Chapter 2
Chapter Two
M y alarm cut through my dream, bringing me to a groggy wakefulness as the sun peeked through my blinds in thin strips. I got out of bed and forced myself not to check my computer until at least after I showered. The class had closed weeks ago. I still had access to the chat portal, but Potatobake888 and I didn’t talk as often as we had while the class was running. I still knew so little about PotatoBake888, and I tried very hard not to get my hopes up or acknowledge just how much I missed him.
I climbed out of bed, opening my blinds and sliding my window up to let the warm, salty air wash through the room. No matter how long I lived at the beach (my whole life), I never got sick of it. Working nights at the restaurant often felt like living in a cave, so I made a point of waking up early. Well, early by restaurant standards. The Lobster Tail didn’t open until eleven, so the early shift started prepping around ten-thirty. Then the staff switched over at four for the dinner shift. I wasn’t a fan of either schedule. Despite my parents' best efforts, I had always been a morning person. I don’t think that was the only reason I wanted to open a bakery, but it was certainly a perk.
I threw on a pair of leggings and the Leather Face t-shirt I’d bought on a nearby boardwalk to impress my online guy friend who would never actually see me in it—pathetic—before tying my sneakers.
A while back, I had read the first chapter of a self-help book that I had forgotten almost entirely except for the suggestion to keep your sneakers near your bed to encourage an exercise routine. So that’s what I did, although I didn’t need the encouragement. My morning walk was my favorite part of the day.
I stopped in my kitchenette to start the coffee percolating. Like everything else, I bought it second-hand and it took ten minutes to wake up. Mouse curled his little grey body around my ankles, patiently reminding me that his bowl was empty. I shook out the dry food and scooped half a packet of wet food into his bowl. If I gave him a full packet, there would be dried barf waiting for me after work.
With a deep breath and butterflies in my stomach, I woke my laptop and stood beside the desk to remain noncommittal. Multiple message notifications from Potatoake888 popped up in the corner of the screen. I couldn’t help the grin that spread on my face.
Potatobake888: If you ever want to sleep again, don’t watch Hereditary!!
Potatobake888: I guess I’ll watch Runaway Bride now. 90s Romcoms are the best, and I will not take any feedback on that.
Potatobake888: Where are you? I need someone to bore me back to sleep.
Potatobake888: Just kidding … but I have something to tell you.
As a millennial, he had an unhinged dependence on ellipses, but I forgave him because at least through text, he was still the most interesting and interested guy I had ever met.
“No real feelings,” I reminded myself before I leaned over and typed out a message.
TheBakingChick: I should probably never talk to you again thanks to that “bore to sleep” comment. I don’t watch romcoms, 90s or otherwise. But what did you want to tell me?
I stood over my computer for several minutes, waiting. With a sigh, I turned away, pulled by coffee smells and the impending workday.
My kitchen wasn’t more than a bank of counters, a stove with a microwave above it, and a fridge, but when the sun hit the 1950s-style yellow cabinets just right, I absolutely loved it. I had decorated it with all the vintage strawberry artwork I came across at flea markets and antique stores .
When I’d stirred enough cream and sugar into my coffee to disguise the signature burnt taste from my ancient percolator, I peeked at my computer one more time before heading for the door.
My heart fell despite my best effort not to care that he hadn’t responded. I would spend the rest of the day wondering what idea he wanted to share. I didn’t know nearly enough about him despite messaging for months. A sobering thought that came to mind every time my heart threatened to get too attached, although it was probably too late for that already. Potatobake888 occupied far too many of my thoughts, despite his ridiculous screen name.
Outside, the air threatened a muggy day. My apartment was as close to the beach as I could afford, which meant a several-block walk before I hit the wooden path that ran next to the sand. It wasn’t one of those highly populated boardwalks with rides and games. It aimed to be classier and more understated for the affluent families that tended visited Cape Shore, but it was still dotted by the kinds of shops you would expect.
I passed the line that snaked out of Uncle Joe’s Pancake House, the perpetual flashing lights of the arcade that didn’t open until the afternoon, the obligatory fudge shop, Beach Bums that sold overpriced sunscreen, rash guards, buckets and boogie boards that the vacationers inevitably forgot. After an empty stretch where I could see the crashing waves and get my daily dose of salty air and seagulls cries, I stopped in front of my bakery.