Peace, Love, & Macarons

by Jessica Gadziala

  "Yeah?"

  "I think you found what makes you happy," he told me then turned away to deal with a customer.

  I walked back toward the back of the store, sitting down at the break station in the kitchen that was there because, well, baking things took forever sometimes and your feet got tired, and I thought.

  And in doing that, I realized he was right.

  That morning for the first time in ages, I felt happy.

  It wasn't the superficial happy high I got from shopping or sex or, hell, even looking down at my engagement ring when I got it.

  It was a different kind of happy, the kind you felt down to your soul.

  I was pretty sure, too, that I had found my place.

  Apparently, I had needed to leave it for a while only to realize it.

  Sometimes life worked that way.

  Sometimes it threw you in a new direction that seemed to lead in a completely different way, only to find out that it curved eventually and brought you right back to where you came from.

  Which was where you had always belonged.

  Coffee Cake

  Brant

  From that day on, she simply fit.

  She became a fixture like she had never left in the first place.

  Every Sunday, she made macarons. She carried her favorite five flavors each week: vanilla, chocolate, pistachio, coffee, and green tea. And then she would add a special flavor as well. One week it was coconut. The next, lavender. The next, well, I was still waiting to see.

  She fell into a rhythm with the ease of change only small children were usually capable of. She got up every single morning and she ran, but she seemed to make a special effort to leave just before or just after me, for reasons I didn't even pretend to understand.

  She came into the bakery and forced her mother to allow her to make some desserts that weren't French, but beloved nonetheless. So then Madeline's suddenly had apple turnovers and Nutella chocolate bars and banana bread and, that morning, coffee cake.

  "Honey, it's so... banal," Alice complained, something she rarely did, but she was very particular about her menu selection.

  "Mom, you have a coffee shop here now. It fits. In the past, it wouldn't have made any sense, but now it does. I won't make it again if it doesn't sell."

  But it did sell.

  Everything Maddy made sold.

  And not only did it sell in store in pieces, but they got orders for whole coffee cakes for people to have at their houses in case company stopped by. Twelve of them by the end of day.

  "I'm sorry if I was negative," Alice said, wrapping an arm around her daughter's lower back and squeezing. "You know how I am about change."

  I understood perfectly well how badly Alice handled change. Even though she had agreed to the coffee counter and knew it was a smart move business-wise, when me and a couple workers from town came in to start doing the changes, she had started talking about how maybe it wasn't such a good idea after all, that the counter was too big, too invasive, that the machines were an eyesore, that my writing on the chalkboard was too manly.

  I told her the coffee machines were necessary; as was the space I needed behind the counter... to move around. But I had stuck with her color scheme not only behind the counter but on the cups and straws and coffee collars as well, seeing as I didn't really give a damn about that kind of thing.

  Within two days after the construction finished, seeing the hoards of new traffic coming in, she had been ecstatic.

  It was just the fear of change.

  It was the same thing with my painting suggestion on the exterior of the house. And the choice to cut down an old rotten tree in the backyard.

  But once it was all done, she was a happy camper.

  That was just Alice.

  And Maddy seemed to understand that as well, not getting flustered by her mother's comments because she knew it would blow over when she blew people away with her desserts.

  Of which I had tried all.

  And I mean all.

  I tried every flavor of macarons. I decided after my first bite that I had been missing out my entire life on one of the best culinary creations the world had to offer. Having Maddy around to offer new flavors every week was like Christmas weekly. And while I might not have been crazy about the coconut or lavender, I still would continue to eat them, maybe solely because she had created them.

  What can I say?

  I liked the woman.

  And not just because she was beautiful and I thought about fucking her at least a dozen times a day which made functioning with a cock that had a mind of its own uncomfortable at best.

  But aside from that, she was coming out of her shell more, letting loose, becoming more herself. That self was not the cold, uptight, materialistic, obsessively driven woman who had stepped off that bus with an open wound in her heart and a strong aversion to being back in town.

  In fact, the longer she was around, the more her shoulders relaxed, her jaw unclenched, her smile spread easier. I wondered if maybe I had made a similar transition over time.

  I was every bit as hard as she was, perhaps even a lot harder, when I left the City. Too many years in the soul-sucking world of corporate law, too many superficial friendships and relationships, too much time to become superficial and materialistic myself. I had dozens of two-thousand dollar suits and watches and shoes and a goddamn cigar case that cost a mint. I didn't even fucking smoke cigars except in business meetings with men who did.

  And, at first, small town life absolutely took some getting used to. I was used to all-night take-out and dozens of art galleries and plays and indie movie theaters and book stores and bars and clubs and just... shit to do. That was a hard transition at first. There simply was nowhere to go. There was one bar, but they closed by eleven on weeknights. There was a movie theater a town over, but they only played the big blockbusters and I fucking hated over the top superhero movies. There were a couple local eateries, but they closed around seven- all nights of the week.

  It took me a while to find ways to occupy my time without all those distractions. I worked out more. I read more. And, finally once I got to know people, I just plain hung out with people. It was something I hadn't done since maybe high school. It was nothing fancy- just going to someone's house and bullshitting over coffee or a game on TV or some dinner. I had never had so many dinner invitations as I did in a small town. Maybe a part of that was the fact that I was single and doing well enough for myself and the town was lacking in the eligible man department. But I was pretty sure an almost equal amount was just... people were friendlier and people still wanted human interaction.

  Eventually, it stopped mattering that there wasn't entertainment or Thai food at two AM.

  All that noise fell away.

  And there was peace.

  I was hoping, once she was around for long enough, Maddy would find that for herself as well.

  She even had a slight advantage of having grown up in this lifestyle. So the transition might not take anywhere near as long as it took me.

  "Brant," Alice said, coming up to my counter. And I damn sure knew she didn't want coffee.

  "What's up, Alice?"

  "How about you come over for dinner tonight? I'm making baked macaroni."

  Now, she knew I was a sucker for anything Italian since we had no Italian restaurants in town. But the smile she was trying to hold back told me she was up to something. I just had no idea what.

  "What can I bring? Desser..." I started to say and broke up on a chuckle. "Yeah, guess that wouldn't be my department. Wine?" I asked, knowing that Alice, while she had fine taste in dessert, had awful taste in wine. As in she liked bone fucking dry red- so dry it made you feel like the insides of your mouth and throat lost a layer of necessary skin.

  "Wine sounds great. Maddy won't drink mine for some reason," she said, shaking her head like she didn't understand. "Seven?"

  "Works for me."

  "See you then," she said, that same damn
smile in place.

  I didn't know what she was up to yet.

  But I was pretty sure I would know before the night was over.

  French Torte

  Maddy

  My mom was humming while she cooked.

  So something was going on.

  My mom, the master she was at anything involving food, macarons aside, needed total concentration. She claimed it was so she could make sure all her love went into her dishes and desserts. So if she was humming, something was up.

  I watched her with lowered eyes for a long minute before she suddenly turned to me, looked me over, then declared I should really take a shower before dinner.

  Somewhat thrown off and the smallest bit offended (I had showered that morning) I went upstairs and grabbed some fresh clothes then went to take another damn shower for some reason.

  "No, honey, go dry your hair," she told me when I walked back in with a pair of black jeans and a blue sweater.

  Dry my hair?

  For dinner?

  Who was I supposed to be impressing, her?

  Deciding my mom might have been slowly going off her rocker, I went and dried my freaking hair. Then, to prevent any comments on my fresh face, went ahead and applied some eye makeup as well before heading back down to the smell of food filling the kitchen.

  It didn't matter how old you got, there was nothing like your mother's cooking.

  "Honey, can you put the wineglasses out?" she asked and I felt my lip curl of its own mind.

  Wine.

  My mother's wine was, well, revolting.

  I'd had a lot of wine in my day from every level of expense from the damn boxes of it I used to buy in college to the hundreds-of-dollars per bottle type Rich's family used to get.

  I had never found a wine I truly hated.

  Until I tried the kind my mother loved.

  I wasn't exactly sure how she didn't need skin grafting after her second glass in a row.

  Yeah, it was that bad.

  "No, honey, one more," she added, waving a large loaf of Italian bread at me.

  One more.

  We were having company.

  That was why I needed to shower and do my hair.

  I couldn't figure out why she wouldn't have just told me that ahead of time. It was no big deal. Unless...

  Oh, for Christ's sake.

  She was trying to set me up!

  It was only a matter of time, really. I always knew that when I went back home. I didn't think it would be my mother to do it, though. My happily single, don't rely on a man, mother. I thought it would be the nosy older ladies in town who thought I was getting too old to be single. That my 'clock was ticking'. That 'no man is going to want a woman losing her fertility by the day!'.

  Not my own damn mother.

  Hell, it almost felt a bit like a betrayal to be honest.

  Why spend your whole life telling me to stand on my own two feet, to not rely on men, to be my own whole person when she was just going to... fling me at whatever eligible man was in town not even a month after I got back?

  I guess I would never understand her.

  With a deep exhale, I grabbed the extra wineglass and brought it to the dining room, noticing for maybe the first time that she had set up the table slightly more formal than we usually had for dinner. She always used her nice plates and bowls, but we generally just used paper napkins. There were not only white table napkins on the plates, but they had fancy silver napkin rings on them too- shiny like she had actually taken the time to polish them. There were fresh flowers as a centerpiece, which was normal, but she had candles out as well.

  How awkward would it be to have a sort-of date with my mother there? And, even maybe more so, how awkward would it be to have a sort-of date with a guy I had known most of my life? A guy I had embarrassing playground stories about that might flash across my memories at any point during the meal?

  Ugh.

  Awful.

  Well, it was only a few hours.

  And when it was over, I could sit her down and tell her I was in no way in the place where I wanted to start another relationship, let alone be set up against my will.

  Fact of the matter was, I was settling in. I was enjoying baking just for fun, not to impress my intern chefs or snooty customers. It was fun to be able to make freaking funnel cakes for an after school treat for kids on Fridays. While I genuinely enjoyed a good challenge baking-wise, it was nice to just go with the flow too. Sometimes there was nothing more fun than doing a drizzle on apple tarts.

  And while it was a bit of a culture shock to be back in town after so long, after a week or so, it was like no time had passed. People welcomed me with open arms. I was less tense, stressed. I hadn't realized how fast-paced my life had become from college on, how hard it was for me to slow down and just... enjoy a day for what it was instead of frantically planning the next.

  I felt relaxed.

  At ease.

  Peaceful.

  It wasn't something I knew I had been seeking or for how long, but I knew it when I found it. And it almost pissed me off to realize I had gone without for so long.

  There was a familiar singsong ding from the front of the house and, not a half a second later, my mother called from the kitchen. "Oh, honey, can you get that? I have my hands full."

  Of bullshit.

  Utter bullshit.

  But I was smiling at her silly attempt at coy matchmaking as I walked to the front door and pulled it open to reveal... Brant?

  "What are you doing here?" I asked, wincing when my tone came of almost a little accusatory.

  "Dinner?" he half-said, half-asked.

  Brant?

  She wanted to hook me up with... Brant?

  Of all the asinine ideas!

  It wasn't that he wasn't prime meat in our little sleepy town. He absolutely was. Rightfully so. He was beyond good-looking. He had a thriving business. He could make near-orgasming goodness out of coffee. Not that I got any, mind you. He stuck to his promise. He never made me another full-fat anything since that first time. Not even when I begged. Which I had absolutely done. What could I say, it was the time of the red death and I was in serious need of chocolate comfort. My pride was in no way part of the equation. My uterus was in full control. But yeah, he had a lot going for him.

  Which was maybe part of the reason I had avoided him as much as possible outside of the bakery. I didn't want to start getting any ideas about him.

  It was a terrible idea for a huge laundry list of reasons.

  Apparently, though, my mother had her own ideas on the matter.

  As if sensing my hesitance or maybe just because I was completely blocking his way still, he raised his hand with a wine bottle in it. "I brought the wine."

  "That alone will get you in the door," I said with a smile, moving away so he could walk in.

  "You look nice, Maddy," he told me, leaning down to plant a chaste kiss to my cheek as he moved past.

  "Oh, I, ah, thanks," I mumbled, shaking my head at that unusual response. I wasn't usually a mumbler and bumbler. I tended to speak clearly and concisely.

  Weird.

  "Hope you brought your appetite," my mother said as he walked up and kissed her cheek as well. She reached in and tossed the tray of garlic bread into the stove. "Just ten more minutes and we will be all set. Why don't you show Brant to the living room and pour the wine? I will be out with the salad in just a minute."

  It was starting early.

  With a head shake at her behavior, I led Brantley into the dining room he had obviously been in before seeing as he knew right where to go to find the corkscrew.

  "Out of curiosity, how often do you come here for dinner?"

  "Oh, I dunno. Maybe once a week, depending on both our schedules."

  "Schedule? My mother? She never goes out," I said as I handed him a wineglass he had reached out for.

  "She's just trying to make sure you aren't lonely, sweetheart. Usually, she's out with friends quite a
bit. And there was even a man she sees here and there. But she..."

  "Wait wait wait," I interrupted him as I took the glass he handed me. "A man? My mother? Are you sure he wasn't like... a new flour vendor or something like that?"

  "Meeting at eight o'clock at night?" he asked, smile teasing. "Come on, Maddy. You're a grown woman now. You can't be weirded out by your mother dating."

  "I'm not weirded out," I objected immediately. I wasn't. I wasn't one of those weak-bellied women who couldn't handle even the idea of their mother (or father) getting it on.

  Again, it just didn't seem to fit the mother I thought I had always known. But, then again, maybe my mother had always just put me first, put her inherent human desire for romantic contact on hold, on a back burner, until she thought I was old enough to handle it.

  Which, well, that made me almost unbearably sad to think that. Granted, my relationship with Richy might not have been what I had thought it was and my adolescence went down in heartbreak too, but I wouldn't have traded those things for anything else. There was something just... right about having someone you love's hands around you, to hear them tell you they love you, to feel the way your heart went all squishy just looking at them.

  She had missed out on all of that for so many years because of me?

  "What's that look for?" Brant asked, brows drawn together.

  "I just never thought she had any interest in dating," I admitted. "I feel like I was a twenty-something year cockblock now."

  To that, I guess not expecting it, he let out a loud, rumbling laugh that I felt float around my chest, my belly, then lower.

  Lower?

  What the hell?

  But even as I wondered if I was imagining it, there it was- desire.

  "Oh no!" my mother's voice yelled, making me jump then automatically move back toward the kitchen.

  "What's the matter?" I asked when I didn't find her hurt in any way, but standing in front of the open fridge.

  I could feel Brant right behind my right shoulder, close enough that my shoulder brushed his chest. I found I had to take a deep, slow breath to stay focused.