Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
EVERLEIGH
I take a picture of the cupcakes on the stand and upload it on the Instagram page I created for my mother three years ago. A page she hasn’t kept up with since the last post, which was exactly three years ago. I’ve been taking over the social media since I’ve been in town, and it’s grown a ton. I even had one of the reels I created in the morning making the donuts go viral, and a couple of people have reached out and asked if we ship out.
I’ve even been on Pinterest at night while I’m in bed, coming up with different ideas to spruce up the place and bring the dreary to pop and sunshine. Maybe paint the walls a different color. Put some pictures up from over the years. Put up some little trinkets to make it feel more homey. Maybe put in a couple of tables by the window so they can grab a coffee or even a slice of cake.
I’m posting the picture when I hear the front door open, and then a child’s voice calls, “Daddy, they have cupcakes.” I smile at her animated voice as I walk out of the back and to the front.
I stop mid-step when I see Brock coming into the door, my eyes going to the little girl standing at the display counter. “Look, Daddy, they have my favorite.” She points at one of them, and all I can do is stare at her. My chest feels like an elephant has just stepped on me, crushing my breathing. I can’t help but stare at her, my eyes getting so dry as they burn to stay open, so I blink them furiously. “We can even get some for tomorrow,” she suggests happily, and the only thing I can think is she has to be the most beautiful little girl I’ve ever laid eyes on in my life. She looks exactly like Brock but with feminine features. She looks exactly like the daughter I always thought we would have.
“Hello,” I force out, hoping my voice doesn’t crack when I get to the counter.
“Hi,” she says, “is Ms. Maddie not here?”
I shake my head as the lump forms in my throat. “Not today.” I clear my throat in case it stops working. “What can I get you?” I don’t look up at Brock, not wanting him to see how this affects me. Even though I think I’ve put up a brave face, it would take one look into my eyes for him to see how much this is getting to me. And he doesn’t get that. He lost that right.
“I’m going to have a chocolate cupcake with the sprinkles,” she orders, jumping up and down and clapping her hands, “and Daddy likes the same thing.” I stop my head from turning to stare at him because he hates chocolate. He always picked vanilla over chocolate every single time.
“Coming right up.” I turn to walk to the back and only when I’m safely there do I let my head hang, and a single lone tear escapes and runs down my face. My hand shakes as I pull the white box off the shelf. Walking back in, I hear her say, “Ask her, Daddy.” I have no choice but to look at Brock. His eyes turn soft as he looks up at me, and then I can see the shift in them right before my eyes. “Ask her.”
“What can I help you with?” I ask him and then turn to look at his little girl.
“Ms. Maddie usually gives me a cookie while I wait,” she announces instead of waiting for Brock to say something, but all he does is put his hands on her shoulders.
I laugh and nod. “That sounds like my mom,” I reply, treating her just like I would any other little girl. But she’s not just any other little girl. Even my heart knows it. “What cookie do you usually get?”
“She usually has the special ones for me,” she shares, her eyes lighting up, “that she keeps in the back.”
“Is that so?” I lean my elbows on the counter. “And would you know where she keeps them?” I joke with her and all I want to do is look into her eyes that are very much like her father’s. The way they used to be. The ones I longed to look into. “She would only share it with special people.”
“I know, I know.” She holds up her hand. “Can I show you?” she asks, and I nod as she looks back at Brock. “Can I go, Daddy?”
“Yeah.” His voice is gruff and again I ignore looking at him. Instead, I watch the little girl walk behind the counter and come to my side.
“Lead the way.” I hold out my hand for her to walk in front of me and I follow her.
“She keeps them in there,” she directs, once she gets into the back and points at the fridge in the corner, where she keeps the cookie dough.
“Wow,” I say, folding my arms in front of me instead of reaching out and touching her hair and seeing if it’s as soft and silky as her father’s, “she must really like you.”
“She does. She says I’m a very special little girl.”
I don’t answer her. I just nod as I feel my heart soar in my chest. “She usually warms it up for me,” she informs me of how things go. I walk over to the fridge and pull out the cookies I baked just this morning.
“I don’t know if these are as good as Ms. Maddie’s,” I say, putting the tray on the table in the middle of the kitchen, “but here they are.” She comes over and stands next to me and I look up to see Brock has followed us into the kitchen. He stands in the doorway, watching us. Does he think I would do something to his daughter?
“Oh, is that one chocolate chip?” she asks, and I nod. “Can I have that one?” She points at what might be the biggest one on the tray.
“You got it,” I confirm, grabbing a spatula and then walking over to the oven and putting it in. “It’ll be a minute. I’ll go and pack your cupcakes and it’ll be done by then.” She smiles at me, and it’s a good thing I’m beside a table so I can hold myself up. The smile is one I’ve dreamed of for the last nine years. The one where I allow myself to let him out of the box I banished him to.
“I’m getting a cookie.” She runs to him and he looks down at her. “And it’s a big one.”
“Let’s go wait in front and get out of Ms. Everleigh’s way.” He turns and walks to the front.
“She’s pretty, Daddy,” I hear her say and then I don’t hear anything else. I don’t know why that bothers me, but it does. Add one more thing on the list of why I hate Brock. I never thought being a good dad would get you a notch on the list, but he was just added there for this.
I walk out and pack the two cupcakes in the box and throw in another one just to piss him off, or at least hope I do when he opens the box and sees. “Do we have a special color for the ribbon?” I ask.
“Green because it’s like my name.”
“Your name is green?” I ask and she laughs at my question.
“No, it’s Saige,” she retorts and I nod, looking down at the green ribbon we have.
“That’s a pretty name,” I say as I put the box on the counter. “I’ll get your cookie.” I need to get away from this whole situation. I need to get him out of my space, and I need to drink about a whole gallon of wine to erase the fact that not only does his daughter look like him, he won. In all of this, he ends up being the winner. I may have ended up having to bury my dreams, but in the end, he was the one who won at this whole fucking thing. He won because he gets to live a fulfilling life with his daughter, and all I have is the emptiness he left me with.
I put her cookie in a white sleeve bag, bringing it to the front and handing it to her. “Here you go, Saige.”
“How much do we owe you?” Brock steps forward and I look up at him.
“It’s on the house,” I say and then look at Saige. “Enjoy the cupcakes.”
“Daddy, can we bake cupcakes this weekend?” she asks him as I turn and walk into the back, not willing to hear the rest of his conversation. My heart can only handle so much.
My phone rings, and I pull it out to see it’s Autumn. “Hello,” I answer, as if she knew I needed her.
“Hey,” she says, “we were wondering, if you weren’t busy tonight, if you wanted to come over and just hang out with us?”
“Um.” I look at the door and then down at the floor. “That sounds like the perfect night,” I admit. “What time is good?”
“You can come over now,” she states, “but I know you would probably like to shower.”
“I have someone coming in to replace me at four. How about I shower and get there at five?” I tell her. When I hang up the phone, I clean up and prepare my things for the next day. When I walk out of the bakery, I head home. I walk in and spot my mother in her chair. I want to ask her all the questions about Saige and Brock, but instead I tell her everything else about my day except that.
I’m walking out of the door when I hear the sound of the motorcycle coming down the street. My head turns when I see it stop in front of the house, his feet come down as he throws down the stand, and then swings his leg off. “Hey,” I greet when Oliver takes off his helmet.
“Hi, Everleigh.” He holds his helmet in his hand. “Are you going out?”
“I am,” I say to him. “Mom is sitting inside.”
“Sounds good,” he replies, walking toward the door.
“I’ll call before I come home,” I joke with him as he shakes his head and walks right in the house.
I get in my car and follow the directions to Autumn and Charlie’s house. They are waiting for me outside as she sits in the chair and Charlie is swinging Landon around, making him laugh.
“Hi,” I say, getting out of the car and walking over to Charlie, who bends and kisses my cheek. Landon slaps my face before trying to grab my hair in his chubby little hand.
“I’ll take that.” I rescue my hair from his hand as he throws himself to me. “And you, I guess,” I say, cocking him on my hip. “Aren’t you the most handsome boy?” He gives me a gummy smile. “And the world’s biggest flirt”—he slaps my boobs—“and handsy,” I observe, making them laugh. “At least buy me a drink.”
“Sorry about that; he thinks all breasts are his,” Autumn explains as she comes to stand next to me. Charlie wraps his arm around her shoulders.
“Most action I’ve gotten in months,” I joke and kiss his chubby little cheek as he squeals.
We walk inside and she gives me a tour of the house. We stop at the table in the hall that has a picture of Jennifer. “Oh my,” I gasp at the picture that was taken so long ago it feels like it was in another lifetime. “This is”—I pick it up in my hand and run my hand over the glass—“she looks…” I trail off, thinking of the word I want to say.
“She’s beautiful,” Autumn fills in.
“She really was,” I agree, putting the picture down. “Do you find it weird?” I ask. “Sorry, that’s a dumb question.”
“No.” She quickly stops me from talking. “It’s not weird. I know how much he loved her. I will never not want him to have that. To have her. That’s something that is a part of him. Something I love that he loved.”
“You are a saint,” I say. “I don’t know how I would feel if my husband had a picture of one of his girlfriends in the house we lived in.”
“I want to believe she brought us together,” she shares, then leans in. “But if the roles were reversed, I would haunt the shit out of Charlie. I would give him erectile dysfunction.” I throw my head back and laugh. “And I’m okay with admitting that.”
We eat dinner together, the three of us, and then go outside to sit on the same chairs she was sitting on when I got there. “I forgot how peaceful it was at night.” I look up and see the sky filled with twinkling stars. My thoughts go to Brock, and I wonder if he’s with his daughter. The tightness forms in my stomach as I try to push the feelings away, but it’s easier said than done.
“You forget a lot of things until you come back, and then it’s all there, and you wonder how you survived without them.”
“How long were you gone?” I ask, the guilt of not talking to her rushes through me. I shouldn’t have done what I did, but at the time, my own world was falling apart.
“About six years,” she answers. “Came back home when I found out my father was dying.”
I gasp and reach out to grab her hand in mine. “He’s still not one hundred percent but he’s hanging in there. He’s done chemo and radiation. It could happen at any minute, but for today he is almost the same as he was back then.”
“It’s all we can ask for,” I say. “If I hadn’t been on the phone with my mother, I don’t know if she would still be here.” She wraps her arm around my shoulders. “I’m sorry,” I murmur softly, “for blaming you. For not talking to you”—the tear escapes—“and for being a shitty friend.”
“I’m sorry,” she sniffles, “for not stopping it all before it happened. What I wouldn’t do to go back and change that moment.” My phone rings in my pocket, and when I pull it out, I see it’s my mother calling me.
“Hey, Mom,” I answer, putting the phone to my ear. “What’s up?”
“Where are you?” she frantically asks me. But her tone cuts me to the bone, before she gasps out, “Fire.” I sit up stiff. “There is a fire at the bakery.”