Beautifully Baked: A Sweet Romantic Comedy

by Holly Kerr

  I’m used to spending nights alone. When Flora was with Thomas, he took up most of her Saturday nights, and it quickly got to the point where I didn’t miss the bars and going out and meeting people. Flora is much more outgoing than I am, even though she can’t compare to Ruthie.

  I wonder if Ruthie is in town.

  I sip my wine and vow not to call Ruthie, no matter how quiet it gets in the house. And I’m certainly not going to call Flora because after Friday night, I really hope she’s with Dean tonight. And I am not interrupting that.

  I’m on my second episode of Dead to Me when my phone does ring. Blinking with surprise, I recognize my sister Meaghan’s number.

  “I hear you got a man,” is how she greets me.

  I smirk, thinking of how quickly my mother must have called my sisters to tell them the news. “That was quick.”

  “She didn’t waste any time on spreading the news.” Meaghan laughs.

  “And what news did she tell?” I ask archly. “Did she tell you we’re moving in together—not getting married.”

  “She did not,” she says, enunciating the last word.

  “I thought she might leave out that little tidbit.” I stroke Gulliver’s head, wishing Clay was here for me to share a laugh with.

  But would he laugh at my mother? I’ve told him some of the stories, but not everything.

  “So tell me about him,” Meaghan urges. “All the stuff you don’t want Mom to know.”

  Meaghan is the youngest, but she was the first one to realize how our mother played us against each other. She was the first to notice how we constantly fought to become the favourite daughter of the moment.

  I stopped fighting with my older sisters after that, letting Millie and Molly battle it out. I was in Toronto, and it was easy to distance myself from the family drama.

  But Meaghan won’t let me distance myself. She continues to make an effort to repair our relationship. While I might have felt cut off from my sisters as a teenager living at home, I’m closer to Meaghan now than I ever was.

  So I tell her about Clay, about how we met in Las Vegas, the spark between us. I tell her about Flora and Dean because she is the one sister who admires my best friend rather than sharing our mother’s resentment of her. I tell her about Clay—how sweet and funny and smart and kind he is.

  “He sounds perfect,” Meaghan marvels. “If you don’t marry him, I will!”

  “I don’t even want to think about that,” I protest. “It’s too soon, too fast.”

  “It’s not going according to your plan.”

  “I don’t have a plan for him.”

  “Maybe that’s why it’s going so well.” She doesn’t mention Ben, but the unspoken name hangs between us.

  “I think I need to plan something,” I say nervously. “Asking me to live with him is so quick, and I’m not sure what to do.”

  “Again, if you don’t want him, pass him on to me!”

  “But I’ll have to sell this place, and where do we look for another? Near the patisserie? He works downtown, so will he want to go there? What about the cats? Will they adjust?” All the concerns and worries that I’ve bottled up since this morning pour out of me quicker than how fast I’ve drunk the wine.

  “Slow down,” Meaghan says, sounding a lot like our father. It used to bother me when he told me to slow down, but now I know that my thoughts will only pick up speed and spiral out of control. “Everything will work out just fine. It always does, regardless of how much you freak about it.”

  “I’m not freaking.”

  “You sound like you’re about to. Where is Mr. Perfect tonight? Shouldn’t you be doing something fabulous together?”

  “We were, but he’s not feeling well. He had planned something—I’m not sure what.”

  “Is it bothering you more that you don’t know what it was, or that he backed out?”

  I chuckle softly. “Probably that I don’t know what he planned. I’m okay on my own.”

  “You like to know what’s going on. And I know this because I’m as much of a control freak as you are. Did Mom tell you I’m seeing a therapist?”

  “You—really? For what?”

  Meaghan laughs. “Do you really have to ask?”

  “Am I that much of a mess?”

  “No, and neither am I,” she says firmly, “but Dad leaving did a number on us all, and with Mom being the way she is, I find it’s nice to talk to someone, that’s all. And I don’t have a Flora like you do, or a Clayton.”

  “His name is Clay.”

  “Well, Mom rechristened him Clayton because that’s what she does.”

  I sigh. “She does.”

  “I’d like to meet him.”

  I don’t let on how that makes me feel. How Meaghan isn’t trying to plan my future with Clay but accepting my present. And wants to be involved with it. “I’d like that. Maybe you could come to the city?”

  Meaghan laughs again. “Wouldn’t that piss off Mom?”

  Clay

  Dean doesn’t come home that night so I’m alone with Theo.

  I feel a frisson of guilt for lying to M.K., but I’m not ready to tell her about this. I’m not sure how to tell her about it—an old girlfriend has left me with our baby, one I didn’t know even know I was the father of. That I didn’t know existed?

  It’s such an un-M.K. thing to do that I know she’s going to have a hard time believing it.

  “Hello.” I stare at Theo, and he stares back at me, his eyes round and unblinking. Green eyes, like me. He’s back in the car seat because I’m not sure what to do with him.

  I can’t believe Abby just left him with me.

  “There’s enough bottles in the diaper bag until tomorrow morning,” she said as she was leaving. “Diapers and a change of clothes. He’ll be fine.”

  “Where does he sleep?” I ask, wishing she’d confirm that I’d be fine. I’ve had experience with babies, but I’ve never been left alone with one. I’ve never been solely responsible for their care and safety.

  What if I hurt him?

  What if he cries?

  What if he won’t eat?

  But as the afternoon wears on, I manage. In fact, by the time I realize I need to cancel with M.K., I’m pretty proud of myself.

  I didn’t hurt Theo. I got him in and out of the car seat without issue, fed, changed, sat with him on my lap, all without causing him pain.

  He did cry, several times, but I got him to stop by putting a bottle in his mouth. And that made him eat.

  “Hi,” I say as the baby continues to stare at me. “I haven’t really introduced myself. I’m Clay. I’m your father.”

  Father sounds so formal and old-fashioned.

  “I’m your dad.”

  Theo coos and lifts a hand, splaying his fingers. I take that as a good sign. “I just found out about you,” I continue. “It was a bit of a shock. A good one,” I quickly add. “I’ve always wanted a baby. A son.”

  My heart constricts painfully, and suddenly my eyes are wet. “I didn’t know you existed, but I’m really glad you do.” Leaning over, I quickly unbuckle the straps on the car seat and carefully lift him out before I change my mind. The only time I’ve held him is when I carried him to my bed for a diaper change. I even fed him in the car seat.

  I settle him into the crock of my arm and lean back against the cushions.

  “I’m your dad,” I say again. “You’re my son.”

  This time Theo gives me a hint of a smile and I reach for the remote on the table. “Let’s see what’s on TV.”

  A quick glance at the sports channels gives me a baseball game. “It’s the Yankees, but it’ll have to do,” I tell Theo. “It’s the playoffs. Usually I watch the Blue Jays. They’re the best team—not really, but they’re Toronto and since we live here, we cheer for them. Plus your Uncle Dean—you’ll meet him soon—he used to play for them. Well, he started a season, and then he got hurt, but maybe he’ll get back there. Wouldn’t that be something, goi
ng to a game to see him play? You and me? And Flora, of course, and M.K. She likes baseball, too.”

  I smooth Theo’s hair off his forehead, and he snuffles as he tries to grab my hand. I give him my finger to hold, marveling at the strength in the little grip.

  I can’t take my eyes off him.

  “I think you’ll like M.K.,” I say quietly. “I’m just not sure when you’ll meet her. Soon, I hope, but things have to be sorted out with your mom. Is it okay if you stay with me when she goes away?”

  Theo pulls my hand into his mouth with a gurgle and I laugh. The baby looks at me in shock.

  “It’s okay. I laughed. Laughing is good. I like to laugh. I like to make M.K. laugh.” My stomach tightens at the mention of her. We haven’t gone this long without speaking or texting or seeing each other since we began. I miss her—I miss her smile. I miss her scent. I miss her sitting beside me, dropping her head on my shoulder when she can’t keep her eyes open.

  I glance at the clock on the cable box. It’s after nine; she’ll already be in bed. Or at least she should be. If I call her now, I’d have to explain everything, and it’ll be hours before she could go to bed.

  It’s better that I wait until tomorrow. She needs her sleep.

  I keep telling myself that so I don’t give voice to the worry that she’s not going to be happy about Theo.

  We watch a bit of the game until Theo begins to wriggle in my arms, finally giving a thin wail that tells me he’s hungry again. Keeping him tight against me, I warm the bottle like Abby explained and settle back on the couch to feed him.

  It’s nicer when I hold him. I think it’s more comfortable for Theo, too.

  After he finishes the bottle, I hunt through the diaper bag to find pajamas for him, and change him for the night.

  By ten o’clock, I’m in bed, with Theo curled into my side with my arms around him.

  ~

  Abby shows up at nine in the morning, dragging three bags and a playpen. Theo and I have been awake since six thirty, and I’ve been rationing his bottles.

  “This should be everything you need,” she says, lugging the last bag into the living room. “I brought you the rest of my diapers and formula, but you’ll have to buy more.”

  “I don’t understand.” I stand in the middle of the living room with Theo in my arms. “You’re really leaving him with me?”

  She heaves a bag onto the couch. “I told you, I don’t have a choice. If I don’t show up on Monday, I’m losing the part. I was going to leave Theo with my mother but she wasn’t really keen on playing grandmother, so you finding out about him is perfect.”

  “I’m not sure I would call this perfect.”

  “C’mon,” she wheedles. “You seem excited about him. This way you’ll be able to get to know him, have him all to yourself. It’ll be fun.”

  I close my eyes and will myself not to say the words building inside. “You’re seriously leaving your child?” I manage.

  “With his father,” Abby adds. “Men do it all the time.”

  “Yes, but—” I stop myself. This isn’t the ideal situation, but maybe she has a point. I am excited about him. This will give me a chance to get to know my son.

  As if sensing I’m weakening, Abby plunges forward. “I’ve got a babysitter set up for him already. You can drop him off at eight, pick him up before six. I’ve got all the information here for you.” She drops a spiral ring notebook on the table. “I wrote down his schedule and anything I could think of about his likes and dislikes.”

  I pick up the notebook. Flipping through, I notice only a few pages are full. Was it because she didn’t make the effort or because she doesn’t know his likes and dislikes? “Is there a number I can reach you at?” I ask coolly.

  “Oh, you won’t need me,” she says with a wave. “You’ll be great. You were made to be a father.”

  After a few more minutes of instruction/persuasion, Abby says she has to leave. “I have so much to do.” She laughs. “Make the most out of babysitters. It’ll make your life easier.” She comes over to where I stand with Theo in my arms.

  Theo stares at her solemnly.

  “Goodbye, little man,” she says in a singsong voice, dropping a kiss on his blond head. “Mommy will miss you.”

  And then she’s gone.

  The only reason I let her go is because I’d be frantic with worry about what she would do with Theo if I don’t keep him.

  Chapter Fifteen

  M.K.

  I don’t hear from Clay on Sunday.

  All my texts, my calls go ignored, and the silence between us is deafening. I spend the day at Pain, running back and forth to my phone, growing more frantic as each hour goes by. I picture him sick, injured, the victim of a carjacking, hurt. Abandoned.

  And then I begin to think the worst.

  There’s someone else, someone he’s met. Someone from his past back to claim him. Someone who isn’t me, someone who he wants more than me.

  Sunday night I realize Clay isn’t calling me back because he’s changed his mind.

  He doesn’t want to move in with me. He doesn’t want to be with me. He’s ghosting me, just like he ghosted Heather all those weeks ago.

  I thought Clay was different. I thought he had changed from the player he used to be.

  I spend Sunday night imagining the face of the woman he’s with. It hurts more than Ben ever did.

  Monday morning, I pull myself out of bed with difficulty, my body tired and achy from lack of sleep. Gulliver trails after me to the bathroom, weaving around my ankles as he demands his breakfast.

  “Don’t trip me,” I snap. “What do you do the mornings I’m not here?”

  Clay comes and feeds them. Once I had been late to unlock Pain for Rhoda—the one time she had been on time for work and Clay informed me that it was silly for me to run from his place to mine before going to Pain, just so I could feed the cats.

  “I can feed your cats,” he’d said. “As long as they’ll let me in the house without you.”

  “Do you miss him?” I ask Gulliver in a wistful voice. “I miss him.”

  As I glance in the mirror, I’m shocked by my red-rimmed eyes and heavy purplish bags. I must have been crying more than I thought.

  “There’s no point missing him,” I tell the cat. “He’s gone. It’s over. It has to be over.”

  My chest is hollow, like my heart has been carved out.

  Luckily, Reuben is working with me and makes no mention of my eyes, which makeup does an admirable job of hiding. And he doesn’t ask about my monosyllabic answers, my curt requests.

  Adam would have been all over me, but luckily he has Monday off.

  I think I’ve managed to compose myself by the time Flora stops by for her coffee. This is the test—Flora, the person who knows me best in the world will be able to see through my attempts at cheerful conversation. And when she asks, of course I’ll tell her everything. The words will gush out of me, like spilling a bag of milk on the counter.

  But when I look at her, the words dry up because all I see is her happiness. She never notices my eyes.

  “Someone’s in a good mood,” I call through the lump in my throat.

  “Yes, I am.” Flora sashays through the patisserie, bringing smiles to the faces of my customers. All I can think of is how different it had been weeks ago when she burst in to tell me she’d found Dean again.

  A hard part of me, as prickly as a cactus, suddenly wishes Dean had never stopped into the flower shop that day. But I don’t let that part of me show. “Good weekend?” I ask.

  She’s glowing. My best friend is glowing, and I’m about to burst into tears

  Flora hugs herself. “Great weekend! Oh, M.K. I didn’t expect this at all. Dean was Dean, and I never thought—I’m not making any sense. I’m just so happy. Did you see this coming?”

  “Yes.” Despite my misery, I can’t help but feel smug. “Everyone saw this coming except for the two of you. It was as predictable as a rom-co
m movie.”

  “But if this was a rom-com, then the bad stuff would happen. The stuff that tears the couple apart.”

  Is this what’s happening to me? The bad stuff that tears the couple apart? If so, what happened? How did the bad stuff happen? What did I do wrong?

  “Your life is not a movie.” I swipe at a spot on the counter so Flora can’t see the furious blinking to stop the dampness.

  “If it was, it’d be a good movie,” Flora says with a giggle.

  I take a deep breath. “I’m happy for you. Is it officially more than friends now?” And I am happy. I can’t not be happy for Flora.

  I’m just not happy for me.

  “I think so,” she says with a grin. “I want to tell you all about it but I’d better get to the shop. Dean kept me busy all weekend. Talk to you later?”

  “Later,” I promise.

  I won’t tell her anything until some of her happiness dims. Until I have something to tell.

  I give myself a shake after she leaves before I focus on the next customer coming in. “Hi, Mrs. Gretchen.”

  Her kindly face frowns as she approaches the counter. “You’ve gotten yourself into a pickle, haven’t you?”

  “I don’t know what you mean,” I stammer.

  She points a liver-spotted finger at my face. “Someone’s made you sad.”

  How can this woman, who barely knows me, and Flora, who I’ve known forever… “Yes,” I say softly. “Someone has made me sad.”

  “Then it’s up to you to make yourself happy. Because you’re the only person who can make yourself be sad.”

  I blink with surprise at her commanding tone. “Okay?”

  “It’s up to you to make yourself happy,” she lectures. “And only you can let yourself feel sadness. So snap out of it.”

  “Okay,” I say with a shaky smile. “I’ll try.”

  “You’ll do more than try,” she mutters. “Now help yourself to one of those chocolatine things you make so well and paste a smile on your face until it’s the real thing.”

  When Mrs. Gretchen leaves, I take her advice. I don’t need a man to make me happy. I don’t need a man to do anything. I’m a strong, independent woman with my own business, my own life.