Chapter 29 #2
After I finish the semlor buns, I move on to the pepparkakor and then the kanelbullar while my mom leaves for an hour to go check on Farmor, promising to return before opening time.
I pause only briefly around eight to eat a piece of toast and some yogurt—about all I can manage to force down; my stomach still feels on the verge of rebelling at any moment.
Before I know it, Mom walks back into the kitchen.
“Looks like you’ve been busy!” she says.
I shrug. “How’s Farmor?”
Mom’s eyes are brighter than I’ve seen in a long time. “She’s responding to stimulus consistently now! She squeezed my hand twice, and when the doctor pricked her toe, she moved her foot!”
I hardly dare let myself hope. “What did the doctors say?”
“The next stage is for her to actually wake up and that it could happen anytime. But they told me we should be prepared for her to be confused or angry or have memory issues.”
I swallow a lump of fear. “What if she wakes up, but she’s not okay? What if she’s paralyzed—or not herself? What if she can’t talk at all?”
“Then we’ll cross that bridge if we have to. But for now, let’s focus on the good news and hope for the best. You should go see her after we’re done here today. Maybe hearing your voice will help her wake up. She’s always had a special spot for you in her heart.”
I clench my jaw, thinking of the journal and wondering if I should tell my mom about finding it—and the secrets it holds.
But before I can, she says, “Is that the time? We need to go unlock the door!”
My breath lodges in my throat as if I swallowed a piece of toast without chewing, and it’s blocked my airway. I didn’t think through this part of coming to work.
My mom must realize I’m panicking because she goes to the sink and washes her hands. “How about I run the front for now, and you can finish these up?”
I nod, thankful. The lump in my throat slowly dislodges, air moving through my lungs once more.
I know there’s little to no chance that Hunter will show up here this morning on a treat run for the title company, but I don’t want to risk it.
I have no idea what I’ll say or do when—if—I ever see him again.
For all I know, he’s packing his belongings and leaving Arizona to escape me as soon as possible.
I wouldn’t blame him. In fact, it would probably be best for both of us if he did.
But there’s still the very small chance he could show up.
So I stay in the kitchen to bake and bake and bake until there is no danger of us running out of anything today.
The shelves and fridge and counters are quite literally overrun with Swedish treats.
My mom comes back a few times to check on me but doesn’t comment on the surplus of baked goods.
She merely boxes as many as she can between customers and carries them out front.
Finally, around one, she tells me I have to stop. “I know it’s helping you, but there’s no possible way we can sell all this today. And you need to eat. In fact, Lou said she’d come over on her lunch break and take you with her somewhere.”
I plop onto the only chair in the kitchen, trying not to think about Hunter gripping the back of this very chair, trying to “go slow” with me only a few days before, and exhale, letting my head tip back to rest against the edge of the stainless-steel counter behind me.
“Can you tell her I’m not up for it?”
“No,” Mom says.
My eyes widen, and I sit up straight to meet her stern gaze.
“Lou is worried about you. Talia is worried about you. They both love you and have been here for you no matter what. You are not shutting them out. And I got Rebecca to come in and help me this afternoon. You will take off that apron, wash the dough off your hands, and go to lunch with your friends.”
I gape at her, but she has her do-not-mess-with-me eyes on.
“Apparently, you’ve skipped right past sweet and supportive and gone straight to tough love,” I grumble as I make myself do as she basically commanded.
My hands tremble as I try to untie my apron.
It makes no sense for me to be nervous to go to lunch with my two best friends.
Other than the fact that they will want to ask if I’m okay, and I’ll want to ask if Hunter has said anything, and I don’t know how I’ll eat with the constant anxiety still swirling my stomach into a vortex of acid.
“I will always be sweet and supportive when you need me to be—but I will also push you out of the nest when you need help remembering that you know how to fly.”
Our eyes meet across the kitchen. My lips twist to one side. “Okay,” I say quietly.
“Okay.” Her smile is gentle once more.
We sit in a corner booth at Panera, which I picked because it’s close and has soup, which I’m afraid might be all I can manage to force down. But I have to work to keep from remembering the Panera picnic Hunter took me on last week.
Talia and Lou have kept up the majority of the conversation to this point, talking about work and Austin’s Instagram post of his most recent one-night fling (I knew he wouldn’t think about me for long) and Lou’s next date with Chris.
Until Lou suddenly cries, “Oh crap!” startling me so badly I spill my spoonful of tomato basil soup. “You don’t want to hear about dates right now. I’m sorry. I’m so dumb sometimes.”
“It’s fine,” I say as I grab a napkin to wipe the soup off my fingers. “You can talk about Chris as much as you want. In fact, I want to hear about him. I’m glad that whole crazy night didn’t scare him off.”
“Are you sure?” Lou shoots Talia a worried glance, and I roll my eyes.
“Yes, I’m sure. I haven’t suddenly lost interest in your lives or something. I just don’t want to talk about mine.”
“That’s fair. But you probably would want to know that Hunter finally asked about you this morning.” Talia elbows Lou, and Lou hisses, “What?” but I barely notice, because my heart has hurtled into my throat.
I practically choke trying to swallow my spoonful of soup. “He . . . he did?”
After Lou shoots Talia a glare, she confirms, “Yeah, he did. He wanted to know if you were okay.”
I stare at her. “And? What did you tell him?”
“I told him of course you’re not okay! That it’s not your fault you got his sister’s heart and that he’s an idiot for reacting like this.”
I groan and drop my head into my hands.
“What? He asked how you were, and I was honest. He is being an idiot.”
“Don’t you think you’d be a little upset if you found out that . . . well, you know?” Talia says. “He’s going through a lot right now.”
“Whose side are you even on?” Lou demands.
I clutch the sides of my head, digging my fingers into my scalp.
“I’m not on anyone’s side. There shouldn’t be sides. They’re both good people who are hurting deeply. We can’t judge either of them for how they’re handling it.”
“I want to go home now.” I have a sudden headache pounding at my skull. I can’t force it away, no matter how hard I squeeze my head.
“Liv, are you okay? I’m sorry if I was wrong to say that to him. I’ll fix it, I promise.” Lou starts rubbing small circles on my upper back.
“It’s okay. You were trying to help. It’s fine.
I . . . I have a headache. I need to go lie down.
” I don’t mention that I feel like I might hurl up the half a cup of soup I managed to eat, especially if I let myself picture the shock and pain that must have flashed across Hunter’s face when Lou said that to him this morning.
It’s further proof that as much as it hurts to even consider, I need to end this—for good.
So I no longer have any power to hurt him.
“I can run you home. It’s on my way back to work,” Talia offers.
We clean up our garbage, Lou gets a lid for me to take home the rest of my cup of soup, and we head out the door, into the blustery day.
The unfulfilled threat of rain hovers; there is a heaviness to the air—a pregnant pause, the intake of breath before the exhale—that says the storm is coming any minute now.
“I really am sorry if I was out of line with Hunter.” Lou turns to me before we separate.
“I guess I’m mad that this happened—that such a good thing got ruined.
I haven’t seen him happy and teasing and himself like that since .
. . well, since before the accident. And I hate that it’s gone now—that the real Hunter is gone again.
And I really hate that you got hurt too.
” Lou grabs my free hand and squeezes it. “Can you forgive me?”
I pull her into a hug. “There’s nothing to forgive! You were defending me. I’m grateful to have such a fierce friend.”
She hugs me back until a gust of wind threatens to blow us off the sidewalk. “Okay. Well, I’ll still tell him sorry. And . . . can we do this again? I miss seeing you. You need to move back.”
“I miss seeing you too,” I admit. “But I can’t come back. Not until . . .” There’s no easy way to finish that sentence, so I don’t.
Lou nods, a shadow of sadness darkening her expression. “Yeah.”
“Let’s plan on getting lunch more often. Whenever we can both get away from our jobs, okay?”
“Promise?”
I make an X over my heart. “Cross my heart.”
“Don’t ever finish that sentence.” But Lou smiles.
The first few raindrops finally fall, splatting against the cement and landing on my nose and cheeks.
“It’s raining!” Talia announces—unnecessarily—but her excitement is understandable. Rain in Arizona is a big deal.
“I’ll call you tonight,” I say with a wave to Lou.
The sky suddenly unleashes, a deluge of water dumping over all three of us.
Lou rushes to her car with a squeal, while Talia and I jog across the lot to where she parked. We’re both half soaked by the time we sit down and slam the doors shut.
“This makes me extra glad I took the time to curl my hair this morning,” Talia comments, and we both burst out laughing.
She puts the car in reverse and heads toward Farmor’s house, her windshield wipers working furiously to clear the buckets of water off her windshield.