Chapter 41 Georgia
Georgia
Dad gave me the cinnamon roll recipe a few nights ago, and I’ve been sitting on it waiting for the right moment. Not that
it’s an easy breezy unwrap-it-and-done type of recipe, but I want it to be a surprise for Junie. She hasn’t been herself this
past week, and if I had to guess, I think it’s probably a mixture of the stress of knowing we’re still so far off on the shop
money and the adjustment to her falling for my ex.
We don’t say it out loud, but I can tell we all understand that we might end up having to settle for a patch-up job rather
than a glam Goldilocks makeover at the shop. Maybe patched-up is a bit more on-brand for June’s anyway. Who am I kidding?
Budget glam is the only brand we’ve ever had.
Anyway, tonight is another Cards night, and if Cece lays off the booze a tad, we could be another step closer to the goal.
For now, I’m in the kitchen unloading grocery bags full of flour, eggs, sugar, cinnamon, and all the little tubs of spices
and rising agents Mama’s recipe calls for. Junie’s out with Eddie, being cute, and said she’d meet me at June’s tonight for
the event.
I lean on the counter and reread the recipe.
Apparently, the dough has to rise before I roll it up, and honestly, I’m not totally sure what that even is.
And then I have to leave it again—another rise, she calls it.
Because I didn’t know how to do it the first time around, I should certainly endeavor a second attempt.
Without thinking too hard about it, I pick up my cell phone and call my father.
“What on God’s green earth is this cinnamon roll rising dough witchcraft?” I ask. “Not to mention, they were all out of eye
of newt at the store.”
He chuckles in a low rumble. “They’re not easy. That’s why your mama was always so proud of them.”
“So much for me surprising Junie. Not to mention I have to leave them? And by my math, they’d need to bake while Cards is
happening.”
It feels like another thing going wrong just for the sake of it when it would be really, really lovely if the universe would
do me a solid and let me win at something.
“Why don’t you come over here? We can figure it out together, and they’ll be out of sight until they’re ready for her.”
I reload my baking supplies into the grocery bags scattered on the kitchen counters and haul them out to Junie’s truck. Before
long it rumbles the whole five minutes down the road to my childhood home.
When I get to the front door this time, I try the knob. It turns easily to the right, and as the door swings open, I call
into the house. “Dad? It’s Georgia.”
I pass through the dark entryway and find him in the kitchen where he’s already wiping down countertops and setting Mama’s
recipe book in a stand. Behind him, the coffee maker gurgles and the deep smoky scent greets me. It’s almost as if we were
planning this all along.
“You ready to learn?” he asks.
“Hang on, you know how to make them?” I drop the grocery bags on the breakfast table with a thud. “Before, you made it sound like you were still a beginner.”
“Come on, let me show you.”
Dad is like Cinderella’s fairy godmother in this kitchen. He glides around measuring, pouring, sprinkling with poise and grace,
swirling me into his activity like a natural accompaniment. Like he’s done this so many times before. How much time has he
spent baking in here? Because the new casual hobby he mentioned offhand at the attic clean-out seems anything but.
Once we have the dough put together and Dad shows me how to “set it aside to rise,” we let our hands rest as well.
“Alright, so spill it. How did you learn all this?” I ask.
“Coffee first?” He holds up the pot.
“Please.”
He takes out two mugs and fills them, and we settle at the breakfast table.
“A few months ago, I started teaching myself some of your mother’s recipes. I’ve got a bit of time on my hands these days
now that I’m fully retired. The bookkeeping at the shop is very part-time.”
“I guess the cinnamon roll love is universal for Louises—I mean us, the family.” I cringe a bit.
“I probably should’ve just taken your mama’s last name when we married and made myself an official Louise.” He laughs.
I notice the way he chooses not to be offended at my jump to ditch his last name in place of my mother’s.
“You miss her,” I say.
“Something fierce, every day since.” He takes a swift gulp of coffee, as if to swallow the grief.
“I guess if everything else fell away, we’ll always have that to bind us: her memory.”
He looks sideways and nods for a moment. “It’s true, but you also get to make your own path, live your own life. However you
want.”
“I know.” I’m actually starting to believe it, that maybe the “however I want” really does apply.
I look at the time on my watch. “I should probably get going. I’ll need to change before Cards.”
He pops his fingers into his ears and starts humming. “Pretending I didn’t hear that.” He winks.
He really is good at pretending; there isn’t a doubt he’s one of us. It makes me wonder why he hasn’t been included in Cards.
Probably the same reason I wasn’t. Because it didn’t need to be more than it was, because I didn’t ask, because he didn’t
ask. I’m learning that maybe sometimes in this family you have to demand a little.
I glance at the kitchen. “When do I come back for second shift?”
He leans forward. “Why don’t you let me finish up?”
“No way,” I say. “I can’t let you down like that. I have to follow through.”
He pulls a small smile. “You know, it’s ok to let someone else help. Y’all have all kinds of nonsense on the docket that I’m
only partially aware of. This is something I can do—for you and for Junie. It’d be my pleasure.”
I consider it. “Only if we set another day for me to learn the rest.”
He pops out a hand and I shake it slowly, a warmth blossoming in my chest. Accepting the help feels like being loved.
“I’ll leave the rest of the baking supplies with you.” I stand and lean over to press a kiss on his cheek.
“Drive safe, Peach,” he says as we walk to the door.
“Always,” I call over my shoulder as I head outside to the truck.