Chapter 13 #2
I squeeze my eyes shut, my thumb hovering over the send button.
No, I can’t do it. I can’t justify giving up on my book, my dreams, like that.
And anyway, who’s to say that I won’t be okay?
I might find a new job. This is New York, after all, the city where dreams come true, as long as you work hard enough.
Actually, come to think of it, chances are Annette will come to her senses and ask me to come back and work for her again.
After all, I’ve been responsible for basically running her business for the past few years.
How is she going to survive without me doing everything—making her schedules, sending out all her correspondence, keeping the books, not to mention the artistic side of things, like helping her out during shoots, carrying her backbreakingly heavy gear, and editing the photos?
Annette may be the woman behind the camera, but I am the woman behind the scenes, and I would love to see her try to replace me. She’ll be back in no time, I’m sure.
I get another vision of Haven sending anonymous complaints to Annette, and I swat the thought down with ferocity.
I don’t have any proof that Haven was the one who did this, I remind myself.
My therapist, Aliyah, pointed out that I often jump to the worst possible conclusion in any given scenario, and it was something she and I worked hard to minimize.
I take a few deep breaths and do a grounding exercise by looking around me and listing five objects I can see in my room.
I’m okay. I’m safe. Everything will be okay.
Somehow, I manage to make myself climb out of bed.
I take my time washing up in the bathroom before padding out into the kitchen.
As I make myself some coffee, I open up my Slack app.
It’s become a habit now—it’s the first thing I check most mornings.
The debut group channels are all full of unread messages.
They are mostly about the pandemic and how they can’t believe that they’re going into lockdown.
The group has members from all over the world, and it’s very weird to know that countries like Singapore and England are heading into lockdown mode.
In a way, it’s making me feel both lonely and connected.
I sip my coffee and mull over what I’m going to bake today.
Now that I don’t have a job, I have all the time in the world to bake, so I might as well go full hog and make the most time-consuming thing I can think of.
I decide to make puff pastry. I made it once before, and the process was so labor intensive that I decided frozen store-bought puff pastry was good enough for me.
But hey, nothing’s stopping me now! In fact, I come up with yet another way of keeping me even more connected to the Slack group. I create a new channel. #Culinary.
Fern: Now that we’re in full lockdown mode, I’m going to have a hell of a lot of time to cook and bake, so I thought this channel would be a great way for us to show off our culinary skills just for fun!
There are quite a few people online this morning, probably because everybody is either working from home or laid off like myself, and immediately I see a few people typing at once.
Yuna: I love this channel! I’m actually about to make a batch of radish kimchi. I’ll upload pics later!
Jenna: Yasss I can already tell this is going to be my favorite channel. What a great idea, Fern! And here is this morning’s coffee: A dirty chai latte!
Attached to Jenna’s message is a photo of a delicious-looking drink. It has layers of colors—brown and white—and it looks so rich and creamy I could practically taste it.
Fern: Omg that looks Amazing Jenna!
Alicia: WOW, Jenna! That looks sooo yummy. Definitely puts my shitty instant coffee to shame, lol!
More messages come in, and I set aside my phone with a smile, take out Doughlores, and begin working on my dough.
I’m so proud of myself for starting this channel.
Talk about making lemonade out of lemons.
I’m kneading the dough when Terry starts banging on his keyboard—and I really do mean banging; he’s no longer even pretending to play it properly.
I fantasize about marching over to his place and kicking him in the shins, but let’s face it, there isn’t a version of me in any multiverse that would do that, so I force myself to focus on kneading the dough.
I might have kneaded it a little harder than necessary.
Baking bread is definitely right up there with running on my Top Five Healthy Coping Mechanisms.
By the time I’m done, I’m perspiring ever so slightly, and I feel better.
I give the dough an affectionate little pat and set it in the fridge before moving on to making the filling.
I’ve decided to make some Danish pastries today, so I get to work making a cream cheese filling, along with some homemade blueberry compote.
It’s only when I’m rolling out the dough and cutting it that I realize I’m actually smiling.
Despite everything—getting fired and having to deal with Terry’s noise in addition to an actual pandemic, I like that I’ve started something worthwhile in the debut Slack group.
The #culinary channel is something I think is going to help a lot of us in the coming weeks, and I’m so proud of being its creator.
I can’t wait to post my pastries on there.
It takes me much longer than usual to get the pastries done; I find myself spending a lot of time and effort to make them as pretty as possible, making sure the cream cheese is piped into the little pastry boats just so.
When they’re out of the oven, I put a dollop of blueberry compote on each one and finish them off with a dusting of icing sugar before arranging three of them carefully on my prettiest plate.
I take the plate over to a window to get the best possible lighting and take dozens of photos of them from various angles.
I end up with two beautiful photos, which I edit to really bring out the colors and textures, then, unable to wait another second, I post them both to #culinary with the caption: “Whipped these up today! They smell gorgeous.” The replies come in almost immediately.
I guess everyone is glued to their screens.
Jenna: Oh my God, did you really make them yourself?? They look perfect! Omg I want!!
Yuna: WOW Fern! Are you a professional baker?
I don’t bother trying to stop the huge grin from taking over my face.
A professional baker? I giggle to myself as I put the pastries into a plastic container.
No, I am not a professional baker, but maybe I should be.
Maybe I could be one of those home bakers who sell their goodies on Instagram.
That could be a good way of earning money, especially now that Annette’s fired me.
I check Slack again to see how many people have responded to my Danish pastries post. There are twelve hearts and five more comments about how good my pastries look, but then I scroll farther down and find that Haven has posted too.
And she’s made a beautiful rustic loaf of sourdough bread.
She’s posted two photos, one where the loaf is whole and you can see the prettiest leaf scoring pattern on the top of the perfectly browned crust, and in the other picture, she’s sliced it open, revealing the airy, soft crumb, which is a surprising shade of blue.
Her caption reads: I made sourdough today!
It’s blue because I used pea flower water, isn’t it just the most beautiful thing ever? ?
Her post has thirty-two hearts, twenty-seven head explosions, and twenty-four heart eyes. There are over twenty comments, and more still being typed, all of them gushing over how stunning her loaf of sourdough is.
No, this can’t be happening. I created this channel.
I’m the one with the sourdough starter I’ve kept alive for years.
Haven is—well, I’ve never seen her so much as even mention sourdough on her social media accounts, and yet here she is with a picture-perfect loaf of bread.
Peevishly, I wonder if she’s lying, if she actually bought the bread from somewhere and then posted about it to get attention. I can see her doing that.
Stop it, I scold myself. It doesn’t matter. So what if she did? It’s none of your business.
But still, I can’t stop myself from scrolling through the comments, my head feeling feverish with jealousy as I read the adoration from other group members.
Haven: Wanna know something really sad? I named my starter. Meet Breadley Cooper.
Yuna: Breadley Cooper!! That is the best name ever!
Nooo! I want to scream. Breadley Cooper has nothing on Doughlores!
I know, I know how stupid it is to be jealous over someone’s name. No, not someone. A sourdough starter. Well, technically they’re alive, so they count as someone, right?
Okay, time to distance myself from the computer and go for a run.
But as I push the chair back and stand up, the realization hits me.
We’re in lockdown. I can’t go out for a run.
I go to the window and stare outside, looking down on the streets.
There are a few cars driving past, but aside from that, it’s completely deserted.
No pedestrians, and definitely no runners.
I return to the computer and fire up Twitter.
The news is more dire than before. New York City is inundated with cases of COVID, with people dying faster than ever.
Fear stabs into my chest, cold and sharp.
Again, I’m struck with how strangely removed I’ve been feeling from this entire thing, when the reality is that I am just as susceptible as everyone else.
I need to be much more careful. I go to the kitchen and give my hands a good wash, then I go online and order a bunch of antibacterial wipes.
Or try to, anyway. They’re sold out everywhere.