Chapter 24 #2
I remember his woodworking stage, his photography stage, his Italian stage, and, during one particularly strong remission period, his rock-climbing stage.
He was constantly picking up new hobbies, like he knew his time was limited and had to squeeze in as many experiences as possible.
I can’t help but compare our lives, how much more living he did.
“It was while I was pregnant with you,” Mom says. “I spent so much money on these cupcakes I was craving, so he decided to take it up. Within a few weeks, those cupcakes had nothing on his.”
I love the idea of having a connection to Dad outside the business. “Why’d he stop?”
She laughs, loud and unencumbered, and it fades to an indulgent smile. “You know Dad. As soon as he mastered something, the hobby wasn’t interesting to him anymore. I think his guitar phase was after that. He was always determined to do things well. You remind me of him.”
There’s a stinging behind my eyes I can’t get rid of, no matter how many times I blink. “I’ve always thought Harrison’s more like him than me. So carefree and enthusiastic.”
She smiles down at the buttercream. “I guess you were both lucky to get parts of him.”
Talking about Dad like this is nice. Her sharing stories without it being about my duty to his memory.
I think this is what Dad would want, us celebrating who he was while he was alive instead of stressing about doing right by him in death.
And the more I think about the way he lived, the more I think he’d encourage me to explore what I love.
Something warm and vibrant expands inside me at the thought as I crumb-coat the cake tier.
“Baking again has been great.”
She pats my cheek. “I’m sorry you haven’t had time for your hobby. You’ve been working so hard, and it shows. Dad would be proud of what you’ve accomplished.”
I focus on the cake to avoid looking at her. “I was thinking about starting a baking side business. Just something small out of my house for custom orders. Nothing that would take away from Hayes, but it’d be a fun way to make some extra money.”
“I’ve seen the Hayes financial reports. You don’t need to make extra money. Why don’t you just spend your free time enjoying it.”
My instinct is to back off, to take that little dismissal of my plans and dreams as a statement that I shouldn’t pursue them at all. But Thea’s thoughtful eyes flash through my mind. “This would be something I’d enjoy. I think it would be rewarding to hear people think it’s good enough to pay for.”
“And what about all your other responsibilities? You haven’t had time to bake for fun. How are you supposed to find time to bake for others?”
“I don’t know, but I’d like to explore it.”
She huffs. “And how exactly would you do that?”
I’ve been thinking the same thing. If Harrison’s serious, I could start training him. Make sure he knows the business inside out so I could have a true partner. Or, who knows, maybe let him take over Hayes completely one day.
“Harrison brought up wanting more—”
“Harrison’s still a child,” she cuts in.
Her words grate on my nerves, reminding me of what he said about Mom dismissing him. “Harrison’s not a child. He’s a grown man starting a family, and he’s older than I was when I took over as president.”
She waves the comment off. “You’re considering rearranging your life for something you don’t even know if you can do. We have a plan. Just follow it.”
“Aunt Dawn thought I was good enough for the wedding.”
“Aunt Dawn was desperate.”
The words land like a blow to the stomach. Not her saying I couldn’t do it—I’ve seen her react to enough things I’ve baked to know she thinks they’re incredible—but her trying to manipulate me into giving up what I want in favor of her plan.
I grind my teeth together. “Camila and Thea think I could do it.”
“I wouldn’t give much credence to anything they say. This is just the latest in a long line of your grandmother’s efforts to tempt you up here. She’s so conniving. First with getting Thea to move here, and now this.” The blood in my veins turns to ice. “It’s a new low, even for her.”
“What?” I say, but the word sounds far away with my blood churning in my ears. “What do you mean, Thea moving here?”
“She’s going to work for Camila, managing the restaurant.”
She’s taking a job up here? There’s no way my mom has that right.
Thea wouldn’t take a job six hundred miles away from me and not say anything.
We haven’t officially decided anything, but after our conversation yesterday—the way we both poured out our hearts—I can’t believe she was planning on leaving me the entire time. It’s just not possible.
Right?
Heat burns beneath my skin as I think back over our conversation.
She opened up about her own fears, but she didn’t promise me anything.
Hasn’t our relationship always been me seeking her out, desperate for her attention?
We acknowledged we have feelings for each other, but that doesn’t mean she’s planning on a future with me.
I filled in the blanks with what I wanted to see while she was busy building her own future—one that doesn’t include me.
“When did this happen?” I ask. The words feel like sandpaper in my throat.
Mom hums. “I’m not sure, but you’ve seen how chummy Camila and Thea have become. When I came down to check on Thea that night at the restaurant, the two of them were chatting, so I assume then. Camila needs the help, but it’s selfish to take Thea when there are plenty of other managers out there.”
I’m going to be sick, throw up all over this cake and ruin the wedding for real.
How could I not have seen this coming? Didn’t I expect this from the start?
Every woman I’ve ever dated has gotten bored, has wanted something more exciting.
How could the most thrilling woman in the world settle for someone like me?
I got so caught up in Thea’s orbit, let myself trust in the way she looks at me and how open she’s been this week. Let myself believe I could be someone worth sticking around for, when really she was just passing time while waiting around for a better offer.
Mom continues. “I’m sure that’s what your nana’s thinking. Convince the woman you love to move up here and fill your head with enough nonsense to get you to throw away your life on a whim.”
I’m still spiraling about Thea, but I’m done letting Mom dismiss what I want.
“It’s not nonsense,” I say, harsher than I planned.
Mom jolts back. “Leaving your company, the company your father spent his last years fighting for, isn’t nonsense? Abandoning the hundreds of people whose livelihoods depend on your work isn’t nonsense? And what about your father’s memory?”
She chokes on a sob, turning away from me. I step toward her, but she lifts her hand when she hears my movement.
“I’m not saying I’m leaving,” I say, “just that I’d like to try something on the side.”
“It’s the first step,” she says through tears.
“Mom, come on.” It’s a battle to fight down my frustration.
It’s an extreme reaction to me saying I want to do something outside the business.
She’s always been so concerned with me carrying on Dad’s legacy, so controlling in leading me to the life he wanted for me, but I haven’t said I’m leaving.
I just want something for myself. Why does she feel entitled to my decisions, even the small ones?
“I can’t believe you would do this,” she says.
“I’m not trying—” I start, but Mom doesn’t let me finish.
“And during your brother’s wedding, no less.”
Her words dig under my sternum, the guilt and pressure to protect Harrison clawing at my insides. But I’ve spent my life fulfilling this role, making choices for him and for them and for everyone but me.
I’m on the ledge, and I don’t know what will happen if I jump.
I may cave and hate myself for it, or I may lose it on her and make her skip the wedding, in which case I’ll hate myself even more.
My body is screaming, Get out, get out, get out.
Words sit on the tip of my tongue, waiting for me to open my mouth and let them flow out like lava, destroying everything in its path.
I stack the cakes back in the refrigerator while Mom continues sniffling and going on about how she and Harrison wouldn’t know what to do without me and how they and the Hayes community need me.
I have to get out, to delay and distract until after the wedding, so I excuse myself, cutting the conversation off.
It’s a battle to get a breath in by the time I reach the bathroom.
I splash some water on my face, meeting my eyes in the mirror.
They’re wide and frantic. I force myself to hold my gaze, seeing the man I’ve become.
A man pushed to the limit. I can’t go back to how it was before, me sacrificing everything I want to keep the peace.
Thea gave me that, even if she’s leaving me shattered.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to make it through the next three days with Thea, pretending like I’m fine when my heart has been ground to dust under the heel of her boot.
And it’s not just this weekend. Every year when I come up to what has always been my happy place, she’s going to be here, reminding me of my stupidity for thinking I had a future with her, that she’d want me beyond a few hookups to pass the time.
At least I won’t have to fake my heartbreak for my family anymore. How’s that for a silver lining?