Chapter 12 #2
I rub my face hard enough that I see stars. “Is this why you called? To remind me that there’s no safety net this time? That if I fall or slip up, there’s no one to catch me?”
“I’m checking in on you, Noah.” There’s an edge to his voice now, frustration mixing with concern. “No one can do it all. Not even you.”
“And what would you rather I do? Close the bakery? Give up and come back home?” The words come out sharper than I intended.
There’s silence on his end, just the distant sound of the grocery store around him.
Even though he’s the one who started this conversation, who called to lecture me about my life choices, I can’t help but feel guilty for snapping at him.
There’s something about growing up with a single parent that makes you feel eternally responsible for their happiness.
My dad and I are the only consistent things in each other’s lives.
We’re a team, always have been. And I would rather die than hurt him.
“I know what I’m doing, Dad,” I say quietly, trying to soften the blow of my earlier words. “Will you please just have some faith in me?”
“I do, kid, but you’re not a superhero. No one is. Not even your mother was, and she tried to be.”
The mention of Mom hits unexpectedly hard. I stare out the window at the tree branches scratching against the panes like they’re trying to get in. “I have it under control. Really. What about you? What’s new with you?”
It’s an obvious deflection, but I’m done talking about me and the sword hanging over my head, ready to fall and end everything at my next misstep.
“Nothing much,” he grumbles. I hear him put something in his cart. “I went out to coffee with a nice lady the other day.”
“What?” I sit forward so fast I nearly knock over the water glass on the side table. “Dad. Are you telling me that you went on a date?”
“It wasn’t a big deal. Which cheese is better on stuffed peppers? Pimento or cheddar?”
“Depends what else is in them.” I shake my head, not letting him deflect. “Come on, don’t leave me hanging. Who was she? How did you meet her?”
My dad hasn’t dated in... I honestly don’t even know.
I never saw him with anyone while I was growing up.
No women came to dinner, no one stayed over.
Since then, any mentions of women have been few and far between, usually just comments about a coworker or neighbor.
I’m sure he hasn’t lived like a monk since Mom died when I was one, but he’s kept that part of his life completely separate from me.
“Adrienne. Nice lady.” He says it like it’s no big deal, but I can hear something else in his voice. “Works at the library. We started talking about bread making, of all things. She wants to learn.”
There’s something in his tone that makes me think this is more than just casual coffee. Why else would he mention it? My dad doesn’t share unless there’s a reason.
It makes me want to bring up Alexis, to share my own news. But it only takes a second of reflection before I decide to hold my tongue. We’re so new we don’t even have a label yet. We’re not even really a “thing.” We’ve kissed—God, those kisses—but I don’t even know if she’ll want to do it again.
Though I really hope she does. I want that and so much more.
Real dinners at actual restaurants instead of stolen moments between work obligations.
Time spent slowly and intentionally getting to know each other, learning all the little things—how she takes her coffee, what makes her laugh, what her dreams are beyond the editing job.
At thirty-six, I’m done with vapid flings and casual whatever-this-is arrangements. I want something real, something that lasts longer than the time it takes for bread to rise. And I think there’s true potential with Alexis.
It’s complicated, though—too complicated to explain convincingly to someone else, especially my dad. Alexis being my editor is another component that he would probably have opinions about. He’d worry I’m mixing business with pleasure, that I’m setting myself up for another fall.
So I settle for keeping the news to myself, at least for now.
“That’s great, Dad. I’m really glad to hear it. You deserve to have some companionship.”
“We’re going to dinner this Friday.” He says it casual, like it’s no big deal, but I can hear the barely contained excitement underneath.
“That Italian place on Charles Street. It’s my turn to check out.
Talk to you later, bud. And think about what I said, okay?
You can always put the cookbook off until later, when the bakery is more stable. When you have more time to breathe.”
“I’ll think about it,” I say, though of course I won’t be changing my mind. The cookbook is happening. “Thanks for calling, Dad. Enjoy the stuffed peppers.”
I hang up and set the phone on the coffee table, my mind spinning like a mixer on high speed. Nothing he said tonight was new—it’s the same concern he’s been expressing for months—but the words hit harder than usual. Maybe because I’m tired. Maybe because I know he’s not entirely wrong.
As stressful as my life is, it’s looking up. And that’s thanks to all the different components, not in spite of them. The bakery, the YouTube channel, the cookbook—they’re all interconnected, each one feeding into the others.
The last thing I’m quitting is the cookbook.
Especially now that I know how important it is to Alexis’s career too.
She needs this to go well to get that full-time position.
With her and the project so intertwined, quitting the cookbook would mean stomping on her dreams. It would mean letting her down.
It would mean giving her up.
Which is definitely not happening.