18. Tilly
Chapter eighteen
Tilly
G randma Tilda, my namesake, used to tell me hate was like drinkin’ poison and expecting the other person to die, but I beg to differ.
Hate is indifference.
It’s the ability to look at someone and no longer feel weighed down by the expectations that come with love, or in my case, attraction.
Her words used to soothe me when I was a child, but as I sit on my back porch, pondering what could’ve transpired between me and Archer yesterday, they’re no longer a balm but a spiked cord wrapping around my heart.
Sunday dinner is today, and I’m not sure I can muster up the energy to go. I spent the last two days working at the bakery and scrolling through dating websites, trying to keep my mind off Archer while simultaneously hoping he’d walk through the door with his crooked smile and tight shirt. I used to think what happened between us was normal third wheel tension, but add that in with the shade I overheard him throwing about my cake at his sister’s wedding, and I’m not sure why I even tried keeping him as a friend in my life.
It’s been years since Claire’s wedding, but I can still hear him saying those same words to a group of friends talking about my baking. Tilly’s only successful because she has supportive parents, that’s it. I bet she’s never had a bad review, he’d uttered while refusing to eat my dessert. Next came the little jabs from his friends, I can’t believe your parents paid for this, you’re right, her cake isn’t all that good, and she’s about to get her first bad review .
It almost felt like he’d asked his parents to hire me so he could prove to others that my baking wasn’t that good. It wasn’t enough that he didn’t eat my desserts anymore, he wanted to ruin my reputation with everyone else.
I couldn’t stand to listen to them bash me any longer, so I left. No bad reviews were posted, but Jessie said he dealt with it, and Archer still had a black eye a week later when I passed him in the grocery store. It was what I needed to forget any lingering attraction I had to him when Jessie and I first started dating.
After being the one to constantly try to rebuild the bridge that was broken between us all those years ago, I’m not going to be the one to reach out now. I’m thankful for all the work he’s completed in the bakery, but it’s time to find someone else to help me finish, even if the thought of working with someone else to bring my vision to life gives me indigestion. I rub at the ache in my chest and focus on cleaning my kitchen.
My phone vibrates on the table, and I sigh when I see it’s Shantel.
“Hey Seester.”
“Where are you?” she asks. “You usually beat me to Mom’s.”
Chewing on my lips, I try to come up with an excuse. “I’m not feeling good.”
“Are you sick? Need some soup?”
“No, it’s just my period.” The minute I say it I realize the mistake I’ve made. There are many benefits to being close with my sister-in-law but having synced up cycles is not one of them.
“What’s going on, Til? You don’t get your period for another two weeks. ”
“Nothing.” I sigh.
“What did he do?”
“Who?” I ask, knowing damn well who she’s talking about.
“Archer.” Nora’s voice sounds in the background, and I wonder, is he there? Is he listening in on this conversation and wondering how I could be so stupid to think he was attracted to me?
“Nothing,” I repeat.
“If neither of you are going to tell me what happened I’m going to assume the worst.”
A million questions speed through my mind.
What did he say when she asked him? How did she know there was something wrong between us? Would me having feelings for Archer be the worst thing? In my heart I know the answer. It’s a betrayal. I was married to her brother. In love with him. How could I so easily forget all we shared just because my body and brain are confused?
“There’s nothing going on,” I say, my voice a little too high.
She laughs. “Mmhmm. So why aren’t either of you coming to dinner?”
Like the idiot that I am, I shrug like she can see me. “I don’t know. I guess you’ll have to ask him why he’s not there, but as for me, I don’t feel up to it. I’m sorry if that disappoints you, but I can’t…” My voice wavers, emotion clogging my throat. “I can’t deal with it right now.”
“Okay.” The fight leaves her as quickly as it ramped up.
“Thanks, Seester.”
Nora sighs in the background when Shantel tells her I’m not coming before the line goes dead, and I know my absence hurts her. I hate how much she’s had to go through with losing Jessie, and I know if Archer gets this job and leaves, it’ll be like another son lost too. I’ve been trying to keep my mind off his impending departure, but I can’t deny the nausea that wracks my stomach any time I think of it. One by one everyone I care about leaves.
Instead of spiraling, I refocus my thoughts like my therapist taught me and decide to bake.
Nothing sounds good though.
I need fresh flavor profiles.
Anytime I was stuck on a new recipe, Jessie would tell me manual labor always seemed to push him into a new headspace to work through problems, something about using different parts of the brain. While I primed and painted the wainscoting, new recipe ideas popped into my head.
Music fills the kitchen as I throw my hair up into space buns, wrap an apron around my waist, and grab the flour, eggs, sugar, and baking powder for the multiple desserts I intend to bake. Even though it’s not necessarily fall weather in Texas, a cranberry, pear, and apple tart seems like a good recipe to start with.
Relaxing into the moment, I sift flour into a bowl, mixing all of the dry ingredients before adding the applesauce to keep my cakes moist. With each scrape of the bowl into a cake pan, my shoulders ease down from my neck.
Twenty minutes pass, and a knock at my door has me walking to the front window with my rolling pin in hand. I relax when Shantel’s beaded braids come into view.
“What are you doing here?”
“We figured you needed some company for your mental bakedown.”
I snort. “My what?”
“You know,” she shrugs, “like a breakdown but instead of crying you’re baking. ”
Nora slams the car door shut and pops her head around the garage. “Hi, sweetie.”
Her smile brings a tear to my eye, but I blink it away. She’s the best mother-in-law a girl could have, and Shantel isn’t too bad either.
“You guys didn’t have to come all the way over here.”
“We drove like six streets over,” Shantel replies, pushing through the doorway. “It wasn’t a burden, I promise.”
A part of me wants to embrace them, and it terrifies me. Having Archer’s hands on me changed something, but the fear still lingers. Will the next person I allow to touch me leave their imprint on my skin? Will my brain no longer be able to differentiate Jessie’s—and Archer’s—touch from others?
“We brought more flour and sugar.” Nora holds up a grocery bag.
“How did you know I was baking?”
Shantel laughs. “You’re stressed, and baking makes you happy. We assumed and were correct.”
“Touché,” I reply.
Crowded around the kitchen island, we each take on a dessert. I hand off the tart to Shantel while Nora gets working on a cardamom and apricot cookie. Baking specialty cakes is where my heart truly lies, but my parents’ restaurants are more laid back. They wanted the typical chocolate cake so they could pair it with vanilla ice cream, not a decadent triple layered pineapple and blueberry sponge cake with buttercream icing and a walnut dusting on the side. I’ve never been one to get excited for weddings, but I can get behind eating wedding cake any day of the week.
“Can you pass the brown sugar?” Shantel asks, gathering the ingredients for the tart’s crumble .
Like a teacher, I check over their work to make sure they’re measuring correctly and mixing in the right order. Baking is chemistry—I’m phenomenal at Chemistry. It’s the whole reason I met Jessie and Archer.
I slip into a memory of sitting at the lab table alone, surrounded by the smell of bunsen burners. In every class I’ve ever taken, I’ve always been the last one chosen to be a partner for any kind of project, but this time I wasn’t. A hand raised in the back of the room as the teacher was explaining the end of the year project, and out came a voice asking if there could be a group of three. My neck spun like the girl in The Exorcist, and my eyes landed on Archer and Jessie. They were lounging in their chairs, notebooks closed like they hadn’t been writing down the important instructions the teacher was doling out.
When the teacher asked Archer to repeat the question, he pointed at me and said, “The numbers for partners are uneven. Can we be a trio?”
He was ruggedly handsome, played on the football team, and drove a big truck. I couldn’t lie, I had a small crush, but I wasn’t the type of girl he’d have noticed. I’d passed him chatting with friends in the hallway plenty of times, but he’d never acknowledged me before this moment.
In the back of my head, I dreamt he’d picked me because he wanted to, not because he wanted to copy off my work. Study sessions filled with snacks turned into Friday night karaoke and the occasional farmers market trip, but somewhere during that semester we all became legitimate friends. Or at least I thought we did.
“Are you gonna take these to your parents’ restaurant?” Nora asks, rolling cookie dough.
Sadness tugs down my shoulders. “I don’t know. Dad’s been acting weird lately, and I don’t want to approach him about changing the menu.”
“He’s missing out,” Nora replies. “These are going to taste so good.”
“I hope so,” Shantel says.
I bump her shoulder playfully, and like a record scratch, everyone stares at me, waiting to see what I’m going to do. Tingles spread down my arm and up my neck, and I itch to brush the sensation away. But I don’t. I focus on the feeling, chasing the euphoria instead of the despair. A half smile pulls at the corner of Shantel’s mouth and Nora openly beams. Feeling self-conscious, I look back down at the cake pans and place them in the oven.
“Are you going to go to that singles mixer this weekend?” Nora asks.
I choke on my spit, sputtering out an incoherent sentence as my gaze snaps to Shantel. She’s been urging me to get out and meet someone, but I didn’t think I was ready. Half the time I still wake up thinking Jessie’s going to walk out of the bathroom in his boxers and socks with a toothbrush in his hand. I doubt someone would want to sleep with a woman who still wears her husband’s old band shirts and can’t manage to make his side of the bed.
“No,” I reply, inwardly cursing Shantel for telling Nora.
“Why not?” Nora asks.
Having this conversation with my husband’s mother is the last thing I imagined I’d be doing today.
“He’s only been gone a year.” Chest tightening, I press my fingers into the marble countertop.
“Yes, he has,” she says. “And he wouldn’t want you to spend any more time lonely.”
I quickly reply, “I’m not lonely.”
Her side eye is the equivalent of a teacher smacking a student’s hand with a ruler.
“I’m fine alone. ”
Shantel chooses this moment to insert her two cents. “Archer says the same thing.”
Something passes between Nora and Shantel, and a sickness takes root in my stomach.
“Don’t you dare even think it.” I struggle to fill my lungs.
“What?” she asks, innocently, though I can clearly see what she’s aiming at.
“Tilly.” Nora moves in front of me, her eyes soft and inviting. “Your fire has come back.”
“It’s because of the bakery.”
“Jessie would want you to be happy.”
“Not with his best friend,” I yell, unaware I just voiced my thoughts outside of my head.
Nora steps back, and I feel the heat staining my cheeks. I’ve never raised my voice to her, and it’s not like she was insinuating that Archer was the reason my fire has come back. Shame rolls in like a storm ready to batter the tattered shelter I’ve built around my heart.
“I’m sorry,” I say, head down. “I’m not in the right headspace to have company right now. Maybe you guys should go.”
“No, Til.” Shantel sidles up next to me and bends to meet my gaze. “We’re sorry. We didn’t mean to be pushy. Let’s change the subject.”
I release a stream of air through my nose, shoulders relaxing from my neck as I nod. Staring down at my flour covered ring centers me. Jessie knew me better than anyone else, knew the things that would make me laugh and smile, and he was the best at giving gifts. The dainty marquise on my finger is a perfect example. With unlimited funds, he could’ve bought a flashy diamond, but he didn’t. He chose something that was more me than him .
He wouldn’t want me to move on with someone who didn’t cherish me the way he did. And Archer could never love me the way I deserve. He had his chance years ago, and he didn’t want it.
He didn’t want me.
The thought feels like having a musket shoved into my stomach and fired. The blow ripples through my core, tearing up everything in its path. I beat back the stupid tears pushing against the backs of my eyes and move on to the next dessert.
“We were able to get the licensing to expand into a full nail salon, and that stylist I was poaching decided to come on board,” Shantel says, clearing the awkward tension from the air.
Nora and I erupt. “Congratulations! That’s amazing news.”
“When did it happen?” I grab a bottle of wine from the fridge. “And why didn’t you tell us sooner?”
She gnaws on her bottom lip, and I grab the corkscrew. “It happened a few weeks ago, but everything kind of blew up at that Sunday dinner, so I didn’t want to ruin the moment.”
“Oh my gosh, Shantel.” I stop fiddling with the cork and stare at her. “I’m so sorry my meltdown ruined your surprise.”
She waves off my apology and grabs the wine bottle. “No apology needed. I’m glad you overheard us talking. It was about time someone told you about the bakery.”
Wine glasses filled, I pick one up and let the fruity flavors burst on my tongue. “How long has he been working on it?”
“I think they bought the building a week or two before Jessie passed,” Nora replies when Shantel takes too big of a gulp.
A sharp twist in my chest renders me breathless.
“But Archer didn’t start back working on it until the mayor told him he needed to get the shop open or forfeit the lease. ”
A thought occurs to me, and I wrack my brain trying to remember certain moments from after Jessie passed. “Why wasn’t I notified of the bakery lease when Jessie’s will was read?”
“I’m not su—”
A loud blaring goes off at my neighbor’s house. For a moment I’m frozen, unable to think past the whooshing in my ears and my thumping heart. It happens every time I hear sirens, a lingering effect of going through my own tragedy. All thoughts of Archer and my dream bakery are whisked away with the cacophony of sirens and fire engines.