Chapter 7 Smells like Teen Spirit #2
I turned to preheat my ovens. The oversized kitchen was one of the prime reasons I’d wanted this place.
Before I’d moved in, it was a staging area for a failed catering company, and it had been relatively easy to line the oversized double ovens with bricks in order to make them more functional for baking large quantities of bread, like I did every Tuesday and Saturday morning.
“Was her bread like that?” Kylie pointed a chubby finger at the loaves sitting in their proofing baskets, lined with floured muslin.
“Yep. I learned everything I know from her. She even taught me how to make pretty designs in the loaves before they bake. Look but don’t touch, okay? This is very sharp.”
My niece watched, enthralled, as I gently upended one risen loaf onto the floured countertop, then carefully sliced into the top of the dough with a razor. I had been just as mesmerized watching my mother do this when I was Kylie’s age.
When I finished a series of calculated cuts, I turned the loaf toward her.
“It’s a sunflower!” Kylie leaned as far over the counter as she could. Then she looked up in concern. “Why do you have to cut the bread, though? Doesn’t it hurt it?”
This was why I loved kids. They were empathetic to literally everything. “Don’t worry, peanut. It can’t feel a thing. And this way, the bread can breathe while it’s cooking. Everyone needs a little space to breathe sometimes.”
We sat there companionably while I prepped the remaining fifteen loaves for baking.
Each oven had the capacity for four boules, and while I was starting to have more requests for my bread from local restaurants, cafes, and other people who lived in the neighborhood, I simply didn’t have the space or time to make more.
One day.
God willing.
Even with Kylie’s chatter, the stress of the last twenty-four hours melted away as I went through the familiar motions, hands coated in flour.
Other people ran, did yoga, or meditated when they wanted some peace (or, if you were my sister, smoked in the bathroom).
I baked. It had been my refuge since I was just a little older than Kylie, since the days when my mother had taught me how to safely use an oven, how to work with a starter, and all the other secrets of the trade that had, at one point, made her the most successful baker around the Connecticut River Valley.
Woodstock was a small town of just a few thousand, but people came from everywhere to experience its quaint charm.
Many of them came just to taste my mother’s baking too.
An hour later, my apartment was filled with the scent of baking bread, the next batch of dough was mixed and set to rise for the next three days, Kylie had passed out on the couch from her sugar crash, and Selena had finally finished her bath.
My sister emerged from my bathroom, her face glowing and smooth, the rest of her smelling like a potent cocktail of almonds, cannabis, and, if I wasn’t mistaken, Chardonnay.
The sun was hadn’t even been up for two hours.
I was sipping a second cup of coffee while I finished wiping down my counters. It was clear I wasn’t going to be sleeping much today, so instead I opted for caffeine. Lots of it.
I filled a second mug, one that declared ‘Baking is my superpower,’ and set it on the island. “Here. Drink.”
With Selena, sometimes it was better to command instead of ask.
She slid onto the stool Kylie had abandoned and took the coffee, looking like she wished it were more wine. Her expression, however, changed when she took a sip. “Oh, man, I always forget how good your coffee is. You didn’t make croissants this morning, did you? No one makes them like you do.”
She looked around hopefully, then batted her eyes at me. She must have hoped I’d forgotten the first steps of the Selena Bishop Method of Getting Something.
Step one: abject flattery.
I rolled my eyes. “No, I have an order to fulfill for this afternoon.”
Selena nodded as she adjusted the towel twisted on her head. “No worries. Also, thanks for letting us stay here. You’re a lifesaver, Simmy.”
Step two: faux gratitude, with step three right on its heels: the charm offensive.
My sister flashed me a sparkling smile. Unfortunately for her, I could see that same smile if I looked in a mirror.
“Sure.” I pulled a tray of strata from the fridge and cut myself a piece to warm up. I’d made it yesterday morning from a half a loaf of stale sourdough, shitake mushrooms, kale I was growing on the rooftop, and some homemade goat cheese. It was my version of a frozen dinner for the microwave.
The tray was already half gone, obviously pillaged by Selena when she and Kylie arrived. I hoped Kylie had liked it enough to eat it, at least. Probably not, given the way she’d devoured my ice cream.
I took a seat next to Selena and began eating, ignoring the expectant look on my sister’s face.
“Did you think about it?”
“About what?”
“About the money.” She couldn’t quite keep the impatience out of her voice. “I—he’s been calling. Ezra. He wants to know when I’m going to have it.”
I sighed and set down my fork. “Fifty thousand dollars is a lot of money. I still can’t believe anyone would lend you that much.”
“Why, because I’m such a loser?”
“I didn’t say that. But we both know you’re not exactly dependable.”
Selena huffed as she stretched her newly moisturized hands out on the counter. It looked like she’d given herself a manicure in there too, based on the fact that her fingernails seemed to be painted with the mother-of-pearl, sheer polish I only let myself use on special occasions.
“We talked about this already,” she said. “So, can you help or not? I know you send Dad a little security money every month, and he says he can do without for a while so you can help me. Come on, Simmy, please…”
Step four: whining.
I shook my head. “Sel, I can’t. I’m sorry. But I’m sure we can get you on a payment plan or something. I’ll help you find a new job.”
My eyes darted over to Kylie’s sleeping form. The kid was completely unaware that her mother was putting both of their lives in danger.
I wanted to help. I really did. But I’d been sucked into this cycle before. And there was something else on the line too: my own dream.
I didn’t want to be selling bread out of a coffee shop forever. I was only a few thousand off from having the down payment to get myself into an open bakery space around the corner.
“I just need enough to pay him off and get out of here,” Selena was saying. “Then I can take Kylie home.”
My head snapped back up. “Home, home? As in Woodstock?”
Selena nodded. “Well, I can’t stay here with you.”
She almost looked as if she wanted me to argue with her. I didn’t, though. My apartment wasn’t big enough for permanent houseguests.
Even if it were, this wasn’t the plan I was expecting. I’d thought Selena would take the money, pay off our scary former classmate turned loan shark, and then schlep poor Kylie off to whatever next ill-informed adventure she had planned.
Woodstock, though. The farm. A chance at a childhood was the best thing she could possibly give her daughter, even if the farm was a shell of its former self.
And maybe it would be good for Selena too.
Just like that, the bakery floated into the ether along with my dream.
“Look, I can give you half,” I said. “But that’s it.”
I don’t know why I expected gratitude.
Selena’s eyes grew dark and hard as she squinted at me across the table. “You’re kidding, right?”
I frowned. “No. I don’t know why you think I’d have that much cash on hand. I have about half in savings, but that’s all I can offer.”
“What about all of this shit?” She waved her newly painted nails toward the kitchen, which was filled with what even I would describe as an excessive amount of cheese and baking supplies.
I had the double oven, industrial sink, and massive fridge, of course.
But the other plus of a former caterer’s kitchen were the several industrial metal shelves that made plenty of space for the baking forms, trays, mixers, and countless other items I’d accumulated over the years.
“What about it?” I asked calmly.
She huffed again. “It looks like you’re still living at the dairy.”
“No, it doesn’t.” I took another sip of coffee. “Do you see any churns?”
I actually resented the idea that my kitchen in any way resembled the one back home. Granted, our family’s Vermont farmhouse was warm and cozy and clean when our mother was alive, but it became a cold, dusty shell when left to Dad’s care.
It had taken me years to turn this space into something that felt like a home.
The stainless-steel appliances were warmed by exposed brick walls, butcher block counters, and thick green plants that thrived in the humidity of a baker’s home.
I was particularly proud of the four-year-old pothos whose vines twisted over not one but two windows.
Was the space small?
Sure.
Was it clean, warm, and welcoming?
I made sure of it.
“I can’t believe you’re still making this shit.” Selena pointed at my half-eaten strata. “You live in an amazing city, and you’d still rather act like a crunchy Vermont chick living on a commune. Why did you even come here at all?”
I didn’t answer that. Because she knew.
Years ago, she’d come to the city with a boyfriend. I’d followed after he threw her out. When your twin is a hot mess, it’s difficult not to feel like you need to be their rescuer.
“People in Boston eat cheese and bread, just like everywhere else,” I said calmly.
“Oh, please, you know what I mean.”
“I don’t, actually.” I couldn’t help but snap a little. “And what does my kitchen have to do with you borrowing money you know you can’t pay back?”
“I’m just saying, you have to make money at this, right?” She waved her hands at the appliances again and toward the bread that was almost done baking. “Dad said you’re trying to open your own shop.”
“Was being the operative word there, since I’m about to give you everything I’ve been saving for it.”
“That’s all you’ve saved?”
I took a long, deep breath before replying. “I can’t give you everything, Sel, no matter what Dad said.”
“Why?”
Because I’m not a bank! I wanted to shout. Because you need to grow up!
Instead, I just repeated the other promise we both knew I had to keep.
“Didn’t Dad tell you what’s going on with the farm?
I have to send money home before he loses it to bankruptcy.
The bread, the cheese is just for fun right now.
It’s like testing. My main income is from the bar, and trust me when I say it isn’t as much as you think.
Aside from volunteering, I don’t have much time for anything else. ”
“You know that’s your problem, right? It’s that stupid hospital. It’s so depressing. If you didn’t waste your time mooning over sick old people, you’d have time to make more money.”
“I’m not quitting the hospital.” I turned back to my strata, though frankly, I was losing my appetite.
“It’s just so pointless. You’re not a nurse or a doctor. What could you possibly be doing there that adds any real value? It doesn’t matter how much time you spend there, it’s never going to bring Mom back—”
I stood quickly, the leg of my stool interrupting her with a screech. I wanted to scream. I wanted to throw her out of the apartment and tell her she was on her own.
Instead, I took another deep breath and met the blue eyes that mirrored mine but held so much more bitterness. And fear. Selena talked a good game, but deep down, she was scared, like a trapped animal. And just like any animal, she lashed out when cornered.
I was used to being collateral damage. But Kylie deserved better.
So instead of arguing with her, I went to pour myself another cup of coffee. “Like I said, I’ll give you half. You’ll have to figure something else out for the rest.”
“Simone, you don’t understand,” she whispered, shooting a quick glance at Kylie. “If I don’t pay it back, I’m terrified of what Ezra might do. I think they may hurt me, or abduct Kylie—or, or kill me!”
I honestly couldn’t tell if she was acting or if she was honest. Either way, I only had one answer.
“I’m already offering you what I have. Give Ezra half, and see if he will accept another trade once you get a job.” I didn’t want to do this, but it was the only other option. “You and Kylie can stay here until it’s paid off. But that’s the best I can do.”
And it was.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t good enough.
“You’re so fucking lazy!” Selena seethed.
“You could do anything with your life, and look at what you choose. Slinging drinks at a shitty bar, working for free at a hospital. You don’t take chances, you never did, and now we’re all paying for it.
I thought I could count on you, Simone, I really did. ”
“I’m giving you everything I have!”
“And I’m telling you that will do me absolutely no good!”
I stared up at the ceiling. The plaster was cracked, like so many of these old buildings. When I’d moved in, the imperfections like that were charming. Now they just felt symptomatic of the poisons I couldn’t ever seem to flush from my life.
“Well, then I suggest you figure out another way,” I said as calmly as I could manage. “I can only do what I can do.”
“Yeah, you know what? You’re right. I should have known I was on my own, just like always.”
Selena stomped over to the “bedroom” area of the studio, where, behind the screen, she dressed in a hurry, then grabbed her purse and headed for the door.
“Sel, where are you going?”
She glared at me. “You just said to figure out another way. That’s what I’ll have to do.”
“What about Kylie?”
Selena glanced at her daughter like she was nothing more than a pile of laundry she didn’t want to fold. Then she turned back to me. “Since you seem to think you can do everything better than me, you deal with her for once while I ‘figure things out.’”
That, of course, was when Kylie stirred on the couch. “Mama? Where are you going?”
“Sel,” I tried. “Come on.”
She had already grabbed her things. “Nope. Bye.”
“But I have to be at the hospital by one, and I haven’t even slept—”
I was cut off when Selena slammed the door, leaving me all alone with a crying and confused little girl.