Chapter 3 #2
“How else am I going to see you?” She looks over at me, taking the faucet hose and spraying one plate after another clean. “You get home after dinner—sometimes not even until I’m in bed—and then you’re gone before I wake up.”
I come to her side and shut off the faucet. I tuck a piece of her dark brown hair back up into the clip she used to pin up the rest.
“I’ll get into a groove.” I hand her a dry towel for her hands. “Things will slow down.”
“When?” she fires back. “January?”
I pause, instantly seeing the flinch on her face. She knows the last thing that would be helpful is making it sound like I’m disappointing her. I’ll just think I need to work harder.
Finally, she smiles, blinking a slow apology, and I’m almost irritated by how fast she can switch gears.
By the time she became Katherine Caruthers, though, she knew how to handle my father, three teenage boys, and addiction.
I kind of wish I’d gotten more inexperienced parents, but they knew all the tricks by the time I arrived.
They were home for dinner every night and pancakes on Sundays.
And while they took my phone at night to force a good night’s sleep on me, they pretended they didn’t know that I had a tablet and a laptop.
She takes a plate, using the towel to dry dishes, instead.
“Are you complaining that people like my bakery?” I ask, but don’t wait for a reply. “I’m busy. This is a good thing.”
Yes, I’m busier than I would like, and I’d love to manage time for maybe a social life—and sleep—but I’m handling it. We knew this would take time to figure out.
“It is a good thing,” she says. “I’m so proud of you.”
“I can do this on my own.” I gently take her towel and dry the dishes myself. “I have a staff.”
She lowers her gaze, her warm eyes filled with worry and things unspoken. Things she still feels guilt over with my brother.
“I know you’re there if I need you,” I tell her.
It’s the best I can do to ease her mind. I know she’s there, even though she wasn’t for Jared.
We’re quiet, and I dry some more plates and put them away as I feel her attention on me.
I glance at her, seeing her mouth slightly open like she wants to say more. “What?” I ask.
She doesn’t seem to breathe for a moment, finally shaking her head. “Can you be free Saturday after two? For the rest of the day?”
“Why?”
“Madoc and Fallon are having everyone over.” She takes more plates from me, stacking them on the shelf. “Lucas’s flight is late. They’ll have a cookout, some fireworks…”
I unplug the sink, not hearing the water drain over the sound of my heart in my ears.
He barely stayed.
Once he sells the house, there’ll be no reason for him to return. Ever.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I’ll try.”
If he’s leaving, then I don’t think I want to see him. What’s the point? Giving him a whole evening when he’ll never spare five minutes for us again?
My mother moves behind me, starting to leave, but she stops and turns.
“I’m not trying to overcompensate,” she clarifies, as if she’d read my mind.
I look over at her, the solemn look on her face telling me she’s aware of the baggage her boys still carry.
Her brow pinches together in sadness. “I just want to see you having fun.”
I shake out the towel, flexing my jaw. “I am.” I offer her a grin. “I love this. Promise.”
She’s quiet but doesn’t move, and I finish stacking dishes onto shelves.
“You’re just always so busy,” she tells me. “The studying and extracurriculars in high school. Finishing your college degree a year early, culinary classes in your spare time, this shop in the summers… Like you were always rushing to be thirty or something.”
The world in front of me blurs.
She’s not wrong. I’d just been hoping no one would notice.
Or if they did, they would say I was “motivated” or “a hard worker.” But the truth is, I was never excited to be in college.
I was excited to be done. I never wanted to go on Spring Break with friends.
There were better ways to spend that time.
I was always racing to a finish line.
To be grown up.
I turn my face back to the sink, rinsing the suds out before she can see my chin tremble.
I think I’m having fun. I’m finally done. I finished school and started my business. Now, I’m ready for…
I don’t know. What do I want now?
My own life. Not a life away from my family, but one where I’m in the lead. Where I make my own decisions, have privacy, and don’t feel like I’m always following someone.
She doesn’t press further, just touches her hand to my cheek. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
But I don’t look at her because I don’t want her to see my face. In a moment, she’s gone.
I accepted a long time ago that my mother is the smartest person I’ll ever meet. In terms of street smarts. More than my dad, Madoc, Jared, or even Jax, because my mom has made nearly every mistake imaginable. When she speaks, it’s from experience. Not anger or power or trauma.
After boxing Mace’s brownies, I set them on the table and take the extras to the front. I load them into the case, but a customer stops me.
“Can I buy those, actually?” he asks. “They look great.”
“Sure.”
Boxing the rest of the brownies and setting them on the counter, I glance up, seeing Aro and Dylan through the windows. They stand right outside, next to one of the patio tables on the sidewalk.
They wave through the glass, Dylan using two hands.
What the hell are they doing? I toss a quick wave back as I direct my attention to the customer and the guy he’s with.
“Anything for you?” I ask the second gentleman as he browses the options.
Aro passes a stack of large white posterboards to Dylan. She holds them up for me to see through the window.
I’m mad at you, it says.
Mad? I glance around to the customers in the shop to see if they notice her.
“I would love something,” the young man replies with a sigh. “Anything for diabetics?”
Huh?
I turn back to my customers. Oh, right. I smile at the guy, noticing Dylan throwing the board over her shoulder, letting it fly onto the sidewalk.
Guess who we saw at Camp Blackhawk today? the next board reads.
My heart thuds. Aro grabs the stack, flipping to the next poster.
Oh my God… it says.
Then, she fans herself.
My stomach somersaults. Lucas.
The customers stand there, and I let out a single, nervous laugh, dropping my eyes. “Uh…how about…chocolate chip blondies?” I ask.
Moving down the case, I take a square of parchment paper and reach into the shelf. I raise my eyes as Dylan snatches the cards back.
Jax says you saw him last night. She lets that card fly. And you didn’t text me?
She and Aro both throw out their hands, little snarls on their faces.
Great.
I hand the blondie over the counter to the man. “One hundred percent free of refined sugars.”
The dude takes it. “Are you serious?”
I nod like a caricature, more because I’m trying to hide how distracted I am with what the girls are doing outside. “They’re sweetened with dates,” I explain.
I’ll meet you at the gym tonight, Dylan announces.
“Try it,” I tell the guy.
She reveals another sign. Eight o’clock.
The pulse in my neck knocks against my skin.
The man chews a bite, freezes, then lets out a moan of satisfaction. “I’ll be damned.”
Aro is covering for me.
I glance to Aro, seeing her grin. And wiggle her eyebrows. She doesn’t ever do that. Oh, God. What are they planning?
“Can you make anything else naturally sweetened?” the customer asks.
I glance at him, swallow, then look at Dylan and Aro.
Dylan gives me her biggest, brightest smile. He’s not leaving Saturday because you’re going to make him want to stay!
I lick my lips.
You know how?
And then, right there, on High Street, on the sidewalk in front of my damn shop, she and Aro start dancing, thrusting, and moaning in ecstasy as they flip their hair all around like strippers.
Snorts go off in the shop, and I let my eyes fall closed, holding in something between a growl and a laugh. I’m going to kill them.
I’m…
I’m…
I’m really going to kill them.
“I’m…um…” I clear my throat and look at the customer again. “I’m willing to…try.” I grab a business card from the slot on the counter and hand it to him. “Feel free to email me a request, and I’ll see what I can do.”
He smiles, taking the card. “Thanks.” And then gesturing to the case of blondies, “I’ll take all of them, actually.”
His friend laughs, and I get busy packaging up the rest, glaring at Dylan and Aro through the glass case.
Try it! Dylan holds up one more sign. Sex is soooooo super fun!
Then they both give me all their thumbs up.
My forehead dampens with sweat, but then I realize my hair and shirt are sticking to my neck and back too.
Are they really allowed to just leave the kids at the camp during the day like this? I’m texting Jax.
Unfortunately, work doesn’t keep me at the shop as long as I would like.
I stayed open a little later than usual in hopes of some stragglers, but by five, the door is closed.
By six, leftovers are dropped off at the fire department this time and the deposit is made at the bank.
By seven, the dough is prepped for the morning and the place is clean.
Emails are answered. Inventory done. Shipment of coffee stocked.
I check the lock on Frosted’s door, then glance at the clock on the wall.
7:58.
Blood warms as it flows down my arms.
I didn’t tell Dylan I would go to the gym.
But she is expecting me.
I walk to the floor-length mirror, trying to ignore the little way it feels like my lungs aren’t taking in enough air, or how I can’t think of anything else other than how I’m expected somewhere right about now.
I brush a few strands of hair out of my face.
Staring at my reflection in the mirror, I take in the pizza sauce staining the canvas-colored apron wrapped around my waist, and the flour on my forearms that I missed when I washed up. Everything went well today.
Almost.