Chapter 28. Hashtagging the Shit Out of Everything
CHAPTER 28
Hashtagging the Shit Out of Everything
After packing up my stuff, I called Kim and asked if I could stay with her and Jenna until I found a place on my own, and she immediately came over to help me move my things to their apartment.
We had a movie and bubble tea session that night, where we ignored the movie and drank every last drop of our tea. They listened to my story, then very supportively trashed Alec and called him all sorts of names for accepting the bribe money and breaking my heart. It didn’t make things easier, but having the two of them to chat with helped take my mind off him things.
The first few days after the confrontation with Alec were the worst, because almost everything I did and saw reminded me of him. My green plaid pajamas. The takeouts I’d bring back to Kim and Jenna’s place from Java Spice. The matcha and dark chocolate chip cookies that became one of the bakery’s staple items. Even removing and changing the site for my pump. The hardest of all was being in the bakery, which was supposed to be my safe haven, because he’d played a huge part in the place coming together.
As for my parents, well, I’d sent my father a long email to explain and apologize, which went unanswered. As expected, my mother called and left voicemails, sent emails and text messages, her tone starting at rage and quickly escalating into frightening hostility. Knowing that her threat of cutting me out of the will wasn’t working, she’d resorted to the oldest tactic in her book: guilt trip and manipulation. Her latest were increasingly aggressive messages of how she didn’t deserve to be treated this way by her daughter.
The more I read her messages, the more I doubted my decision. What if she was right, that I was throwing away a relationship with my own parents? Maybe I should have given them—her—another chance to work things out. After all, familial bonds were supposed to be the most important ones in our lives, right? Wasn’t that what the old Indonesian saying was all about? Always honor your elders?
But then my phone would light up with her latest angry text, and it would bring me crashing back to the realization that she would never change. Trying to resolve my issues with her would be futile, and no matter how hard I tried, or how much I wished for it, she would never be the mother that I needed. I was overcome with grief when reality finally set in: that I should stop hoping for the day when we might have an actual relationship. I had to accept that I needed to find ways to make peace with the past on my own.
So the next thing I did was to delete her messages, change my phone number, and remove theirs from my contact list, despite Eric and Naomi pleading with me not to. It felt strangely liberating, although I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t completely heartbroken about it.
But I knew that this was for the best.
And after what had happened, I knew I could handle whatever came my way.
It had been eleven long days since I’d confronted Alec and sent my mother away. Today was the bakery’s grand opening day, and I’d been a nervous wreck since I’d woken up. I’d arrived at three to start baking, a flurry of things-to-do on the checklist racing through my mind. Were the glass displays clean and shiny enough? Did I order enough napkins and pastry boxes? Where did I keep the display labels and pricing? Had I made enough cupcakes and donuts and brookies for the first day?
But as I slowly folded and kneaded the dough for some cinnamon rolls, feeling it grow smooth and springy under my palms, I began to calm down. I was prepared, and I’d completed everything on my list, so I shouldn’t have anything to worry about. I’d also been promoting our opening special on social media—free cupcake giveaways for the first hundred customers, banking on the hope that it would help usher in some much-needed cash for the business.
Thankfully, it looked like my instincts were right. Ever since we opened the door this morning, business had been a constant stream. Most customers only walked in to have a look because they were curious. But we’d prepared trays full of samples, and a lot of people were surprised that our desserts were low in carbs and sugar-free, because they still had the same delicious flavors and textures. Once they had a taste, the majority converted into a sale. It was a great morning that turned even better by lunchtime.
“Hey, Ellie.” Kim walked through the door, followed by a grinning Jenna. “Guess who we found at the airport.”
My jaw dropped open as Naomi and Eric burst in, beaming.
“Surprise!” Naomi wrapped me in a tight hug. “Congratulations, Ellie! The place looks awesome . We’re so proud of you.”
“Good job, sis.” Eric gave me a hug as well. “You’ve done very well.”
I still hadn’t recovered from the shock of seeing them here. “When… how did…?”
“I got in touch with Kim,” Naomi explained with a grin. “Told her we were coming today and not to let you know. She insisted on picking us up at the airport and bringing us here.”
I turned an astonished look at Eric. “And you took time off? To be here? Are you even allowed to do that?”
He chuckled. “If you’re asking about the parents, they don’t know we’re here. I’m traveling for work, and no questions were asked. Don’t worry. I can handle them, okay?”
Happiness—and gratefulness—swept over me. I didn’t know what was going to happen with the bakery; it could go well, or things could be so bad I’d have to give up everything in a matter of weeks. But no matter how challenging things might be, knowing they had my back was more than enough.
“Thanks so much for coming all the way here. It means a lot. And Kim, thank you for picking them up. You guys are the best.”
“I’ll take a dozen of those dark chocolate chip cookies as payment. I gotta go, but let’s catch up for dinner later.” Kim gave me a hug. “Congratulations. You did it.”
Jenna did the same. “I’m so happy for you. Go kick some ass.”
“Okay.” Naomi rubbed her hands and looked around. “How can we help?”
I assigned her to the front of the bakery to hand out samples to passersby. She gave me a salute, put on our mint-green apron, and grabbed a tray of low-carb maple pecan mini tarts.
“You.” I turned to consider Eric. “What are your café-related skills?”
“I’m an excellent barista. I make a very good cortado.”
“I don’t even know what that is, but you’re hired.” I pointed at Ruby, who had been on her feet since we opened this morning. “You can take over so she can have her break. And this is only our first day, so please don’t screw up any coffee orders.”
“I’ll do my best. And hey, Ellie?”
I looked up at him.
“I know I don’t say this often, but I’m very, very proud of you. You’ve worked so hard for this, and you deserve all the success coming your way. And even though the parents aren’t happy you’ve abandoned the family business, I’m always here for you, okay?” He gave me a sad smile. “I’m sorry. I hope they’ll come around one day.”
He gave me a hug, then slipped behind the service area and strolled toward the coffee machine. My heart expanded a thousandfold, reassuring me that I was doing the right thing here, and everything would turn out just fine.
By the end of the first day, we’d sold half our stocks, which wasn’t bad. It wasn’t ideal, though, because it wouldn’t be enough to pay for the raw materials and Ruby’s wages. But it was still a pretty good start, and I would gladly take that any day over a quiet, deserted bakery.
But then it only got worse.
Eric and Naomi had left the next day for Eric’s work conference, but we made promises to visit more often. It was a good thing they hadn’t stuck around, because after their declarations of being proud of me the day before, I didn’t think I could bear them being here to witness the slow and embarrassing death of my brand-new business.
The following week was quieter than a library in the middle of the night, and the initial flurry of interest seemed to have dwindled to nonexistent, despite the push I’d done on social media. Jenna had stopped by on her lunch break on Friday and ordered a dozen of the matcha cronuts to bring back to her office, and Kim had bought some maple pecan mini tarts for a knitting class in her store. There were a few more walk-in customers during the day, but apart from that, the bakery was practically dead.
The weekend was coming, though, so I had high hopes—the Plaza was always busy on the weekends, and I had ramped up our promotions, because if we could get just a fraction of their visitors spilling over to the bakery, then I’d be happy with that.
But of course, no such thing happened. Not even the 20 percent discount advertised on social media had made a difference.
I was screwed six ways to Sunday.
By the time Sunday afternoon rolled around, I had almost lost all hope.
We only had two walk-in customers during the day, and I was so dejected, a million different doom-and-gloom scenarios played on repeat in my mind: I’d have to declare bankruptcy and lose the business, the CR-V, and every single possession I had. Probably even my trusty sleeping bag. Then, because I had no money left over, I wouldn’t be able to afford my next meal, let alone my diabetes supplies. And since I couldn’t live in the same city as Alec, I’d have to move to another state. But because I didn’t have a car, or money for a plane or train ticket, I’d have to hitchhike my way across the country—and run the risk of spoiling whatever small amount of insulin supplies I had—while praying and crossing my fingers I wouldn’t run into a serial killer who’d kill me and chop up my body before dumping it in a remote area for the coyotes and vultures to feast on. Although I probably would, and when Alec and my family heard about my tragic demise on the news, they’d be filled with grief and remorse, wishing they had treated me with more respect when I was still around.
Pushing the blockbuster horror movie out of my mind, I went to the kitchen to try out a recipe for low-carb strawberry lemon cupcakes, hoping it would help me relax. But fifteen minutes and two messed-up batters later, it was clearly not working.
Great, now I didn’t even have baking as my safe space anymore, because of course the moment I had made it my livelihood, it had all spectacularly come crashing down on me. I knew and had factored this into my business plan, that most new businesses take time to make money and be profitable. But now that I was running one myself, it was much harder than I’d expected.
And after everything that had happened, I couldn’t help but think that this had been nothing but an expensive, colossal mistake.
Groaning, I decided to tell Ruby to go home early while I figured out my next move. Just as I was about to flip the CLOSED sign around, a young woman strolled in, followed by two other women. All of them were staring intently at their phones. I recognized the first one, who had been here on Thursday. She had been enthusiastically taking pictures and videos of the food, telling me that she was making a reel for her social media accounts.
Yes. I did a mental fist pump, grateful for the repeat customer.
I gave them my friendliest, most enthusiastic smile. “Welcome to Twisted Sweets. How can I help you?”
The first woman beamed back. “Hi. We’ll take half a dozen of your low-carb strawberry and cream donuts, three of the peanut butter cupcakes, and three of the matcha cronuts.”
She turned to her two friends as I started boxing her order. “Trust me, they’re so good, and guilt-free. You’re going to love them.”
One of her friends finally looked up from her phone, catching my eye. She stared at me for a few beats, then her face brightened. “Hey. I know who you are.”
My stomach sank, as she looked down at her phone, her fingers frantically scrolling.
I knew what was coming.
“I was right.” She looked back up at me, a satisfied grin on her face. “You’re the girl from that viral video over New Year’s. The one who rejected George Fitzgerald’s proposal.”
That caught the attention of her two friends, who immediately snapped their heads toward me, their eyes wide with astonishment.
“No way! Seriously?” The third woman shook her head, her mouth hanging open. “Who in their right mind would reject him ? You actually said no to this country’s most famous, hottest, and richest bachelor?”
“She did.” The second woman shoved her phone at the friend, undoubtedly showing her the clip. “See? Same eyes, different hairdo. But that’s her.”
“Girl, you must be out of your mind.”
I gave a weary sigh. “Probably.”
“Probably? No, definitely. Without a doubt. I’m going to tell my cousin about this. She’s obsessed with George Fitzgerald. She’s never going to believe it.”
I knew for a fact that her cousin wasn’t alone in her undying devotion, because I’d had strangers gushing to me about how lucky I was to have dated the George Fitzgerald, no matter how brief it had been.
An idea suddenly bloomed in my head. What if I could use that to my benefit?
“My cousin wanted to know what he smells like. Do you remember?”
I didn’t, but I said the first thing that came to my mind. “Musk, sandalwood, and leather.” Ignoring their giggles, I finished their order, then rang up their total. “That’ll be fifty-one dollars, thanks. Cash or card?”
“Card.” The first woman whipped out her purse. “Thanks, um,” she peered at my name tag, “Ellie? Thanks, Ellie.”
“Thank you. Enjoy the goodies.” I processed her card and printed her receipt. And the minute they walked out the door, I went to work on my newest idea.
I’d created a TikTok account for Twisted Sweets weeks ago, but the two videos I’d already posted were probably best described as pitiful and uninspiring.
Or, as Kim had bluntly called it, “fucking pathetic.”
One was a brief look at the front of the bakery, with my voice-over welcoming people to Twisted Sweets. The other one was a ten-second shot of our display case at the bakery, proudly showing off the many different cookies, donuts, cupcakes, and brownies. Combined, the two videos had garnered an extremely laughable fifty views.
Clearly, I still had a lot to learn.
So that night, I spent more time watching and studying TikTok and YouTube videos than I cared to admit. But it was for a worthy cause, because after too many weeks of cringing and covering my face whenever random people on the street recognized me from George’s viral proposal, I was going to finally capitalize on my unwanted fame.
Enlisting Kim and Jenna’s help, the next day we took several videos of me working in the kitchen; of me giving a tour of the bakery; of me serving customers (Jenna and Ruby each pretending to be one) and boxing up their orders; and finally of me behind the coffee machine, (also pretending) to make a latte. Kim brought her DSLR camera and took professional snaps of the baked goods, and the results were so much better than what I could have taken with my phone.
“I think we’ve got enough.” Kim lowered her camera and scrolled through the pictures. “I’ll send these and the videos to you.”
“Thanks. Let’s hope this works.”
I uploaded everything during lunch—Kim’s gorgeous shots on all our social media accounts, and fun and catchy edits on both TikTok and YouTube, including a short snippet of George’s proposal video. I’d also scheduled several posts in advance, hoping the consistency would help me collect more views and followers, and hashtagged the shit out of everything.
My grand idea was to show the face behind the bakery, humorously exploiting the fact that I was that girl who had rejected the famous George Fitzgerald. I was banking on the hope that the now twelve million people who had watched the viral video and the ones who were obsessed with George would see what I’d uploaded, and hopefully spread word about the bakery. I texted George the previous night asking for his permission to include his failed proposal, because I knew it might bring back humiliating memories for him. He was surprisingly cool about it, even wishing me nothing but the best for the bakery.
I didn’t glance at my phone again until it was time to close, because I was too scared that my bright idea would turn out to be another disappointing flop.
Thankfully, it didn’t.
Later that night, I had so many notifications on my phone alerting me about new followers and messages on the bakery’s social media accounts. In a few short hours, my posts had gained over thirty thousand likes, and almost fifty thousand views. Sure, there were plenty of nasty comments on the videos, mostly from people who laughed at me because, apparently, I’d fallen so far from being George Fitzgerald’s almost-wife, to working my ass off frosting cupcakes at a small bakery.
But for every one mean remark, there were four thoughtful comments to make up for it. People from all over the country offered their best wishes to me, warming my heart with their encouraging words. Some people congratulated me on the “next chapter of my life,” and strangers I didn’t even know cheered me on for being brave enough to follow my heart and turn down a very public and elaborate proposal. And thanks to the posts, the bakery had racked up forty thousand new followers in less than a day.
Forty. Fucking. Thousand.
And the good thing about the power of social media?
It was that the effect didn’t just stop online.
When I arrived at the bakery bright and early the next morning, the sight that greeted me made my jaw drop.
It was still dark, but there was already a queue a mile long outside, snaking past Kim’s yarn store, around the corner, and beyond, even though we weren’t open yet. In fact, we weren’t supposed to open for another three hours. When I cautiously squeezed through the crowd to get to the front door, some people at the front of the queue called out and greeted me with my first name, as if we were next-door neighbors and had been BFFs since we were in our mothers’ wombs. I could even hear someone exclaiming, “It really is her!”
We were slammed from the minute I flipped over the OPEN sign, and Ruby and I were on our feet the entire day. One of the videos I had posted yesterday—the one with the snippet of George’s proposal—had gone viral overnight, although still not as impressive as the original proposal video. It was quoted and reposted on all the major social media platforms, even on some I hadn’t even heard of before. Word had well and truly spread that the woman who hadn’t been smart enough to accept George Fitzgerald’s proposal was now holed up in Port Benedict, slaving over hot ovens to eke out a living.
My plan had actually worked.
Some people who came in to the store weren’t even there to buy anything, but because they wanted to see me, as if I were a well-known celebrity chef with multiple Michelin stars. Some asked for a selfie, and almost every single customer had a similar set of questions: (1) Was it really me? (2) Why did I reject the proposal? (3) Was I out of my ever-loving mind? And finally, the overwhelmingly most popular questions coming from young women, (4) Is George still single, and (5) If yes, can I introduce them to him?
The queues and the steady stream of customers kept coming and going throughout the day. The last customer walked out at eight, two hours after our normal closing time. I held my breath as I tallied the day’s taking, before letting out a loud whoop and breaking into a crazed happy dance, because we had achieved our budgeted revenue for the entire month.
In just one day.
Hopefully, this was a sign that things were finally looking up.