Chapter 20
Farmor told me once that kneading dough is becoming a lost art.
For centuries, the only way to have daily bread was to make it yourself—unless you were in the nobility.
Girls were taught at their mother’s sides to know by the press of a finger if there was the right amount of flour or when it needed more water, to recognize the exact moment when the dough was ready to be shaped into loaves, seconds before it would be overworked instead and yield subpar bread.
Even though I spend all afternoon baking in the kitchen at Konditori, when I get back to the condo and let myself in, my mind is still in turmoil. Neither Hunter nor Lou is home from work, and I don’t want to turn on the TV.
So I make bread.
Standing at the kitchen counter in the quiet, pushing on the dough again and again and again, I finally feel a hint of calm blanketing the rushing panic I’ve been attempting to ignore all day.
As the hours march on and the initial shock of Talia’s pronouncement wears off, the depth of her accusation begins to truly sink in.
Think about Jordan. And Preston.
And for the first time in years, I let myself think of the only two men I dated for longer than a week or two ever, in my entire life.
And the longer I do, with Talia’s words coloring my memories, the sicker I feel.
I work the dough until it’s the perfect firmness and then painstakingly cut it into equal parts and shape it into loaves.
Once they’re in the pans and I slide them into the oven, I have nothing left to do except clean up my mess and wait for them to bake—and to face the spinning thoughts in my head.
Jordan and Preston.
Jordan, with his blue-gray eyes that crinkled in the corners when he laughed, the way his hand engulfed mine when he held it, making me feel safe and treasured.
And, oh, Preston’s smile, his teeth so white and straight against his brown skin. The way he looked at me like he was committing every feature of my face to memory. The way he noticed so many little details about me and anything I said to him.
They’d both lasted longer than anyone else: Jordan and I dated for almost six weeks. And Preston made it two months.
But they both frightened off eventually.
Not because of me hounding them. Talia is wrong.
I talked about my transplant and future health risks in greater depth with each of them because lighthearted dates started to turn serious.
The more I admitted about my fears of the future, the less enamored either of them was with me.
But what was I supposed to do, keep my fears to myself?
Pretend the uncertainty of my future didn’t exist?
I’ve buried all that old pain, taught myself to ignore it, to find joy and satisfaction in the bakery, in Sunday family dinners with Farmor, my mom, and my brothers, and girls’ nights out with Lou and Talia.
Until now.
The kitchen counter is not only clean but also so thoroughly disinfected I could perform surgery on it by the time I stop scrubbing—which coincides with the amount of time it takes to battle the rising tears back down. I refuse to cry over such ancient history.
I’ve shed enough tears today.
Or maybe it isn’t the breakups that make my vision blur.
Maybe it’s Talia accusing me of sabotaging those relationships.
Maybe it’s my best friend betraying me—right after finding out about Farmor’s duplicity as well—that makes it feel like someone has my heart in their fist, crushing it a little more with every minute.
Calm down. Take a breath.
I curl my fingers over the counter, gripping the cool, hard surface.
One, two, three, four, I count silently as I inhale, then repeat it again as I hold my breath and as I exhale. Slowly, the tightness in my chest and the urge to cry fade away and are replaced by the comforting smell of baking bread . . . and only a lingering shadow of sorrow.
My phone begins to vibrate, but when I glance at it, I see Talia’s name and push End on her call, as I have five times previously today.
“Wow, it smells amazing in here!”
I didn’t hear the door open, so Hunter’s deep voice -startles me.
“Liv made bread!” Lou’s exclamation comes on the heels of his, and then they burst into the kitchen, both looking like the epitome of corporate America in their fancy shoes, skirt and slacks, and mirrored exhausted expressions.
Neither of them came in to Konditori today, a rare occurrence, and usually a sign that something bad went down at the loan office.
“Bless all the things because I need bread today. An entire loaf to myself. Please tell me I get to eat it and you’re not taking it all to the hospital or something.
” There is a chunk of hair sticking out of Lou’s otherwise slicked-back ponytail that I can’t stop staring at.
It’s like a mini, misplaced Mohawk. She must have stuck a pen in her hair and accidentally yanked some of it out of its place and never noticed.
“What happened to you guys today?” I ask, my gaze moving on to Hunter and noticing he also has I’ve shoved things, including my hands, into my hair way too many times today hair.
“What happened to you?” Lou shoots back.
“You baked bread.” She says this with arched brows and a tone that says, “Which means you are on the verge of a breakdown.” Which, yes, she knows me well enough to know that fresh-baked-bread days mean I’m not doing great, but still .
. . “Also, Talia has texted and called me like four thousand times, but once I confirmed that you weren’t back in the hospital and that your farmor is still okay, I told her I couldn’t talk to her because we were too busy. Clearly, something is up though.”
“You would have known I wasn’t in the hospital if you’d come into the bakery like usual.”
“Aw, did you miss me?” Hunter grabs an apple from the fruit bowl and takes a large, loud bite.
Lou’s eyes widen.
“I didn’t say anything about missing anyone.
” I’m blushing but hope Lou doesn’t notice.
“I live by both of you. You have to not see someone to miss them. I was merely commenting on the fact that no one from the office came to get their daily treats today. So . . . what terrible thing happened this time?”
“Not terrible,” Hunter says and then takes another loud bite of his, apparently, very crisp apple. “Really good, actually. But an all-hands-on deck kind of situation.”
“I’m glad it wasn’t something bad.” I smile at them, but even I can tell it’s strained, my lips pulling back from my teeth but holding very little actual joy.
“Okay, Liv, spill it. What’s going on? Is Farmor okay?” Lou slips her heels off and plunks herself down on one of the stools we keep by the kitchen island for when we’re too tired or too lazy to go eat at the actual dining table.
“No change with her. It’s nothing. I felt like baking bread. It doesn’t always mean something’s wrong, you know.”
Lou scoffs. “Yes, actually, it does. At least the entire three years I’ve known you. Which I think gives me a pretty good frame of reference. Not as long as Talia, of course, but I bet if I asked her she’d confirm—”
“No!” I exclaim, slapping her phone out of her hand.
Lou’s jaw drops. “What the heck, Liv! You better not have broken my screen—”
“Whoa, bringing out the big swears, cuz,” Hunter needles her.
Lou glares at him. “Well, that’s where Liv is going to go if she broke my one-month-old, grossly overpriced phone!”
“It’s fine.” I huff, grabbing it and flipping it over, hiding a sigh of relief when it actually proves to be intact, not a crack to be seen.
“Good thing.” Lou crosses her arms over her chest.
The timer on the oven beeps, and I gratefully turn away to pull on an oven mitt.
“So, I take it something happened with Talia?” Hunter asks mildly.
I open the oven and pull the first loaf out. Golden perfection.
“Liv . . . did something happen with Talia?” When Lou repeats the question, I have no choice but to respond.
“Nothing happened with Talia,” I say as I take out the second pan.
“Except for my oldest friend telling me she thinks I am too negative, focus only on worst-case scenarios, have purposely scared off every guy I’ve ever dated, and has apparently felt this way for years,” I add, slamming the third and final pan down onto the cooling rack with—perhaps—slightly unnecessary force.
When I turn around to face them, both Lou and Hunter are staring at me. Lou is startled; Hunter looks alarmed.
“Granted, I’ve only known you for a few weeks,” Hunter speaks first. “But I’m not sure those are fair accusations.”
“Thank you!” I exclaim, throwing my hands up in the air. “At least one person doesn’t think I’m some sort of walking, talking, self-destruct button.”
But my victory is short-lived because Lou doesn’t agree with him. She doesn’t say anything at all. When I pin her with a questioning look, she glances away.
“Lou?” I say.
She inspects her perfectly manicured fingernails.
“Louise.”
She flinches.
“Do you . . . agree with Talia?” I feel like all the air in my lungs is being sucked out. My stomach acid returns with a vengeance.
“Look, Liv . . .” She finally meets my gaze.
“I don’t agree with how you put it. But Tal and I have talked about it a few times.
You do have a hard time believing you’re going to be okay long-term—which I get!
It must be so scary. I can’t even imagine how hard it would be to not know if you’ll be able to have a family or see them grow up and have kids of their own.
And I can see why that would make it hard to let yourself get too far into a relationship.
But yeah . . . you’ve kind of, sort of pushed away any guy who has ever gotten too close to you. ”
I swallow hard, my teeth clenched.
“Please, don’t hate us, Liv! You know we both love you. And we just want what’s best for you. And maybe we’re both seeing it wrong and—”
“Do you like bread, Hunter?” I spin to him, turning my back on Lou.
His eyes are wide and apprehensive. “Uh, yeah, I like bread.”
“Great. You can have both of those loaves, but only if you don’t share with Louise—I’d hate for her to choke on my emotional baggage. The other one’s mine. I’ll be in the shower, wondering how I managed to turn ‘Hey, I might die young’ into the ultimate dating red flag.”
“Liv, no, that’s not—”
I hold up my hand, and Lou falls silent.
Then I rush out of the kitchen and up the stairs and lock the door behind me in the bathroom.
Only when I’m in the shower do the tears break free, sluicing down my face.
The running water washes the evidence of my grief and betrayal away as quickly as it can fall.