by Laura Brown
“Mom.” I pulled back and let my bag drop to the floor. “I just started dating him. Relax.”
“He cut your hair,” Dad said.
I turned to him, curious if he was just figuring it out or not. “Is that a problem?”
His dark eyes roamed over my head. “I like it. You don’t look like a boy.”
And then he went back to his newspaper, leaving me to wonder if I completely misinterpreted his words or not. Wouldn’t be the first time.
“Tell me all about the job.” Mom went back to stirring. Something about the motion made me look at her, really look at her, and how her sweater seemed to hang off her body. Had it been like that before? I didn’t think so, but I wasn’t around much anymore and couldn’t be certain.
I told them about the bakery but couldn’t shake the feeling I was missing something. I had to wait until Mom left to take a phone call, before prodding my father. “Is Mom all right?”
Dad put down the paper. “Yeah, why?”
I glanced to the hallway, where Mom chatted, wondering if my eyes were playing tricks on me. If Dad hadn’t noticed anything, and he was here, I had to be jumping to conclusions. “Nothing.”
Mom came back, saving me from the uncomfortable silence that had grown, probably only uncomfortable to me.
“That was your aunt. She wants to know more about this guy you’re dating, but you haven’t given me any details yet.”
I rolled my neck. “What do you want me to say? He’s nice. He makes me laugh. I enjoy spending time with him.”
“Oh?” Mom’s eyebrows rose high.
“And that’s it. I’m not picking out matching china or anything like that. I’m just enjoying seeing someone in a new state.” Those butterflies were trying to tell me something, but once again, I ignored them.
Mom’s shoulders deflated, but her eyes turned stern. “You’re good at denying yourself, Avery. Don’t do that with him.”
My blood ran cold, Jake’s similar words ringing in my head. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You take the most complicated path possible. Why did you really have to move to Massachusetts to find a bakery to work at?”
“Because of the rugelach. You know this.”
“You’re a wonderful baker. It’s not the rugelach. You wanted to spread your wings. You saw something in that bakery that you wanted.”
I rubbed my temples, competing thoughts and emotions coming at me from all directions. “I first visited the bakery with Erik.”
Mom sucked in a breath.
“That rugelach is the last item on his bakery list.”
“That’s his dream. What’s yours?”
My mouth had turned to sandpaper, and I rose to get myself some water. “He’s dead. I need to carry this out for him.” It wasn’t fair he didn’t get to see his dream finished, and I couldn’t let one more thing die with him.
Mom shook her head. “No. You want to bake. You’re where you want to be, but you’ve created this back door to get out of it.”
She turned to the stove, leaving me wondering where her sudden concern over how I ran my life came from.
“I want to bake my own food.” That had always been the plan. With Erik I’d be in creative control, with him assisting, no longer stuck producing others’ creations.
“You don’t do that already?” Mom put down her wooden spoon. “You don’t need to always have the biggest plan to go for, and you certainly don’t need to feel obligated to finish his. Sometimes, simple plans work best. If you’re happy, why complicate things by leaving?”
I filled my cup from the faucet, a tiny voice inside confirming her suspicions, even as the rest of me fought it. The guilt came back. I’d made a promise to Erik; I couldn’t go back on that. My phone buzzed.
Jake: Your parents freak over your hair?
Me: Not quite. I think they like it.
Jake: See. Told you. Nothing to worry about.
If only that were the truth.
*
Mom didn’t eat much that night, claiming she wasn’t hungry. Not a good idea before fasting. I kept an eye on her the following day, waiting for the lack of food to take its toll. It got to me before it did her.
She claimed she ate too much when we broke fast at sunset, yet I had been watching, her plate held less than Dad’s and mine. Then again, breaking fast wasn’t exactly an easy thing, and I felt uncomfortable long before I was full.
It was all in my head. Had to be. I set my bag down by the front door. So odd, so strange. After Erik died, I had moved back home, no one knowing I’d already been packed and searching for a new place. I couldn’t live where we had lived together and didn’t have the will to continue apartment hunting. Now I had moved out, moved on, but only to perfect our rugelach.
Somehow, it was all still for him.
At some point that would have to end. But the guilt wouldn’t let me stop. All those plans, the papers and files and research. It all stopped suddenly, like his ever-moving, never-stopping presence stopped. I closed my eyes, the familiar pain creeping back in. All the reminder I needed of why I was doing this, of why I couldn’t fail.
“You’ll visit again soon, right?” Mom asked, breaking me from my downward spell.
I pushed my emotions aside and faced her. “Of course. And you know I’ll be back in a year or so and you can help me decorate the bakery.”
She clutched my shoulders, a sad smile on her face. “Don’t even pretend like Erik didn’t have paint chips already picked out.”
I laughed, because it was the truth.
She brushed a lock of hair off my face, not that I had many to brush off these days. “Take care of yourself. Find your happiness.”
“I’m working toward that.”
She shook her head, poked a finger at my heart. “No, that was his happiness. Find yours. Let yours change. It can’t stay the same, not with him gone. He’s not here anymore, so you have to evolve. What does Avery want?”
I pulled her into a hug, holding her tight, not liking how it felt like there was less to clutch. “I want you to be happy.”
Mom pulled back. “Then you know what you have to do, because all I want is my daughter to be happy.”
“And close by. And married, preferably with a doctor, with kids.” I smirked.
Mom sighed, but her lips quirked. “I think I’d be okay with hairdresser.”
And that was my cue. I turned and picked up my bag. “On that note, I’m off.”
Outside I found Dad getting the mail. I walked straight to him. “You’ll let me know if something is wrong with Mom, right?”
Dad glanced up at the house, gave me a nod. “There’s nothing to worry about. If there is, we’ll let you know.”
It didn’t settle the worry lurking deep inside, but I gave him a hug. I wasn’t that far away. I could visit when needed.
And even though the butterflies perked up as I headed to the highway, back to where Jake was, I knew I needed to make it home more often. Next time, perhaps I’d bring him with me. If for no other reason than to make Mom happy.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Jake
I collapsed on the single bench lining the rundown outdoor field, still breathing heavy from the game of soccer.
Carter stepped over my outstretched leg and plopped down next to me. “You’re eating too many sweets, man.”
“Bite me.” I grabbed a towel from my bag and ran it over my head.
He laughed. “How you gonna keep up with your girl, or protect your mother from the man she’s dating?”
I wanted to stand and head home to shower, but my knee had locked up and my leg needed time before I could move. “You done being an asshole?”
“Nah. I’ve caught your mother out twice with her guy. She’s happy. You need to let her be.”
I wanted to protest that my mother could be happy without a man—that the bakery made her happy—but I realized how messed up that was. More so, I caught the look on Carter’s fac
e. I needed to chill. I held up two hands. “Alright. I surrender. But if Kirk breaks my mother’s heart, then you gotta pick up the pieces.”
Carter patted my shoulder and stood. “I doubt a man can break Nell Ruben. If anything, you’ll have a sobbing man sitting in your salon chair.”
A trickle of sweat slid down my spine. “That’s worse.”
My phone rang and Carter grabbed his bag, giving me a two-finger salute as he headed toward his car. I picked my leg up to bend my knee before answering blindly.
“Jake? It’s Kirk.”
I shifted up, dropping my leg to the ground, my ankle wobbling. “Hey, Kirk, what’s up?”
A soft chuckle came over the line, sounding more uncomfortable than anything else. “Your sister and girlfriend cornered me at the bakery.”
I’d been catching the two together more and more, Mom and Kirk often the topic of conversation. At least when I was in earshot. “Those two are trouble. I’m sorry for any pestering but it comes with the territory.”
Well, Hannah did.
“No, it’s fine. They care. Hannah’s trying to bribe me to take your mother away.”
I looked at the clear sky, wishing I had clouds to count rather than have this conversation. “We’ve been trying to get Mom to take a break for a while now. But that doesn’t mean—”
“I want to. Take her away, I mean. There haven’t been many vacations in my life. But I know you don’t exactly approve.”
I swore and shifted my bad leg. “It’s been pointed out to me more than once that I need to let my mother live her life.”
“Yeah. And I respect that. But you and I have known each other for a while. I don’t want to make things complicated. I can always find a new hairdresser or let you shave all my hair off.”
I laughed. Damn Kirk for being a good guy. “You won’t. I’ll get over it. Just treat my mother right or your next dye won’t look so good.”
“Understood. So you won’t have a problem if I take her to New Hampshire for a week?”
“As long as you make me think you’re checking out museums and not booking one of those places with a hot tub in the living room.”
“You saying I need to change my reservations?”
I closed my eyes and put my hand on my head. “That, Kirk, is the type of stuff I don’t want to hear, even as a joke. It’s up to my mom, though.”
“I know. But since I’ve known you longer, I wanted to check in.”
“Hannah tell you to?”
“No. Avery.” That punched a spot deep in my chest, in complete contrast to the unease at this conversation.
We said our goodbyes and I flipped to my text app.
Me: You told Kirk to call me first.
Avery: I know you.
Me: Oh really?
Avery: Well, I know enough to know this isn’t all rainbows and puppies. And I still live with the fantasy that my parents don’t have sex so I can imagine I’d feel uncomfortable if Nell was my mom.
Me: And not just your boss.
Avery: Bosses are fair game. Even if I am doing inappropriate things with her son.
I stretched and bent my leg, finally getting a few of the kinks out.
Me: Very inappropriate. What are you doing tonight?
Avery: Falling asleep in front of my television until you show up?
I must have been smiling at my phone like an idiot, but I really didn’t give a damn, not when the only person around was an older guy walking along the sidewalk.
Me: Sounds like a plan.
I managed to get my leg into working order. The towel hung around my neck, my bag on my shoulder, as I picked my way to the street where I had parked. Only the walker was now heading my way.
“Good game,” the man called out and something about his voice had me halting in my tracks.
I turned to face him, the sun obscuring him from view. He was shorter than me, a bit pudgy, and I had no clue why he would want to watch two guys play a crap game of soccer.
“It beats the gym. Have a nice day.” The sweat began to turn cold, and I knew the air was only partly to blame. This guy spelled trouble, and I’d be smart to get out of here before I figured out what kind.
“You move good for someone with a bum leg.”
I stretched my neck to the side, working at tamping down years of anger boiling up inside. A wind blew, worse on my arms than my legs thanks to the long pants I always wore. And he’d barely seen me walk.
I took a closer look at him, but the damn sun still shielded him from my view. “What about my leg?”
“I figured you were done for, but you move good.”
He made it close enough that I could make out his features. Hannah’s eyes. My jaw, though saggy where it had once been tight. Bushy, white eyebrows and a haggard appearance. An emotional tidal wave crashed over me, anger there at the front. I limped because of him. He deserted us. And yet, deep inside, that scared burnt kid who wanted his father still existed. “You look like crap,” I said. Repressed and not so repressed memories swam to the surface. Him cheering me on at my soccer games, pre-injury. Him, in the hospital, looking at me with the saddest eyes, rather than giving me the comfort I needed.
His eyes narrowed. “Is that any way to talk to your father?”
Two can plan that game. “You already called my leg bum yet you saw me play.” That’s right. I didn’t let you win.
“Yeah, you could have still considered that soccer career after all.”
In all the years since he left, I never once wanted to have another conversation with him. And yet here he was. I took a step into his space, knowing damn well I did my best to limit my disability. “I was fucking eight years old. I didn’t know what I wanted to do. Who I wanted to be. All I wanted was to have fun and parents who made sure I was safe.”
To my surprise, Dad backed up. His eyes clouded over, as though going back in time, and this reaction did not match my memories of what had happened.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I asked.
He raised his hands. Not quite the peace offering we needed. “Job relocated me to the area. I was out for a walk and spotted you playing. The slight limp intrigued me. Didn’t realize it was you at first.”
I clenched my hands, wanting to punch this guy badly. “When did you move?”
Dad looked around. “Oh, a few months ago.”
I nodded, his words another sucker punch. “Right. A few months. Back to your old town. And didn’t think to check on the family you deserted.”
I started to walk away.
“I didn’t know if you’d be here.”
I stopped but didn’t face him. “Family helps family. We’re still here. As far as I’m concerned, you’re not.”
Eight-year-old me wanted to beg for a second chance. But that kid had over twenty years to deal with all this. He knew better. Dad had over twenty years to make amends.
“I want to apologize.”
That stopped me. The kid inside perked up, wanted to run over to daddy dearest. Not me. I faced him. “You’re not welcome. Stay away from us.”
I turned before he could respond, limping more because I stomped like a petulant child, but I didn’t care. I never saw him walk away when he exited our lives, but he’d be forced to watch as I left his.
*
The following day, I snuck into the bakery, avoiding Avery. I’d never done that before, but after seeing my father, my entire night had been fucked up. I didn’t go over like I said I would. I texted her some lame excuse and then wallowed in my own pity party, one that wasn’t helped by Hannah insisting I visit on my break. Everyone seemed determined to push all my buttons.
“I can’t do it.” Mom sat at her desk, with Hannah in the spare chair.
I stood at the door, crossed arms, blocking the exit.
“Of course you can. You deserve it,” Hannah said. “Who doesn’t want a sexy week with their significant other?”
I suppressed a groan and leaned back, glancin
g into the baking area, overly aware of Avery’s presence and my own rising guilt. I caught her at her station, movements the same as they’d always been. Her texts hadn’t indicated any concern over the night before, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t in the doghouse.
“It’s not that simple,” Mom said.
Hannah leaned back. “Oh my. You don’t like him well enough to go away with him.”
“Oh hush, it’s not that. I’m sure Jake knows what I mean.”
I tore my eyes off Avery’s backside. “What?”
Mom crossed her arms, mimicking my pose. “You wouldn’t want to go away with Avery?”
“Of course I would, but what does that have to do with…oh.” I looked at the ceiling. “The problem isn’t Kirk.”
“So what’s the problem, the bakery?” Hannah asked.
Mom tapped her nose.
“We can handle the bakery, Mom. And it would only be for a week. Avery’s already agreed to take over more, and Jake can spend more time out front since Avery will be busy.”
“Oh, so my contribution is solely based on Avery?”
Hannah blew me a kiss.
“You kids don’t understand.”
Hannah put her elbows on the desk. “Then explain, oh wise one.”
Mom pointed at her. “That makes me sound old.”
“To me you are old.”
Mom narrowed her eyes, but Hannah just smiled that sweet smile that got her out of way too many scrapes in her life.
“When was the last time you went on vacation?” I asked. “Besides from a few days here and there, and a few family trips, I can’t remember.”
“Nineteen ninety-nine.”
Hannah and my gazes collided. The final puzzle piece clicking into place.
“No,” Hannah said.
Nineteen ninety-nine was the year of the fire. I tried to think back to the days before the fire, and a vague memory floated up. “You had some sort of retreat with your baker friends.”
Mom nodded. “I was gone for a week. Your father wasn’t happy having to take care of the two of you and juggle bakery things on top of his job. When I got back, he wasn’t in a good mood. That’s why he was smoking downstairs, because he refused to come to bed. And fell asleep there. And you two know the rest.”
