Chapter 24 #2
“I could talk to Kalli about continuing to sell from her shop, which has been great for me. Maybe even talk with the diner about selling things that Big Mo doesn’t make.
I’ve got some ideas, but what I want is to focus on baking, not running this much of a business. And I want to stay here in Sheet Cake.”
I wait, watching the gears turn in John’s head. “I think you should give it two months,” he says, finally. “Or, at least another few weeks.”
I lean back in my chair, which is one more thing I’d replace. Definitely not comfortable enough for this conversation.
“I thought you’d be the first one to agree that I should close. You were against this from the start and said it was too much financial risk.”
“I did say that.”
“Well, the numbers are right there in the spreadsheet—you saw them. It’s too hard and I’m too tired and you were right. There. I said it.”
I cross my arms, challenging him to disagree.
There are few things my son loves more than being proved right. But now, there is no trace of joy in his face as he leans in, elbows on the table.
“Mom—you’ve really built something here. And I don’t just mean this space, which you should really be proud of. I’m sorry I gave you such a hard time at the start of this. And your whole business. I wish I hadn’t done that.”
“It’s okay. You just wanted to protect me. I think. And to not feel like you’d end up in your late twenties, saddled with your aging mother, her failed business, and her debt.”
John winces. “When you put it like that …”
Laughing, I say, “Don’t worry. I looked it up one time, and if I die, you and Chelsea won’t get stuck with my debt. And I don’t want you to be sorry. Truly. I think if you hadn’t pushed back so hard, maybe I wouldn’t have come here at all.”
“Are you saying you started this bakery to spite me?”
I laugh. “Not spite. And only a tiny little bit was about proving a point. Maybe two percent.” He keeps on staring. “Fine—it might have been ten to fifteen percent to prove a point. Which, obviously, I didn’t prove since I’m going to shut down the bakery.”
Though I can feel how right this decision is, there’s also an undercurrent of humiliation thinking that I couldn’t make it work.
Or that I didn’t want to. Somehow, realizing that running an actual bakery is not, in fact, my dream feels almost worse than failing.
Failing has to do partly with your own actions and partly with circumstances lining up just so.
But changing my mind about what I want is only about my mistake.
“Hey,” John says, and I’m not sure his voice has ever sounded so soft.
It yanks my gaze from where I’m staring down at my closed laptop and right to the earnest expression on his face.
“You’ve got a whole life that you’ve built here, and people who support you.
Doing this has given you a purpose and a new spark.
I think picking up and moving to Sheet Cake is the best thing that has happened to you in a long time.
” He pauses and grins. “And I’m not just talking about your new boyfriend, whom I approve of, by the way. ”
“Well, that’s a relief.”
“He’s hard not to like.”
I grin. “I agree.” And then, because I can, I say, “He’s also a great kisser.”
“Mom! Gross!”
John jumps out of his seat and for a solid thirty seconds, he paces around the bakery, shaking his arms out like he’s trying to clear off cobwebs. Maybe I shouldn’t get so much enjoyment from it. But I do.
When he finally sits down, he glares at me across the table. “I was trying to have a serious conversation.”
“I am being serious.”
He just rolls his eyes this time, then says, “Anyway, whether you close the bakery or not, I’m glad you did this.
It was a good choice for you.” He pauses.
“I think you’ve been stuck in a rut for a long time.
At least since Dad died, or even since long before that.
Coming here has changed you. Or maybe it’s more that coming here has woken you up. ”
I blink, surprised to find that tears have gathered in my eyes. John isn’t the most open person, and he’s absolutely never talked to me like this.
I also think he’s absolutely right about me being in a rut and finally waking up. Though I’ll have to give it some thought, I do suspect that it happened long before David died. Maybe it even happened when David and I got married.
Not to say that my marriage was unhealthy or toxic, as everyone seems to be labeling everything these days.
But I feel like for the first time, I’ve been able to look at it with different eyes and really assess.
My marriage wasn’t bad, but I don’t think it brought out the best in me.
I’ll always be grateful for it and look back on those years and on David with fondness and love.
Now, though, I’m grateful for the chance for something—and someone—new.
“Maybe you’re right about coming here,” I say slowly.
“Or, I guess, yes—it has definitely woken me up. But if you’d come to visit before last week, before the air conditioner went out, I don’t think you’d be saying this.
You would have seen a very lonely, very overworked version of myself.
I love baking. I love the idea of this”—I gesture around the space—“but I don’t love running a brick-and-mortar business. It sucked the life out of me.”
The relief I feel from this admission is immense. Which also fills me with a sense of certainty.
“Maybe what we should do now is take a look at my contract and see what this means,” I say, uncrossing my arm and opening my laptop again so I can find the leasing agreement I signed.
“I have no idea what I’m even able to do as far as breaking my lease—the bakery and the loft are on the same contract.
How are you at wading through legalese?”
“Pretty decent.” John smiles. “But either way, I suspect your landlord is going to be gracious and make sure you’re not out on the street.”
That’s for sure. Tank would never. He’d give up his own bed—which, given how comfortable it is, would be tempting—first.
And I don’t think I’m being presumptuous to assume that sometime in the near future, Tank and I will be figuring this out together.
But we haven’t talked about marriage, and I’m not interested in living together before that.
This may make me old fashioned, but it’s important to me.
And the fact that Tank wouldn’t stay in his two-bedroom loft with me makes me suspect he feels the same.
Whatever our future or our timeline, which I’d really like to be short, I don’t want our personal relationship to get mixed up with the business aspect of this.
I mean, I’ll happily take some extra grace if breaking my lease would put me in financial peril, but otherwise, I don’t want to base my decision solely on the expectation of Tank’s goodness or generosity.
Because he is both good and generous—possibly to a fault.
“No,” I agree. “He wouldn’t. But I don’t want to take advantage of him, so maybe you can help me figure out the best plan going forward.”
“Absolutely.” John reaches over and pats my hand.
Which, for him, is a pretty grand show of affection.
Even if it only lasts for a few seconds.
“And I have to say that despite my arguments and all my negativity, I’m proud of you for going after your dreams. Even if they turned out to be something different than what you thought. ”
I reach across the table to place my hand on his forehead.