37. Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Jackie
T he next five days go by slowly. They’re not as fun as they were with Silas. Not even the roadside attractions. Not even the Vermontasaurus. Everything feels… different. Like a chore. Like something I have to do—not something I’m doing because it was my idea.
The journalist, Cynthia, is meeting up with me today for the interview. She’s coming to the festival grounds: she wants to get some photos of me and Trudy, who is all sparkly clean and shiny-bright-yellow after I washed her this morning. She needs to look her best for her first professional photoshoot.
I change my outfit three times: I want to look casual, but also not slummy. And not like I tried really hard to look casual, but not slummy. I finally settle on jeans and a bright green ruffle tee I think will look good against Trudy’s sunshine yellow.
I’m ready almost twenty-five minutes before Cynthia is due to arrive, and I’ve cleaned every single surface at least twice, and tidied and organized. I even placed eight of the prettiest, roundest cookies on a plate in the middle of the table. And now I’m left with literally nothing to do until Cynthia shows up. Except sit and wait and get nervous.
I need a distraction, so I remove my computer from its case and boot it up at the table. I haven’t checked CreateHire in ten days. I knew if I did, I would get side-tracked, and my focus would waiver. I’d probably burn a few batches of cookies. Or burn down the entire kitchen.
My mouth goes slack and I lean in closer to the screen, because I can’t believe what I’m seeing: I have seventeen new cover requests .
Seventeen!
I also, however, have five messages from two customers whose covers are now several days overdue. One of them says she got frustrated and because I didn’t answer her last two emails, she went with another designer instead. The other author also says she’s looking to go with someone who will be quicker at getting back with proofs. She had orders for a four-book steampunk fantasy series, which is a genre I’ve been dying to design. I have a zillion ideas for steampunk covers. I even have a folder of fonts that would work perfectly for that genre.
I feel horrible. As in, I actually feel kind of sick to my stomach, similar to the time I found out Silas had stolen those chocolate bars. Because I feel like that’s what I did: I mislead these customers. I promised them a product that I didn’t end up delivering.
Suddenly, I want more than anything to open Photoshop and start designing the best damn covers ever—to impress these authors and win them back and prove that I am the designer I claimed to be. I would do them for free, too—to make up for my lack of communication these past ten days, and to gain them back as future customers.
“Hello Jackie! It’s Cynthia!” a voice calls from outside, followed by a knock on Trudy’s door.
I slam the laptop closed and slide it back in its case, then quickly stash it in the cupboard above the table.
“Come on in!” I call.
And it’s show time.
“I just love how you took something that you love to do and created your own summer job doing it,” Cynthia beams, reaching for a cookie from the plate in the middle of the table. I tested them before she arrived: not burned and no missing ingredients .
We’ve been chatting for over fifteen minutes. Cynthia’s so easygoing and genuine that I lose my jitters pretty quickly and we just fall into an easy conversation that doesn’t even feel like an interview.
“Yeah. It seemed pretty un-thinkable when I first got the idea, but then when I started renovating Trudy… my camper, I mean—updating her and making the inside workable as both a food truck and a sleeping space, and I started seeing it all come together, then the challenges didn’t feel so big after that. I could feel already how awesome it was going to be.”
“And it’s so wonderful that you love baking. Just like Meryl.”
“Yeah,” I swallow. Just talking about her makes me miss Meryl so much. “I’ve been baking with Meryl since I was in kindergarten.”
“So, would you say that baking is your biggest passion, then?”
“Definitely,” I answer immediately. Almost defensively because the question reminds me of Silas and the last fight that we had.
“Well,” Cynthia says, “I read somewhere that you know you’ve found your passion when it’s the thing you’re always thinking about when you’re doing everything else.”
I pause, with a cookie halfway to my mouth, because I get exactly what she means when she says this. Only my mind flashes immediately to my book cover designs. Because that’s what occupies my thoughts most of the time. Even during this interview, thoughts of those steampunk book orders have been skimming through my brain. Even before I go to sleep, I’m thinking about design ideas. Even when I’m baking.
Especially when I’m baking.
The realization catches me off guard and halts everything else for a moment: my breathing, my movements… everything.
Maybe Silas was right: maybe baking is just what I wish my passion was. I certainly don’t give it any thought outside the kitchen. And even then, it’s just to drum up the enthusiasm and the concentration to stay focused.
“Jackie?” Cynthia prompts, obviously confused by my sudden frozen silence. “Are you alright? ”
I blink. “Yeah… Yes. I’m fine.” I set my cookie down in front of me without even taking a bite. “Sorry. I just… Something just popped into my head.”
“Oh. You’re okay though?”
“Definitely.”
“Well, I think it’s wonderful that living with Meryl Pemrose allowed you to discover your passion for baking,” she continues, oblivious to the epic breakdown going on inside my head. “I actually contacted her for a quote for this article and what she said connects so well to that—pursuing something in your life that brings you joy.”
I bring my glass up to my lips and take two large gulps of water. My mouth is so, so dry right now.
Cynthia picks her phone up from the table and swipes it a few times. “Here it is! Here’s the quote Meryl gave me that relates so perfectly to what we’re talking about. I just love it!”
And then she reads:
“ The one thing I want for Jackie is for her to live a life that is fulfilling—whether that be baking or writing or teaching or anything else that brings her joy and makes her feel whole and alive. As long as she remains true to herself, then I’ll be happy. ”
I nod slowly. Probably looking back at her with a stupid, dazed look on my face, because the realization is sinking in deeper: I’m not being true to myself at all. I enjoy baking because it makes me feel closer to Meryl, but the activity itself doesn’t bring me joy.
I got it all wrong.
I got everything so horribly wrong: my reason for starting this whole cookie business, my insistence that my success as a baker would reflect my success in Meryl and Richard’s eyes… And also the way I reacted when Silas tried to point this out to me. I dismissed him every single time he brought up the notion that I might be pursuing a goal for all the wrong reasons. Because he realized, clearly before I did, that my real passion is designing book covers. And he did everything he could to allow me more time to focus on that.
He just wanted me to be true to myself.
Like Meryl does. And Richard. The people who love me the most in the world. I had the audacity to jump down his throat when he offered me advice on one single issue—when I got annoyed at him every other day for not listening enough to my advice on a million different issues. And when he actually tried to make changes based on my advice.
I feel like such a hypocrite.
After I found him that day passed out on my bed, I thought the whole road trip became about me needing to fix him.
I didn’t realize that I needed fixing, too.