Chapter 5
“Hey Kat, what’s up?”
Geo nods toward the door and I wave back in acknowledgement. He’s got a meeting this morning, and needs to get home. “Putting a pin in our discussion,” he whispers, as he sets his empty cup in the sink and drifts toward the door.
“Is that Uncle Geo? Tell him I said bye. How far did you guys run?” Kat asks, smacking gum into the receiver.
I glance at the clock on the wall– “Kat, how are you already chewing gum? It’s not even eight in the morning.”
She sighs. “It’s nicotine gum. It’s my wedding gift to Zennie.” Another long, drawn out sigh. “It tastes like shit and I miss my cigarettes but… it’s going to be the best surprise ever.”
“She doesn’t know?” I ask, pinching the phone between my ear and shoulder as I make another espresso.
“No,” Kat says, levity in her tone. “It was Juliette’s idea, actually. Z’s always wanted me to quit–for my health–but never wanted to ask me to quit. Juliette thought being a couple weeks in on the gum and patches would make Zennie happier than any actual gift.”
The back of my neck tingles at the continual mentions of Juliette. “That’s great, Kat. She’ll appreciate that. That’s a thoughtful change to make. And you know it makes your dad happy, too.”
“I know, Juliette’s idea was great but that’s not the reason I called.”
I lean over the counter, pressing my stomach and chest into the cool marble counter. Sweat slips down the back of my shirt and peppers my forehead. “Oh? So there’s a reason, not just a general, good morning, Dad, I love you call?”
I smile, and the sound of Kat’s laughter makes me laugh a little, too. “Well that of course and, I need a favor.” She pops a bubble. “Like, a big one.”
I sip a second cup of espresso, and stride through the open floor plan until I meet the back sliding doors.
Staring out across the mist kissed lawn, into the skyline of the city, pride fills my chest that my kids and I are close enough for them to come to me when they need things.
That after their mother’s passing, I didn’t pawn them off on nannies and family members. Thank god.
“What is it?”
There’s a small click on the other line, followed by Kat whispering, “okay, sorry, had to slip into the conference room.”
“No worries.” I settle into a soft arm chair near the doors, and continue enjoying the view as I wait for Kat to ask me for whatever it is–a connection, maybe.
My kids are successful, and while I can give them the world, they don’t ask it of me.
They can buy themselves the damn world. Kat is a successful real estate agent at Mercer Properties, with my brother Geo, and Cade is a college professor–tenured.
I watch a bird move from one branch to another, nuzzling its beak into a dying white flower.
“I need you to fill in for me at the cake tasting appointment today.” The words rush out, pushed together, nervous and quick.
“Kat,” I chide, already downshifting from easy going into a more serious tone.
“The cake tasting is an important part of the wedding. It’s a core memory.
You do not want to miss that.” I scratch at the side of my jaw as she hems and haws, telling me she knows all of this. “So why, then? What came up?”
As soon as I ask, I realize that I don’t need to ask. Kat is a Mercer. I know what came up.
Work.
“I know that cake tasting is important, and a ritual included in the marriage process. I am not trying to disrespect Zennie, or the wedding, trust me. But I got a call this morning from a friend of a friend who is listing their painted lady and they want me to list it. I mean, if I get this listing and commission, Dad, Zen and I will have all of our savings goals met from this one sale. It will really start us off on the right foot when we get married. It’ll set us up for a house, maybe. ”
She’s thought this through, it’s clear. I could continue to nudge her to attend her cake tasting, or I can be the understanding business owner and parent. “I understand why the listing is important–can either be rescheduled? I really don’t want to see you miss your tasting, Kat.”
“I already called the client, and she’s leaving town tomorrow, so it has to be today. And I made the mistake of calling the bakery to see if we could reschedule and was told that they have zero availability until next year. So, here I am. Begging my incredibly nice dad for a favor.”
The bird outside abandons the flower, and disappears into the mist. “Of course I’ll go, you know that.” My eyes cut to the flames dancing in the fireplace, one I turned on this morning. “Where?”
“I’m texting you all the details now.”
“Alright, I’ll call you when it’s done,” I tell her, hoisting myself out of the armchair, heading toward the stairs. “You want me to send you any pictures?”
“That would be perfect. Thanks Dad, you’re literally the best.”
After stopping off at the flower market, I’m armed with a bouquet of lilies, sunflowers and hydrangeas, wrapped in natural paper, tied with a lilac silk ribbon–Zennie’s favorite color. In the event she’s cross with Kat, or annoyed by my presence, I’ve come prepared.
Navigation alerts me that, after ten minutes of downtown driving, my destination is on the right.
Peering out of the windshield, I look at the old brownstone style bakery, Edison lights strung up along the brick, inviting boxwoods lining the front.
A large sign hangs in the center of the window, flickering in blue neon, reading CARATS & CREAM, with a hand painted sign below it reading, “high-end wedding cakes and wedding desserts.”
Fortunately, I’m able to snag a spot on the street not too far away. After righting my suspenders and slipping into my sport jacket, I snatch the flowers off the front seat and head across the street, toward CARATS.
I don’t like that Kat has to miss this. Her mother and I loved all of the wedding planning, and those memories are ones I revisit often. I want Kat to have that.
But I also understand that Kat is pursuing her career, and her future. Today, missing the cake tasting isn’t out of lack of respect for tradition or her partner but moreso, it was simply a tough choice she had to make. She wants to support her fiancée and I respect that.
The outside windows of the shop are mirrored, so I can’t see Zennie inside just yet. I adjust the way the lilies are sitting in the bouquet, and pull open the door, ready to kiss my daughter’s fiancée’s ass if I have to.
The smell of vanilla bean and confectioners’ sugar overwhelms me as I step inside, staying put for a moment to allow my eyes adjust to the dim, somewhat, romantic lighting inside.
The space is painted in a bubble gum pink, with cream and lavender trim–even the molding trimming the ceilings is painted purple.
A small counter is tucked in the corner, adjacent only to three rows of glass cases filled with cakes on display.
One of the cakes is five tiers, and nearly touches the top of the glass case.
Some are small, one is blue, and there’s one with flowers all over it.
“Hello, are you here to place an order or pick up?” A soft voice drifts from behind me, and I turn, nearly knocking over the small woman who has sidled up to me. She pushes the bouquet of flowers back, and I apologize.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t– I apologize,” I start, eyeing the small table behind the door where a cup of coffee sits, with a book turned upside down.
She sees me eyeing her spot. “I was taking a break.”
I smile. “I’m sorry to interrupt.”
The woman, whose chestnut and silver hair is covered by a hairnet, pushes her tortoise shell glasses up her nose only to peer up at the flowers in my hand. A grin spreads across her face for a moment before it drops, and her eyes go wide.
“You’re here for the tasting, and you brought those for your fiancée, am I right?” she brings her hands together, steepling beneath her chin.
Stepping back, she tips her head to an open door that sits behind the counter, along the wall. I hadn’t noticed it before, but since the kitchen is clearly on the other side, it must be an extra eating space. “That’s our tasting room, she’s in there now,” she confirms.
I smile. “Perfect, thanks so much.”
Ready to slip out of my coat, suck up to my soon-to-be daughter-in-law on behalf of my daughter, and slip into a sugar coma that leaves me sweaty and sleepy for the rest of the day, I move through the tiny, Barbie-esque bakery, and pad along the back wall until I’m at the tasting room.
The door is open, but faces a window, and I have to go all the way inside the tasting room to see that… Zennie isn’t here.
Juliette’s deep blue eyes widen the instant they land on me, a rush of pink blooming across her cheeks. She scrambles up from her seat beneath the low-hanging pendant light, bumping her head, her movements frantic, knocking over a glass of water, sending silverware clattering to the hardwood floor.
“Ford,” she whispers my name, light and delicate, as if it's cherished to her.
The door behind me swings shut with a quiet click, sealing us in this intimate little haven, even though it had stood open when I arrived.
Her gaze drops to the vibrant bouquet cradled in my arms, then flicks back up. They linger on my mouth for a breathless second before locking onto my eyes, sparking a moment that steals the air from my lungs.
“Zennie called me this morning,” she says quickly, tucking a strand of golden blonde hair behind her ear. “Last-minute emergency with her mom.”
I nod, understanding immediately. Zennie’s mother is battling cancer and is currently undergoing chemotherapy, and from what I’ve learned, those brutal days after treatment always hit hard.
My Katherine never made it to treatment, we found it too late.
Zennie drops everything to be with her mom, and that fierce loyalty, that unwavering love for family–it’s exactly the kind of heart I want with my daughter.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, my voice gentle, searching her face.