45. Christopher
forty-five
Mother’s Day always wraps up early at the bakery, and today is no exception. The customers who aren’t taking their mothers out swing by early morning, and we sell out before noon. I give Willow the rest of the day off and turn our sign to Closed.
I linger in the darkened bakehouse, enjoying the quiet moment. The door to the kitchen is open, the rectangle of light enough to light my steps.
“Daddy would never let me make cake like that. Not a clocking chance,” I hear Skye pipe up, and I wonder what the hell she’s talking about, so I stop in my tracks and listen.
“And that’s why we have Kids’ Day,” Alexandra answers. “So you can do what you want.”
“How was your daddy?” Skye asks out of the blue. Count on her for that.
“I never knew him,” Alexandra says after a beat.
“So, you never had one.”
“I guess you can say that.”
“Daddy says a parent is the person who loves you more than themselves. Like, they could die for you.” Count on my kid to zero in right where it hurts. After all these years, Alexandra still feels guilty about her mother’s passing, and sure enough, she sniffles.
“I suppose that’s true,” Alexandra whispers, her voice broken.
I hear some shuffling, as if they’re hugging. I feel bad for eavesdropping, but this is stronger than me. And I don’t want to break their moment.
“Don’t cry,” Skye whispers back. “I love you. We all love you.”
“I love you, too, sweetheart.”
“When the red light is off, we can put the cake in the oven,” Alexandra says, her voice steadier. “Now, let’s measure all this.”
Utensils clank, and Skye asks, “Remember a loooong time ago, when I asked you if you were going to marry my daddy?”
My breathing halts as I tense.
Alexandra chuckles. “I do. It was my first night here.”
Skye lets out a big sigh. “Well. Now, I wish you could stay and marry my daddy.”
“Awww. Honey,” Alexandra answers after a beat, and is it my imagination? Her voice sounds a little broken.
I’m shaken, for sure.
“It’s okay,” Skye continues. “I know you have to go back to New York, and we’ll still be friends. But… he’ll be sad when you leave. And me too.”
There goes my grand plan for protecting Skye from heartbreak.
“Your daddy is strong. And so are you. We’ll all be fine,” Alexandra says, her voice catching again.
I swipe under my eyes, and Alexandra clears her throat. “Okay, ready?” she says. “Let’s make this cake.”
I leave the baking house as if I’d heard nothing, and a bundle of new emotions takes over while I’m still dealing with what I just heard.
Skye is wrapped up in a kid-size apron I’ve never seen, kneeling on a kitchen chair, sleeves rolled up. On the table, there’s a bottle of milk, some oil, an egg… and cake mix.
That’s right.
Cake mix. In my own home.
And I like it.
I like it because I see the excitement on my daughter’s face, and I see Alexandra’s smile as Skye reads the instructions out loud from the box, and it just feels right. It feels good. And I want this moment to last forever.
I pull out my phone and snap a photo.
Yeah, I’ve become that guy.
They both look at me at the same time, and I snap another one.
And, now, a short video as Alexandra shows Skye how to break an egg.
I leave the cake mix out of the frame. Alexandra taught me a thing or two about taking photos. One of them being to leave out anything that could ruin the photo. I’m still partially against cake mixes, so that’s not getting in the picture.
The mixer whirs. Using both hands, Skye carefully blends the ingredients while Alexandra holds the bowl.
I approach the table as Skye finishes. “Daddy!” she exclaims. “Want some?”
“Is that any good?” I ask, instantly feeling like a jerk. Sometimes, I can’t help myself. I dip my finger in the batter and taste.
Skye claps. “I made it!” she says, as if that should settle the debate. And it does for me.
“Mmmmm. That’s why it’s so good. Like father, like daughter.” Truth be told, the shit isn’t as bad as I expected.
Skye raises a scolding eyebrow at me. “Alek-zandra bought aaaall this,” she says, her hands gesturing at what’s on the table in a swiping motion, “and my new apron! Look! Today is Kids’ Day in this family.”
“I see that.” I smile at Alexandra, my stomach softening as our gazes connect.
“The light is off!” Skye cries.
“How many minutes?” Alexandra asks as she loads the cake in the oven.
Skye reads from the box. “Fifteen minutes or until a knife inser—ted in the center comes out clean.”
“Fifteen, it is. Come here and set the timer,” she says, then, “Dishes, now,” when Skye returns to the table.
“I’ll do dishes,” I say. “It’s Kids’ Day. And you’ve done enough,” I say to Alexandra.
“Woo-hoo!” Skye dances around the kitchen.
“Want to bring the cake to Lynn and Craig’s tonight?” I ask.
“Yessss!” Skye squeals.
This is what complete feels like. This is the life I want. And I don’t want it with just any woman.
I want it with Alexandra.
And I’ll have it. No matter what.
I’ll have her.
Before we go to the farm, I call my mother, and we switch to a video call. Ryan and Trevor are on either side of her, each with an arm flung across her shoulders, and even Dean, their father, pokes his head in briefly.
The perfect family.
The one I’m not a part of.
“You guys look buff,” I tell my half brothers. “Working out?”
“They’re getting older,” my mother sighs.
Trevor and Ryan have huge grins. “We joined a gym.”
I’m reminded of what Alexandra had suggested, that they should work at the bakery during the summers, and the idea is appealing to me more and more.
“I could use some muscle here at the bakery, if you’re looking for summer jobs,” I say. My mother glances away from the screen—at her husband no doubt.
“Dope!” Ryan says, high-fiving his brother. Both have full-on smiles, and I get that feeling again—we’re a band of brothers.
Dean, their father, grumbles something I can’t make out. He might be off camera, but he’s not letting this conversation take place outside his control. Trevor’s eyes cut to the side, and Ryan does a don’t worry about it eye roll and shoulder shake for my benefit.
As far back as I can remember, Dean has been shoving me to the sidelines of the family, doing everything he could to keep me away from “his sons.”
The first time I vividly remember feeling like a second-tier member of the family—the proverbial stepchild—I must have been nine years old. The twins were toddlers. I’d come home from school with a good grade, and my mother was busy getting dinner ready.
Maybe if I got some of her chores out of the way, I thought, she’d have time for a game of cards with me before Dean got home. Like before. When it was just the two of us.
I run the bath and measure the temperature with my elbow, making sure it feels lukewarm. I prepare matching pajamas and clean towels. When the bath is half full, I slowly lower Ryan, who is more outgoing, followed by Trevor, who will do anything his twin does, and I start running the plastic ducks around them. They splash water playfully. I use a washcloth and the baby liquid soap to wash them. Their soft skin and laughs are endearing, and so is the way their big eyes look at me with wonder and happiness.
“Be good boys, or I won’t give you your bath anymore,” I say as I rinse their baby hair down with the handheld shower, a clean washcloth covering their eyes to prevent the sting from the running water.
I pull the plug from the drain and take Ryan out the tub first. I dry him, put him in his pajamas and set him down. He starts bobbing around, opening the drawers and throwing stuff out. This isn’t going to do. The bath is completely empty of water, now, so it’s safe for me to dash out of the bathroom and plop him in the playpen without anything happening to Trevor. Ryan is wiggling in my arms, and the playpen is high. My grip on him falters, and he drops onto the plastic surface, wailing more out of frustration than anything else. Echoing him immediately, Trevor shrieks in the bathroom, where I rush back.
I find Dean leaning into the bathtub. “Shannon!” he yells.
I grab Trevor’s clean towel and say, “He’s just unhappy that Ryan is in the—”
“He could have drowned!” Dean shouts as my mother comes running in.
I feel tears coming up. “But I emptied the—”
“Christopher, what did you do?” my mother asks.
“I was trying to h—”
Dean wags a finger at me. “Stay away from my sons.”
I saw it clearly then. My only crime was that I was who I was.
Not his son.
This understanding that I was a second-class person in this household that was no longer a family to me only got deeper from then on.
Ryan and Trevor adored me, but there was this unspoken rule between us that we shouldn’t get caught playing together. We broke it, time and time again. When Trevor followed Ryan up a tree, fell and broke his arm, or when Ryan tried a chemical experiment and burned Trevor’s eyebrows, Dean and my mother sighed, “Boys will be boys.”
But when Trevor got his nose broken playing hockey with me and my friends, no amount of lying on our part could conceal my role in it. He wore his slightly crooked nose like a medal of honor, convinced it gave him the bad boy look that would polish his persona. His father saw things differently, and there were words that were spoken that day that were too hard for me to forgive. I spent the next few months here in Emerald Creek, with my Aunt Shannon and Uncle Dennis. A few months later, I left for a baking apprenticeship in France that lasted two years.
I don’t remember whose idea it was that I leave and do something with my hands, but even if it wasn’t mine, I was on board with it. I couldn’t wait to get out of there and go somewhere I didn’t have a past, a history. Somewhere people would welcome me with open arms, even if just to work or learn a trade. I’d made sure of that—that the people I was apprenticing with actually wanted me.
I’d been the baggage my mother came with, and I was going to make sure that never happened to me again.
And, later, I made damn sure that never happened to Skye.
In the afternoon, we all meet up at the farm. Lynn, Craig, and the usual suspects are sitting in the sun, sipping wine on the terrace overlooking the apple orchard.
After hugging everyone hello and wishing Lynn a happy Mother’s Day, Alexandra takes Skye to the kitchen and reappears on the terrace with the cake displayed on a dish. Skye proudly presents it around, handing half a slice to everyone.
“Today is Kids’ Day in…” she starts, beaming, then stops in her tracks. “In our family?” She frowns. “Daddy, are we a family?” she shrieks to cover the sound of the multiple conversations going on at once, and manages to make the din die down. “You know, since Alek-zandra and you are not married? But we still love her, and she loves us? And she lives with us? Does that mean we are a family?”
It’s total silence right now, and amused stares are fixed on me expectantly. I meet Justin’s gaze as he takes a long pull on his beer, laughter in his eyes.
I rub my hand on the back of my neck. “Um… no, no, we are not.”
Someone boos and stops before I can figure out who it is. Soft laughter ripples through the group, and one of the women says, “Awww. I’ve never seen Christopher blush.”
“Skye, bring me some of that cake,” Craig interrupts, breaking the awkwardness.
“Who needs another beer?” Lynn adds, digging into the cooler.
Conversations resume, but I’m in no mood to talk to anyone. I hear Alexandra’s laughter cascade, and I put every effort into not looking for her. I just stare into emptiness, mindlessly sipping on my beer.
A hand lands on my shoulder. “Let’s go for a walk,” Craig says. “I need to check on something.”
Grateful for the distraction, I throw my empty bottle in the recycling and follow him down the trail to the orchard.
We walk in silence for a while among the trees in full bloom. Craig stops every so often to examine a flower, flipping it over. He looks up to the sky, seemingly lost in his thoughts for a moment. We reach a small stone lean-to that’s used during harvest for workers to take a break. We sit on a bench outside of it, soaking up the dipping sun.
“When I met Lynn,” he says after a while, “I knew right away she was the one for me.” He rubs his calloused hands together slowly. “It’s something you can’t explain, but you know. You just know this is the person for you.”
I shift uneasily on my side of the bench.
“Her family wouldn’t let me date her,” he says before my silence gets awkward. “They told me to my face that I was beneath her. It was hard. You know how it is.”
He’s referring to Skye’s birth mother, and I nod.
“If she hadn’t been the one for me, I’d have given up,” Craig says. “I’d have walked away. But you don’t walk away from your true love.” He shifts to the side and looks at me. “You know that. You went through something similar with Skye. You didn’t walk away. You fought for her because you already loved your child.”
I nod again, not sure where he’s going anymore.
“Sometimes, we don’t know what the obstacle is, and that makes it harder. Sometimes the obstacle is within,” he adds, tapping where his heart is. “It wasn’t that hard for us.”
“How did you do it? With Lynn.”
He chuckles. “I kidnapped her. With her complete consent, I should add. She suggested it.”
“You eloped?”
“That’s the word. We eloped. Both our families wouldn’t talk to us. We worked as farmhands in Upstate New York, got married, and came back only when her parents died in a plane crash, and she inherited this place.”
“Wow.”
“It was hard on Lynn, you know. Not ever seeing her parents again. Why would a parent do that to their child, I don’t know. My parents eventually came around, right after Lynn lost both her parents in the plane crash. Finally saw the light, you could say. I can’t imagine doing that to my own flesh and blood.”
He picks up a blossom from the ground and turns it in his fingers. “You could say it ran in the family. Her uncle George was disowned by Lynn’s grandparents because he got the wrong girl pregnant. Beats me.” He takes a deep breath. “He recently reached out to Lynn. Nice fellow. Lives nearby, in the Northeast Kingdom. Apparently, he briefly reconnected with the woman, a few months back. Fifty years later. Lynn’s been trying to get him here. We’re the only family he has.”
His eyes mist. “Imagine that. Lynn recently told me, even though she missed her parents, that she never regretted what she did. That I was worth it.” This time, he swipes away a tear. “Even after they both died and it was too late to fix anything, she didn’t regret choosing me over them.”
I’m a little overwhelmed. I don’t know if Craig is trying to tell me something. And, if he is, I’m unclear about what it is.
Reading my mind, he adds, “You’re fighting your demons, Christopher, and I’m sure Alex has hers. But, whatever you’re up against, know that the fight is worth it in the end. That is, if you think she’s the one for you.”
When we get to the farmhouse, the group is inside, scattered in different rooms. The women are in the library, making a dent in Craig’ spirits while Sophie does tarot cards readings. Some of the guys seem to have gone to the cellar, and Craig joins them. The kids are splayed on the floor of the great room, watching a movie.
I take refuge in the kitchen, wanting to avoid another conversation.
“Hey, kid,” Lynn says, affectionately wrapping her arm under mine. “Here. Have some cream pie.” I sit down at the kitchen counter, and she slides a generous portion my way.
After two bites, I take a deep breath, and our eyes meet. “Damn,” I tell her. “I needed that.”
She sits on the stool next to me. “So, tell me,” she says, “Why are you two pretending there’s nothing between you?”
So much for avoiding another conversation. “It is nothing.”
“Not to me, you don’t. It is not nothing. And I’m not asking what it is—yet—I’m asking why you’re trying to hide it?” Before I can answer, she adds, “Unsuccessfully.”
“We—I don’t want Skye to get hurt. When Alexandra leaves.”
“We’re past that point, now, aren’t we? Clearly, she knows—”
“She didn’t mean it that way.”
“Of course not! She’s a child. She doesn’t need to know what adult love life looks like. But she knows you love each other. Where were you when she all but said it to everyone?”
I rub the sore spot between my eyebrows. “Skye got attached to Alexandra. She’s just confused.”
“Well, I’d tell you to set things straight for Skye before she gets more confused. But there’s more, right? This is not just a fling.”
I clench my jaw. “Not for me, it’s not,” I admit.
“So? You’re a fighter. I always saw you fight for what you wanted. What’s happening this time?”
“She won’t stay. She just. Won’t. Stay.” I clench my jaw and look at Lynn, then avert my gaze. The tension is too high, and my eyes are uncomfortably wet.
“And why is that?” she whispers, stroking my arm.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “I’ve asked her, again and again, but it’s always the same nonsense answer about her job.”
“Where is her family?” she asks.
“She doesn’t have a family. They all passed away.”
“Mmm.” She looks away for a beat then narrows her eyes on me. “Did you talk specifically to her? About what it would look like for her if she stayed here?”
“She never gives me a chance to get that far. She just shuts down the conversation, saying it’s just not possible. Not in the cards for her.” I huff. “I should go ask Sophie if that’s true.”
We stay silent for a beat.
“It seems to me that she needs stability. Whatever is in New York represents stability to her. Here, it’s a big unknown. I bet it was hard for her to come, but she did it, knowing she was going back to her environment, no matter what it is. It’s something certain. Stable. Where she feels she belongs. What will she do here if she stays after her exam? Is it true what they say?”
“What do they say?”
“That’s she’s not a good baker. But she’s great with her phone and… whatever sort of marketing she does in real life.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, it’s true.” I don’t even want to know who says that. Probably the whole town.
“She’s going to need more than a few I love yous to stay here.”
I raise my eyebrow, and she frowns at me.
Her mouth makes a big O. “Wait. You never told her I love you?”
I groan and dig back into the cream pie.
“Stop hiding, Christopher. You have to say clearly what you want. How is she supposed to know? Talk to her.”