Chapter 2
P overty. Or the threat thereof. That was what could put the fear into Lainey’s eyes, what kept her up at night, working all hours. What drove her relentlessly to succeed, what made her purposely obtuse about how much she was failing.
Four months ago she was on her way to work when she had a near miss, a car going the wrong way down the interstate narrowly bypassed her and hit the car behind her. That car burst into flames, killing the woman trapped inside. The woman had been Lainey’s age. They shared the same hair color, for goodness sake. It was as if death had been coming for her and decided at the last minute to choose someone else instead.
Lainey had stumbled into work that day like a zombie, paralyzed with the realization of how quickly her life could be over, and what had she done with it? What am I even doing with my life? She had stared around at her corporate job feeling the sort of panic one can only feel during the last year of the twenties. Then she went home and made candy. It was her go-to self-care therapeutic. She adored making candy, loved the way the ingredients came together like a science experiment. How could sugar and water come together to make a beautiful lollipop? Magic!
It was while she was making her nightly batch of candy, feeling soothed and happy for the first time all day, that she had the life-changing epiphany: If making candy is what makes me happy, why don’t I make candy?
In that moment, it had felt so easy, so obvious. Of course she should quit her job and make candy fulltime. Why not?
Money, for one thing. She’d had to leave her semi-swanky apartment in the good part of town to move to a Victorian on the wrong side of the tracks. That in itself wouldn’t have bothered her because she loved the old behemoths. But some monster had violently chopped the house into pieces, portioning off its beauty to tenants for a song. At least this one was only cut in half, she thought, pressing her hand to the brick wall of her kitchen. Unlike some of the others that had been butchered into quarters or even sixths like an unlucky brick chicken. Her bedroom had fifteen-foot ceilings; the kitchen had enough space for her supplies and then some. If she closed her eyes, she could pretend it was whole and unbroken, that the unseemly wall running through her kitchen didn’t connect to what once belonged.
Lainey thought she understood stress, working as a corporate shill, but absolutely nothing compared to being her own boss. She was the one who had to do every drop of work in her new venture, and its success or failure also rested solely on her. She wasn’t certain she had slept a full night since she quit her job.
On the other side of her wall, the tenant got out a pan and began frying something. Lainey grimaced, imagining the state of his arteries. Not that she was currently one to talk. She’d been subsisting on peanut butter and the occasional pretzel for the last few days. Not only because she was nearing the end of her limited funds, but also because she hadn’t had time to do anything more than work. Certainly no time to make a proper meal or go to the grocery store. Later, I’ll get to it later, she promised herself.
In the meantime, she had a satisfyingly full order of custom chocolates. All she had to do was finish and deliver the order and she’d have enough to last her until the next order came through. What if the next order doesn’t come through? That mean little voice was so good at whispering those little doubts in her ear.
Shut up, it’ll happen. Everything will be fine, you’ll see.
Even though she shouted the words at herself, somehow the whisper was far easier to believe.