, you won’t believe the day I had! Look!
Minnie: Redemption, baby!
Claire: ??
T-minus one week until the grand opening!
I can’t wait to see you!
Minnie: Jokes aside, Mom, this is incredible. I can’t wait to celebrate with you!
I hope you know how amazing you are.
Claire: Love you, Min.
Minnie: See you soon!