by Joelle Duff
Breathe Again
A Love Story by Joelle Duff
Breathe Again Playlist
“White Horse” by Taylor Swift
“Breathe Again” by Sara Bareilles
“Fireflies” by Owl City
“Fix You” by Coldplay
“Fearless” by Taylor Swift
“Kiss Me” by Ed Sheeran
Chapter 1
I said yes to the date because he drank his coffee black and drove a Honda. His hairline was also starting to recede, which was a good thing. It meant that he’d be completely bald by the time he was forty.
I’d seen him in the café before, but he didn’t ask me out until he tasted one of my red velvet cupcakes. He usually only ordered a coffee and blueberry muffin on his way to work, but Darcy had spilled half and half all over his lap that morning and gave him one of my cupcakes to apologize. He took it with him, and apparently loved it enough to come back to the café in the afternoon to ask who made it. Darcy forced me from the kitchen to introduce me; she didn’t even give me a chance to take my apron off. He asked me out then and there, and I would have said yes even if Darcy wasn’t breathing down my neck at the time.
I thought I was ready to date again, but I still had half a mind to cancel the date the day before he was supposed to pick me up. It felt too soon, and it would save me from any awkward encounters at the café if things didn’t work out. But when I came home to a dozen red roses sitting on my doorstep the night before, I decided not to. Romance wasn’t exactly on my list, but it couldn’t hurt his chances.
“What are you going to wear?” Darcy asked as I untied my apron before leaving for the day. Even if I didn’t talk much about my personal life before moving to Los Angeles, she still felt as if it were her place to ask about my life now. I tried to act annoyed, but it really was nice having a girlfriend here.
“I’m not sure,” I said, hanging my apron up on the peg outside the kitchen door. “My closet isn’t exactly full of date-worthy clothing at the moment.” It was true; my workday uniform typically consisted of a polka dotted apron and tennis shoes. Most of my fancier clothes were still hung in my closet back in Kansas, and I hadn’t really had an excuse until now to go out and shop for anything new.
“You should have said something,” Darcy said, an annoyed look on her face. “I would have brought you this new dress I bought the other day. It’s hot pink and super sexy and absolutely adorable; you’d love it.”
I laughed. “Darcy, we’ve been working together for almost five months now. What about me would make you think that I would wear anything that could be described as sexy and-or hot pink? Anyway, I have a pretty little-black-dress that is perfect for a date.”
“Well, we’re both off on Monday; let’s go shopping. If you’re going to start dating again, you should probably stock up.”
“I’m leaving,” I said, definitely ready to flee at her mention of shopping. Darcy was notorious for spending entire paychecks on her infamous shopping trips. It was the reason she was working at the café in the first place; her parents were not hurting for money, but they’d cut her off when she racked up enough credit card debt to put her younger sister through her first year at Stanford.
My apartment was above the café, and my feet ached when I walked up the stairs. I’d been working for thirteen days straight at this point, and as the café’s only pastry chef, I was usually on my feet for twelve hours a day. I didn’t mind so much; I liked working for Josephine, my cousin and the owner of Olive Sweet. Or, it wasn’t like I had anything else to do at least.
I had a few hours before Collin was supposed to pick me up, so I made my way into the bathroom to relax in the tub and actually pamper myself for once. My apartment couldn’t be considered large in any sense of the word, but the bathroom was definitely a selling point. It had the same dark wood floors that the rest of the apartment had, and the original claw foot tub. It was beautiful, if not a little cramped. But best of all – it was free. Well, free in the sense that I worked my ass off in exchange for the loft above the café and a little monthly stipend. It worked for me; I didn’t need a lot to be happy. Anything was better than back home.
My hair clung to my face as the hot water began filling up the tub, and the bathroom started steaming up. I pulled it free of the bun on top of my head, and let it fall down my back. With the exception of a trim every few months or so, I hadn’t really cut my hair since I was thirteen. It wasn’t necessarily my favorite style, but old habits die-hard and I could almost hear my mother’s voice in my head, counting all the reasons why I keep my hair long.
I slipped into the tub, cringing slightly at how hot the water was. Eventually my body adjusted, and I succumbed to the smell of lavender that filled my bathroom. It wasn’t often that I actually let myself relax; not when I was constantly running up and down the stairs to check on rising dough and make sure that my egg whites didn’t get too warm before turning them into meringues. I was lucky if I even got to bathe in a single day, really.
Obviously I didn’t mind. Josephine trusted me enough to do my own thing. She’d built Olive Sweet’s reputation on her culinary expertise, focusing on understated, yet decadent, breakfasts and lunches. The icing on her proverbial cake, however, was my dessert. Literally. In the seven months that I’d taken over pastries at the café, I’d already been written about in the LA Times and had turned Josephine’s modest coffee shop into a mecca for the gluttons of the Westside. For someone with no real training, and no true accomplishment in life, I took my undertaking very seriously. It was my lifeline, the only purpose I knew. I wasn’t about to give it up because I was tired.
I let the water go cold, before finally getting up and out of the tub. The steam had settled, leaving the surfaces in my bathroom damp. It was July in California, but there was an unusual chill in the air, so I wrapped myself in my long plush robe and made my way into my bedroom to rummage through my closet. It really was sad how few clothes I actually had in there; it was a tiny closet as it was, and my paltry wardrobe made it look downright pathetic. To be fair, I hadn’t really had the time or space to pack up my entire closet back in Kansas, and left with only what I could fit into my grandmother’s vintage suitcase. Call me sentimental, but I figured if she could pack up her entire life into that one suitcase to move to a new country, I could do the same. And though California was technically part of the same union as Kansas, it may as well have been a different planet.
Thankfully, I had brought the classic black dress that I’d also inherited from my grandmother. I pulled it out of the garment bag hanging in the closet, and laid it on the bed before moving to the vanity in the corner of the room to start getting ready.
The antique vanity in the bedroom (really just the bedroom section of the loft, since I lived in a studio) was my second favorite part of the apartment. Josephine had the same mentality that I did when it came to style, and had filled the apartment with vintage furniture and décor when she’d lived in it. Her girlfriend, Heather, had much more modern taste, and Josephine had left behind the majority of her larger pieces when they’d moved in together. So I was getting it all second (and third and fourth, probably) hand, which was exactly how I liked it. Everything had a history, and now I got to contribute to that history too. I just hoped I was leaving behind a good story.
I kept a towel on my head while I applied my makeup, making sure not to overdo it, just a little powder and liquid eyeliner, some dramatic mascara, and a red lip to finish it off. The power of subtlety when it came to making up your face was another gift my grandmother had left me, a product of her coming of age in Paris during the Second World War. It had paid off; she died when she was seventy-five years old, but her skin
was still nearly flawless. Much different than my own mother, who had grown up thinking that makeup should be applied like frosting: thick and obvious. It didn’t matter how much my grandmother, her mother, had tried to teach her otherwise. The rest of the girls were doing it that way, and my grandmother was an embarrassment to her as it was.
I lined my lip with a nude liner before filling it in with my favorite red lipstick. I was on a tight budget every month, so much so that I didn’t even bother with a cell phone, but I still found a way to afford a tube of Chanel Rouge Coco whenever I needed it. It was as essential to my cocktail dress as it was to my apron. It was a security blanket. A mask.
I had only a half hour to fix up my hair before Collin would be arriving, so I decided to dry it quickly and pull it into a messy chignon at the back of my head. Only thing left was to get dressed, but as I made my way to the bed where I had put out my black dress earlier, something stopped me. I stared at the black cocktail dress, cut perfectly below my knee and fitted in all the right places. It was trusted, made almost perfectly for me, but something just didn’t feel right. I’d worn it to my grandmother’s funeral, my high school graduation, both my brother and sister’s weddings, and even my own engagement party. It held so many memories on its own, memories that I wasn’t quite ready to share with anyone yet.
I glanced at the clock; five minutes before six o’clock. I made a mad dash into my closet, and flipped through the hangers quickly, before finding the only other dress I’d brought with me. It was more practical, a hand-me-down from my brother’s wife, and much more subtle than the other. I pulled the navy jersey fabric over my head and tied the belt at the waist, and slipped on a pair of nude pumps right when I heard Collin knock on my front door.
Chapter 2
“So?” Darcy had bombarded me as soon as I got into work the next day. It didn’t help that Josephine was in there too. I was trapped in a tiny, stuffy kitchen with the only two people who actually cared about my life, and I’d just gone on my first first date in, well, forever.
I moved to grab my apron from the hook next to the refrigerator, ignoring both sets of eyes that bore into the back of my head. “Oh come on,” I heard Darcy say, “You seriously cannot leave us hanging. How was it?”
I finally turned, internally cringing at the overly eager expressions that she wore on her face. Josephine just looked slightly amused. I sighed.
“It was fine,” was all I said.
“Fine?” Darcy said, a look of disgust now on her face. “Fine? You need to give me more than that Mellie.”
Josephine laughed. “I’ve had to listen to Darcy discuss your love life, or lack thereof, for a week now Mel, since Collin asked you out. We all know this is a big deal. You, Melanie Devlin, have not been on a date since you arrived in Los Angeles five months ago. And Collin Sorenson is one of my best customers, not to mention a partner at one of the biggest accounting firms in the city. So, spill.”
I glared at her. Traitor.
“It was, fine,” I said again, pulling the strings of my apron angrily to emphasize my point, and almost cutting off circulation to my stomach in the process. “He picked me up at six o’clock on the dot, took me to some fancy Italian restaurant where we drank fancy Italian wine and ate fancy Italian pasta, and then took me home. We have exactly three things in common, and he already wants to take me on another date.”
Darcy squealed. “I knew it!” she said, her voice an octave higher than it usually was. “I knew you two would get along! He’s so…dreamy. And rich!”
I couldn’t help but give her the stink eye at that last sentiment. I heard Josephine choke back a laugh.
“Aren’t you supposed to be, I don’t know, working or something?” I snapped at them, turning to the fridge so I could grab the ingredients for the desserts I was making for an event the next day. “I’m already running late today, and would really appreciate a kitchen free from distractions.”
Darcy just rolled her eyes. “Well, you can’t avoid us forever. I guess I’ll get back to the register,” she said, and turned on her heel to head out the swinging kitchen doors.
I ignored her, and set my cold ingredients on the counter before grabbing the dry items from the pantry. I almost forgot Josephine was still in the kitchen, and went to work measuring flour and cracking eggs.
I jumped when she finally did speak up. “Really though Mellie, how was it? You know that you don’t have to start dating again, if you aren’t ready. Not that it’s any of our business, of course.”
I sighed, and turned to face her. “It’s not that I’m not ready to date again. It’s more that I don’t know how to date. This is all just too new for me. I didn’t come here to find a husband, you know. I just want to live a quiet life and bake. That’s all.”
Josephine studied me for a moment, and it made me nervous. I turned my back to her, and grabbed another large bowl from the shelf above the counter. I knew that look; my dad had the same one, when he was concerned or worried about me.
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” she asked.
I shrugged. “It’s what I’m good at, so why not?”
“That’s not what I asked,” she said, moving to where I stood next to the counter. She grabbed my hand, forcing me to stop pouring ingredients into the bowl haphazardly. “Are you sure that’s what you want? Staying here, baking things for other people? It doesn’t matter if you’re good at it. What do you want to do with your life?”
I could almost feel the tears pool in my eyes, but I blinked them back quickly before they could actually form. “I don’t know Josephine,” I said quietly, not looking at her. “It’s all too soon. All of the sudden, I can do whatever I want. It’s a big change from having my entire life planned out for me. I just need time to figure it out.”
She nodded, and put her arm around my shoulder. “I understand. And you know that you can stay here as long as you want. It’s nice having a family again, but know that I’ll support whatever you want to do. You do have your entire life ahead of you; don’t feel like you need to compromise your happiness for someone. Or something.”
“I know,” I said, letting out a little of the tension in my shoulders. “Thank you Josephine. For everything.”
Josephine just smiled, and kissed my hair. “You don’t need to thank me for anything. I’m your cousin and I love you.”
For the second time in less than a minute, I felt moisture in my eyes, and it scared me. I knew that Josephine understood how that was; we did come from the same family. She released my shoulder, and took a step back before heading back out to the front of the café.
She stopped at the swinging doors, and turned back to where I still stood. “Let me know if you need any help with that order for tomorrow,” she said gently. “It’s been a while since I’ve made Grandma Lissy’s cream puffs, but I still know the recipe by heart.”
I just smiled, and nodded. “Sure. I think I’m good for now, thanks.”
I heard the squeak of the swinging door, and let a breath that I didn’t know I was holding out.
Chapter 3
When I was fourteen, we got a new student at Selden High School. It was a big deal, since my freshman class had only twenty students at the time. Not only that, but she was from California; the product of parents who grew up in Selden, wanted to see the world, and moved back when they realized that Los Angeles wasn’t the best place to raise a family.
Paulina ended up becoming one of my best friends, much to my parents’ annoyance. She used to love talking about her childhood by the beach and how amazing California was, with its endless summers and massive houses. It wasn’t until I actually moved here myself that I realized she grew up in a duplex in Pasadena.
One of her favorite topics, which were usually either made up completely or exaggerated by my creative friend, was always about the celebrities she saw on a regular (if not daily) basis. Brad Pitt had saved her life once, when she was in a car accident (he apparently carried her, in his arms
, for either six to ten miles to the nearest hospital, depending on the day she was telling the story), and supposedly Gwen Stefani lived the same neighborhood that she did.
It took me four months of living in Los Angeles before seeing my first celebrity, and even then I didn’t realize who it was until after one of the real housewives of Beverly Hills left the café.
I glanced at the directions in my hand, and wondered if I would finally meet someone famous. I didn’t feel like I’d be the type to get star struck, but I wanted to be prepared anyway. The birthday cake I was delivering was going to a house in the Hollywood Hills, and the homes I was driving by definitely looked like they could house someone with some serious money. They’d left a somewhat innocuous name on the order, but apparently people did that a lot in this town. I turned onto the right street, and pulled up to a high gate surrounded by a lot of greenery. There was no way to tell what it would look like on the inside.
I pushed the button on the intercom and let them know I was here to deliver the birthday cake. Whoever was on the other side of that speaker didn’t seem too concerned with who I was, since they let me in without even asking my name or what company I was with.
It took me almost five minutes to maneuver Josephine’s catering van up the steep driveway, but I finally parked in front of a Spanish style house that had to have been bigger than my high school. I made my way to the back of the van, and pulled out the large square box containing the elaborate two tiered birthday cake I’d been working on since yesterday.
The front door to the house was open slightly, but I rang the bell with my elbow anyway, hoping someone would come find me. I stood outside for another few minutes, wondering if I should just head inside and drop it off. There had to be someone around; they did let me in the gate, after all.
Eventually my arms started to ache, and I decided to just go for it. I nudged the door open with my foot, and made my way in through the enormous foyer. It was still mid-afternoon, and light seemed to pour in from every crevice possible. The floors were a brilliant white marble, and a gorgeous antique buffet sat on the other end of the hallway.
