Chapter 34
ALEX
Iwake up the next morning before everyone else.
I turn on the coffee maker, preheat the oven, and get out my handy set of baking supplies.
After the day Mom and Naomi had yesterday, I want to make it up to them, at least before I head off to school.
And my plan is cinnamon rolls. I don’t want Naomi surviving on cereal, and Mom deserves a good breakfast.
I sigh when I check my phone and see no notifications.
For some reason, I was hoping for some kind of contact from Logan. I’m not sure why I’d expect any, considering I literally kicked him to the curb.
I selfishly want him to keep pushing to stay in my life, but I know in my heart that this isn’t going to work, at least not with how things are now.
I set my phone down on the counter and start whisking together flour and milk to make the dough as the coffee machine sputters to life.
I yawn and whisk harder.
How am I going to get back into Fiona’s good graces? I’m not just going to roll over and accept her blocking me from being editor next year. She’s wanted me to be editor for a while, and that feeling doesn’t just disappear.
I whisk even harder as I think about never getting to set foot in The Goldberg newsroom again. Maybe threatening to quit would make her see the error of her ways.
But if anything, she might just let me go altogether.
I want to be editor for more than the résumé building. That place has been like a second home to me for the past couple of years. I’m so much more than one mistake in my life, and certainly more than a mistake made over a guy I like.
Eventually, I finish the dough and start spreading the cinnamon-sugar mixture over it.
I look down at what I’m making and wonder if leaving some cinnamon rolls for Fiona would be enough. I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen her eat anything, though. All I ever see is her with that thermos of coffee or tea, or whatever kind of potion she keeps in there that turns her into a demon.
What would she do if I just showed up at the newsroom today for the meeting and handed out my feedback as if nothing happened? Would she throw a fit? Would she throw her thermos at me?
I wince at the thought of what she might do and how badly she could embarrass me, but as I slide the cinnamon buns into the oven, an idea comes over me.
What if continuing to act like her right-hand man is exactly what changes her mind? What if showing that I refuse to accept her decision proves how much I care? That I care less about embarrassing myself and more about journalism than being fired?
I have to take that chance, or I might not get another shot.
I brace myself against the counter as I watch the cinnamon buns puff up in the oven. I just wish I could rest for one day without feeling like everything is resting on my shoulders. Or at the very least, have someone massage them.
Soft footsteps sound from upstairs.
I smile, walk over to the coffee machine, and pour myself a mug and another for Mom.
I head upstairs and stop outside her room. When she opens the door, she looks surprised to see me standing there.
“You’re awake?” she asks.
“Yep.” I hold out my arm. “Here, let me help you downstairs.”
Her face softens. “Alex.”
I shake my head. “Come on.”
She juts out her lip but loops her arm through mine, and we slowly make our way downstairs together, making sure she doesn’t hurt herself any further after her fall.
When we reach the kitchen, she takes a deep breath. “Are those cinnamon buns?”
I nod. “I know it was an accident, but I can’t help feeling responsible for not being there. You really scared me.”
I clench my fists, and tears threaten to spill out as I think about how scared and hurt she must have been without me there to help.
She places a hand on her chest. “I can see that, Alex. But you can’t control everything, honey. No matter how much you want to.”
I stop myself from arguing. I know I can’t control everything, and it’s ruining my life because I keep trying to.
“I know, Mom. I was just… freaking out. But I know I should just relax for a second, you know? Bake some cinnamon rolls.”
Mom laughs and runs a hand through my hair. “That’s always a healthy way to cope.”
The timer goes off, and I grab the oven mitts, pull the buns from the oven, and set them on the counter.
“They smell so good. Nay’s going to love them,” I say, smiling down at them.
I pour some of the icing over the buns while they’re still warm because I love when it melts into them instead of just sitting on top.
I can feel Mom hovering nearby, and I know she wants to help.
I turn to her. “Take a seat. I’ll bring them to you. You want some coffee too?” I ask, my eyes darting to the machine.
She gives me that lingering look again but nods. “Yes. Thank you,” she whispers.
Not long after, Naomi makes her way downstairs, and her eyes widen with surprise and happiness when she sees what I made.
I live for that look on her face, even if it grows rarer with every passing year. I try to hold onto it for as long as I can.
I want to stay in this moment, where I can provide even a sliver of happiness for my family. A moment where we can enjoy each other’s company without the weight of the world on our shoulders.
“You gave her cinnamon rolls?” Mason asks as he walks me to the cafe.
“Yep. Something has to work on her. She won’t answer my emails, and she won’t listen to me. I have to show her how much I care through my actions.”
“She’s not a guy. You can’t get to her through her stomach.”
I shrug. “But Fiona’s not a person. She’s a She-Devil.”
Mason looks unconvinced, but I ignore it. I know Fiona better than he does. I spent an extra year dodging her power trips and worked as her right-hand man. No matter how steadfast she is in her decisions, she needs a successor, and she still wants it to be me.
“What does Logan think about your bribe?” Mason asks.
I swallow and shove my hands into my pockets. “He agrees,” I say quickly, but I don’t look at Mason.
“He does?”
I nod, focusing on the cobblestone path.
“Well, he doesn’t know her that well anyway, right?”
I nod again. “Yeah, but whatever.”
My hands tremble as I grip the straps of my backpack.
“Is he coming to see you today?” Mason asks.
I shake my head. “No, he’s, uh—he’s busy.”
“Oh. I thought he always came in on your Tuesday shifts.”
I swallow hard. I know what I should say, but I don’t have it in me to tell Mason. He already sees me as a bit of a flight risk when it comes to keeping people around, and considering how bad he feels for Logan after his injury, I don’t want him to know anything.
I finally look at him, and he immediately knows something’s up. His eyebrows are knit together, and he’s half-squinting behind his glasses in the way he does when he’s trying to solve a physics problem or figure out what to write.
He’s trying to figure something out.
And right now, it’s me.
“Look, I’m almost late. I’ll see you at the meeting after my shift,” I say, glancing toward the cafe behind me.
He nods. “Yeah. I’ll see you later,” he says, still giving me that concentrated look.
I nod and wave. “See ya.”
I walk into the cafe before he can fully say goodbye and let myself relax a little.
“Hey, Alex,” Vicki says, flashing me a quick smile.
I give her a nod.
I head into the kitchen, take off my backpack, and put on my apron. I really don’t want to deal with more questions from Vicki about Logan right now. I almost wish it were busier so I could dodge her entirely.
I think about Fiona coming in the other day and getting a lemon square.
I come out of the kitchen and tie the knot of my apron behind my back. “Hey. You said Fiona loves lemon squares, right?”
She gives me a cautious look. “Yeah, why?”
“Well, I fucked up and forgot to send in my piece for the week. She said she’s no longer considering me for editor next year.”
Vicki gasps. “What? She didn’t.”
“She most certainly did. And I have to bribe her. I gave her cinnamon rolls this morning, but I haven’t heard back from her yet.”
Vicki chuckles and shakes her head. “Cinnamon rolls won’t work. She hates cinnamon. I’ve seen her sneeze whenever someone puts cinnamon on top of their latte.”
I hang my head and realize that maybe the past two years of being her right-hand man haven’t actually served me that well.
“Do you think lemon squares will work?” I ask.
Vicki nods. “They might…”
I can tell by the way she’s being coy that she’s not telling me the whole truth.
“What are you not telling me?” I ask.
She folds her arms. “You’re really desperate for this editing position, right? Like it’ll ruin your life, and you’ll be sad forever if you don’t get it?”
“I’ve been dreaming about it for over two years.”
Vicki sighs and already looks like she’s going to regret whatever suggestion she’s about to make.
“Look, I’m not saying I can be sold, but… Fiona asked me out on a date last week, and I said no.”
My eyes nearly pop out of my head. Since when did Fiona experience any kind of romantic attraction at all? This is brand-new information.
“But only because I thought she was too hard on you. But…” She shrugs. “I can say yes if she agrees to let you be editor next year.”
I walk over and put my hands on her shoulders. “You’re being completely serious?”
She nods. “Entirely.”
“And you would do that for me?” I ask, searching her eyes for any sign she might double-cross me.
She nods again. “I know how hard things are for you right now with your family. And as much as I’d love for you to work here forever with me, I know you’re destined for journalism. I can’t selfishly keep you here forever.”
I puff out a breath. Would this actually work? Could Fiona really be bribed with a date? Or even just a few lemon squares?
A handful of customers approach the register, and I step over to take their orders.
“Thanks. I’ll—I’ll try that,” I mumble.
The rest of my shift goes smoothly, and I spend most of it turning over what Vicki told me. I can’t believe she never would’ve mentioned any of this if I hadn’t asked.