51. Christopher
fifty-one
Any other time, I would have done something different. But, today, now, this is where my baker’s heart is.
The first two days here, I was laser-focused on what was expected from me. I’d shoved all thoughts of Alexandra aside. But, when that bullshit assignment came in last night, I knew there was no point trying to comprehend what the judges wanted.
One word kept coming back to me: pancakes.
I decided to follow my instinct. My heart.
Baking is about community and love. It’s about making people feel good and bringing them around a table.
If the judges don’t like my interpretation, then so be it.
I’m proud of what I did, and that’s all that counts.
Here we go. I look at the judges, one after the other.
“When the people you love are gone, what remains are memories. And one of the best ways to rekindle these memories, is through food. So I made a pancake dinner. You might think pancakes are as American as apple pie, and you’d be right. But they exist, differently, in every culinary tradition. Pancakes are the ultimate soul food, made with simple ingredients, meant to bring a family together around the table, with recipes passed down from generation to generation. And if your recipe consists of a preferred mix, that’s fine too. As long as you use real maple syrup.” I pause for a beat, again looking at each of the judges. They’re wearing their skeptical faces. The hell with them if they don’t get me.
“I know that might seem simplistic, but simplicity is what’s lacking in our society. And also, at the risk of contradicting myself, pancakes can be quite sophisticated, if that’s what you’re going for. In any case, whether you want to remain down-to-earth or are going for something more elevated, pancakes will always call to our sensory memories, those created early on in our childhood. For me, they will always be associated with love. And for the viewers out there, here’s the takeaway: If you want to tell people you love them, make them pancakes.”
Justin pushes himself from the reception desk and marches toward us, hauling his carry-on. “Let’s get the fuck out of this fucking place,” he barks.
Okay.
“’Bout time,” Colton mumbles as we follow him to the parking lot.
We throw our bags in the truck bed, Colton flicks the truck doors open, and Justin folds himself in the back seat.
“Good call,” Colton says under his breath as he takes the driver’s seat.
After the show ended last night, we wanted to get back home, but couldn’t find Justin. There’d been a power outage, and word was that he might be stuck in an elevator, but he didn’t pick up his phone, and, anyway, power was eventually restored and still no sign of Justin. Colton and I crashed in a double, and in the morning, a very pissed off Justin showed up with no explanation, said he had business to tend to, and started a half-hour long argument with the front desk, the gist of which we had no clue and gave no fucks.
We just wanted to get home, and he was being a diva.
Colton finally breaks the silence. “That was brilliant, man, what you did. I didn’t know you could make so many dishes with pancakes.”
“Thanks,” I answer simply. I blew the judges’ minds with my sourdough pancake batter base, interpreted both sweet and savory to form the basis of a whole meal. Blinis and smoked Vermont trout with a side of whipped cream and freshly picked garlic scapes, cheddar soufflé pancakes, chocolate silver dollar size pancakes with a side of ginger ice cream, and the proposal pancake—a hibiscus pancake topped with pansies holding an engagement ring.
“If anybody would know that, it’d be you. Proud o’ya.”
I tilt my chin toward Justin. “What happened to him?”
“Hell if I know.”
After a while driving in silence, Colton says, “So, Alex, huh.”
Last thing I want to talk about.
“I had someone that sweet look at me the way she looks at you, I wouldn’t let her go that easy. Wouldn’t matter she didn’t fully disclose her circumstances.”
“Yeah?” I don’t want to argue with Colton.
He shrugs. “Not telling you what to do. Not in your shoes. Just saying, that’s what I’d do.”
I keep staring out the window. My cousin usually doesn’t speak much.
“She and Grace’re tight. See her at Ma’s sometimes.”
Right. He’s been around Alexandra more than I thought. He understands.
He’s not done with his pep talk. “You got a shit start in life, man. You deserve a woman like her.”
I chuckle. “Thanks, man, but she got better things to do than be stuck with me.”
He glances my way. “Stuck? A’right, man. Whatever.” He flicks the radio on to a country music station. After an hour I switch to rock, and that’s the extent of our disagreement.
And then we get to Emerald Creek.
The town is decorated to the nines, with balloons and twinkling lights and my name plastered on all the windows.
It’s embarrassing.
Embarrassing and great.
“Alex organized the celebration party for you. Tonight by the river,” Colton says.
I shuffle my feet. “How do you know Alexandra did this?”
He shrugs. “Kiara. You look like shit, dude,” he says as I step out the car. “Get some sleep.”
The bakery’s been closed for a few days, and it’s quiet inside the house. The exhaustion of the past few days catches up with me, and I haul my ass up to my bedroom.
I glance at the door to the hidden staircase, shove my feelings down where they can’t bother me, and get some sleep.
I wake up with a throbbing headache, take a long shower, a couple of aspirins, then drag myself to the river, guided by the sounds of the band.
This should be one of the best days of my life so far, yet I feel like shit. There’s nothing worth celebrating for me. I already know I’m the best baker in New England.
Cocky? So what.
But I’m doing this for Emerald Creek. This community always came through for me. The least I can do is give them this. I plaster a smile on my face and walk toward the sound of music drifting up from the riverbanks.
I navigate through the swarms of people who slap me on the shoulder, hug me, or take selfies with me. The band interrupts their gig for a second to announce my arrival and to remind people to use the bakery’s hashtag when posting photos of the event on their social media.
Is Alexandra still here? That’s something she would do. Uneasiness settles in my stomach. I don’t think I can bear to see her.
“There he is!” My mother’s voice startles me from my thoughts.
I narrow my eyes at the sight of the family assembled in a circle. I hug Mom first, then my half brothers, Ryan and Trevor. They’re as tall as me now, and what I saw of them in the videos is confirmed. They’re filling in. I feel out their muscles teasingly, and they reward me with huge grins.
Finally, I shake hands with my stepfather, Dean, who’s standing awkwardly to the side. “I suppose congratulations are in order,” he drops, a smirk on his face. He’s bouncing from one foot to the other, like a kid who’s been chastised. My mother must have lectured him on the way here. At least he’s making an effort.
“Thanks, yeah. And thanks for coming.”
“Oh—We had to come to pick up Skye, anyway. Your mother doesn’t like to drive long distances. Figured we’d kill two birds with one stone.”
Mom interrupts him before he puts his foot deeper in his mouth. “We thought it’d be a nice opportunity for the whole family to celebrate together. Dean, let’s go find Shannon and Dennis and let the boys catch up.”
“Dude, you rock,” Ryan says when they’re out of earshot.
“Yeah.” Trevor chuckles. “Look at this crowd, all for you.” His eyes glimmer with genuine pride and joy, and they both laugh and look admiringly at me.
Fuck, I’ve missed these little buggers.
The video calls we try to have each week now, mainly for Skye’s benefit, are no replacement for the real, physical presence. “You guys have anything lined up for the summer? I could use some help in the bakery.”
“Ohmygod that’s a great idea!” Grace exclaims. I turn around and see her and Alexandra swinging Skye between them. They crept up on me, and now I’m caught in Alexandra’s gaze boring through my core, and I want to be anywhere but here.
I focus on Skye running to me and dousing me in kisses. “I love you, Daddy. Now, Caroline can’t say you’re not the best baker in the whole wide world.”
I hug her tight and close my eyes. “You already knew that.”
Grace is greeting her cousins and saying, “If you guys are in, I’ll talk to your mom and dad about working here.”
Skye pinches my cheeks and pulls them apart. “Yes,” she says. “Now smile.”
I try to smile as I set her down. Alexandra is standing back, looking like she wants to leave, but Skye starts pulling on her yellow summer dress, introducing her to her uncles.
The dress shows her shoulders, hugs her breasts, and stops right above her knees. All I can think about is how soft her skin is.
How sweet she tastes.
How deeply moving her kisses are.
And how I’ll never have her again.
The twins’ eyes light up the sight of her, and Ryan pulls her into a hug that lasts several unnecessary beats. Little shithead.
“Alexandra is—was—our apprentice,” I say. “She’s leaving the day after tomorrow.”