Pupcakes

by Annie England Noblin

  “Thank you for giving these to me,” he said. He used his free hand to touch Brydie lightly on the shoulder. “It means more to me than you could ever know.”

  “I’m glad,” Brydie said. “I know she would want you to have it.”

  “My daughter is waiting for me outside,” he said. “I should probably head home.”

  “She could have come inside,” Brydie said. “Here, let me fix you a plate of cookies to go.”

  “You’re very sweet,” Bill replied. “Maura knew how much I needed to be here today, how much I needed to do this alone. She’s my youngest. A lot like her dad, that one.”

  Brydie busied herself collecting a cornucopia of cookies on a red paper plate. When she was done, she covered the top with cellophane and handed it to Bill. “I’m so happy I got to meet you today,” she said. “Even if it was under these circumstances.”

  Bill smiled at her, a bright, wide smile that made him look exactly like the man in the photo album he was grasping. “Circumstances like these are about all an old man like me has left.”

  Brydie walked him to the door and held it open for him as he made his way down the front steps. “Be careful on your trip home,” she said.

  Bill turned around to face her once he was on the bottom step. His daughter, out of her car by now, was walking up the driveway to meet him. “These memories in here are both beautiful and ugly,” he said, pointing to the photo album he was carrying. “They are as beautiful to me today as they were ugly to me sixty years ago. They make up part of who I am, but they don’t define me. Not then. Not today,” he said, his voice quavering ever so slightly. “Do you understand?”

  Brydie nodded. “I think so.”

  “Ah, Maura, thank you,” he said to his daughter, taking her hand.

  Brydie watched them go, hand in hand, father and daughter.

  CHAPTER 41

  December 23

  BRYDIE WAS AT ELLIOTT’S HOUSE HOLDING ELLIOTT AND Leo’s brand-new baby, Oliver Joseph. “He’s just beautiful,” Brydie said, smiling over at her friend.

  “I know,” Elliott beamed. “He was totally worth that C-section and the thousands of stitches I now have holding my insides together.”

  Brydie wrinkled her nose. “How are you feeling?”

  “Sore,” Elliott said. “But happy.”

  “That seems like the right combination of feelings.”

  Elliott took a sip of apple juice out of her mug and said, “I’m sorry I didn’t get to go to the funeral.”

  Brydie looked up from Oliver. “It’s okay,” she said. “I know you would have been there if you could.”

  In Brydie’s arms, Oliver began to cry. “I think he’s hungry,” she said. She stood up and carried him over to Elliott.

  “Oh, sweet baby,” Elliott crooned. “It’s okay. Hang on. Just a minute.” She pulled her left side out of her gown, and the baby greedily began to suck at her breast.

  Brydie reached for her sweatshirt and pulled it on over her head. “I should probably get going,” she said.

  “Okay,” Elliott replied absently, still gazing down at her baby.

  “I’ll come by again sometime after Christmas to visit,” Brydie said, making her way toward the door. “Tell Mia I’ll bring her present then.”

  “Brydie?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Are you . . . okay?”

  Brydie stopped at the doorway and turned around. “I’m okay,” she said. “I guess I’m just worried about what will happen to the house now that Pauline is gone and what Teddy and I will do after.”

  “The house will be put up for sale, but you’ll be able to stay there for as long as you’d like until it sells. You know that,” Elliott replied. “But are you okay? I know you and Pauline had become close. I know that things with Nathan didn’t end well.”

  Brydie didn’t want to talk about it. All she wanted to do was look at the beautiful baby. “I thought you knew everything already?”

  “Fine,” Elliott said, and rolled her eyes. “Don’t tell me. But you know I’m always here if you need to talk, right?”

  “I do know that,” Brydie said.

  “So you’re going home for Christmas?”

  “I am,” Brydie said. “I was supposed to leave tomorrow, but I’m off work today, too, so I thought I might bundle Teddy up and leave tonight.”

  “I’m glad things are going better with your mom,” Elliott said. “I know that helps.”

  “It does,” Brydie said. “Surprisingly.”

  “Nathan will come around,” Elliott said. “You’ll see.”

  Brydie shrugged. “I don’t know if he will. It’s going to be okay even if he doesn’t. I have Teddy and my job and you and Leo. I’m okay, you know?”

  “Yes,” Elliott said, looking up at Brydie from her baby. “You are.”

  CHAPTER 42

  December 24

  BRYDIE WATCHED HER MOTHER AS SHE SERVED ROGER DINNER. They were sitting right next to each other, despite there being more than enough room at the table. Her mother was laughing at something Roger said as he refilled her mother’s wineglass.

  It was Christmas Eve, and she’d been shocked when she’d arrived the night before to find that none of the decorations had been put up.

  “We wanted to wait for you,” her mother said.

  This morning, they’d gone to the tree farm and picked over what was left of the scraggly trees and took one home. They’d spent the rest of the day decorating and baking and singing Brydie’s favorite Christmas carols. She was surprised and impressed that Roger knew most of them.

  She looked down at the envelope sitting next to her plate. She’d meant to open it that morning, but she hadn’t. She didn’t know why—maybe she was saving it for the right time.

  When dinner was done and Roger had retired to the living room to start the fire in the fireplace, Brydie and her mother busied themselves clearing the plates.

  “Does that pug always sit next to you like that when you’re eating?” her mother asked. “Like he’s expecting you to drop half your food on the floor?”

  “Roger fed him half of his steak,” Brydie replied. “It wasn’t me he was sitting next to.”

  “He loves dogs,” her mother said. “He has a French bulldog, you know.”

  “He does?”

  Her mother nodded. “His name is Winston.”

  “That’s an adorable name!”

  “He’s worse than your dog,” her mother replied. “He snores and farts and sometimes he gets so excited he throws up right in the middle of Roger’s living room!”

  “I don’t mind Teddy’s snoring,” Brydie admitted. “I can’t say I love the farting or the throwing up.”

  “But you love him just the same?” her mother asked.

  “I do.”

  “Roger and I have been talking,” Ruth Benson said. “And mind you, this is just talk, but we’ve been talking about moving in together.”

  Brydie stopped drying the plate in her hand. “Really?”

  “He sold his house ages ago, and he’s renting a little apartment right now. His original plan was to build a new house, but we both think it seems kind of silly to build a house just for him if we’re going to be together for the long haul.”

  “And you think you will be?”

  “Brydie, I do.” Her mother’s face was beaming.

  It had been a long time since she’d seen her mother that happy. In fact, Brydie couldn’t remember a time. “I’m so happy for you, Mom,” she said.

  “Really?”

  “Yes.” Brydie set the plate down and reached for her mother’s hand. “Roger seems really nice. And now I’ll have another dog to bake for!”

  Her mother laughed and hugged her daughter. “That dog is going to take some getting used to.”

  “You’ll learn to love him,” Brydie said. “Trust me.”

  The front door slammed, letting in a rush of frosty air. Brydie turned around to see Roger standing there with the sack o
f presents and something else . . . someone else.

  “I found him outside,” Roger said. “He was pacing back and forth in front of the house. I told him he’d better come inside before he catches pneumonia and he has to treat himself.”

  Nathan stood next to Roger, looking cold and sheepish. “I was going to knock,” he said.

  “Nathan?” Brydie said, rushing over to him. “What are you doing here?”

  Nathan looked from Brydie to Roger to Ruth and then again to Brydie. “Could we talk?”

  “Okay,” Brydie replied, her brow furrowed with confusion. “Let’s go back to my bedroom.”

  “I’m sorry to just show up like this, but when I got to your house, nobody was there.”

  “How did you even know where I was?” Brydie asked him.

  “I went to ShopCo,” he said. “Since you weren’t at the house, I thought you’d be at work. But when I got there, Joe told me you’d taken the night off. He didn’t seem real happy about it, either.”

  “He wasn’t,” Brydie replied with a grin.

  “Anyway, he told me you were going home for Christmas, and so I pulled Elliott’s info from the hospital system and called her . . .”

  “That sounds illegal,” Brydie replied.

  “Maybe unethical,” Nathan admitted. “But I had to find you. I had to see you tonight.”

  “Why?” Brydie asked. She ushered him into her room and flipped the light switch. “What’s so important that it couldn’t wait?”

  Nathan looked around her childhood bedroom. “This isn’t how I pictured it,” he said.

  “You pictured my bedroom?”

  “I mean, *NSYNC? Really?” Nathan asked, pointing to a poster on the wall by her bed. “You were one of those girls?”

  Brydie crossed her arms over her chest. “What are you doing here, Dr. Reid?”

  Nathan tore his eyes from the poster and back to Brydie. “I’m an idiot,” he said. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. I don’t know why I haven’t been able to tell you the things I want to tell you. I guess I was just afraid.”

  “Of what?”

  Nathan took a step closer to her. “I’m a doctor,” he said. “I fix people. It’s what I do. I know that you’re not a patient. I know that, but I can’t help wanting to fix whatever is wrong in your life. I just care about you so much. And that morning I tried to treat you like someone I didn’t know. I spoke to you like I didn’t know you.”

  Brydie took a step forward, meeting him in the middle.

  “Relationships are messy,” he went on. “They’re unpredictable. That’s why I stuck to medicine for so long. I can clean up those messes, you know?”

  “Not all messes have to be cleaned up.”

  Nathan grabbed Brydie and pulled her close to him. “Can we try this again?”

  There wasn’t time to answer before Nathan’s mouth was on hers, and Brydie felt everything that was tense and lonely and lost begin to unfurl, freeing the knot tied inside of her until at last, at long last, she was free.

  From the hallway, there came a thud against the bedroom door, and then a growl, and then someone, her mother, yelling, “Brydie!”

  Brydie opened her bedroom door. “What is it, Mom?”

  “That dog,” her mother gasped. “That dog. I can’t catch him.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “He grabbed your purse off the couch, pulled something out of it, and now he’s running around like he’s an escaped convict from Alcatraz!”

  Brydie ran out of her bedroom and into the living room. Teddy was sitting at one end by the fireplace, an envelope clenched in his jaws. “Teddy!” Brydie said. “Give me that!”

  At her voice, Teddy dropped the envelope at her feet. Brydie picked it up. “It’s okay,” she said. “It’s not torn or anything.”

  “What is it?” her mother asked.

  “I don’t know,” Brydie said. “It’s something from Pauline. Her lawyer gave it to me at the funeral, and he said not to open it until Christmas Eve.”

  “It’s Christmas Eve now,” her mother said. “You haven’t opened it yet?”

  “Not yet.”

  “What are you waiting for?”

  “I . . . I don’t know,” Brydie said.

  “Well, open it.”

  Brydie sat down on the couch, and Nathan and her mother sat next to her. Teddy, his energy for the evening spent, lay down at her feet. She tore at the envelope, careful not to rip the contents, and pulled out a piece of stationery with the name of the nursing home at the top. It was a letter from Pauline.

  Brydie,

  I know that you will likely be reading this letter sooner rather than later. I know this, because the doctors have told me as much, and I feel it deep down in my bones. I also know that if you are reading this, then you’ve agreed to take care of Teddy, and I want you know how grateful I am that you came into our lives when you did. Since the day we met, I haven’t worried once about your ability to take care of him.

  Enclosed in this letter is a key to a building I own downtown. It belonged to my late husband. It was in his family for years, and I want you to have it. Someday, when you are ready, you can start your own business—a bakery, I hope. If it’s not to be, then you can sell it. Truly, the building is yours for you to do with what you will. Brydie, I know we haven’t known each other for long, merely a matter of months. But I see in you many of the things I would have wanted my own daughter to be—strong, beautiful, and perfectly imperfect. Don’t give up on the things you want in life because one part doesn’t turn out the way you hoped it would. Be stronger for it, not because of it.

  All my love,

  Pauline

  EPILOGUE

  One year later

  BRYDIE STARED OVER THE TOP OF THE BAKERY CASE, AT THE line of people forming on the sidewalk. There had been a steady stream of people coming in and out since they’d opened an hour ago, and already she was out of four of their signature pastries.

  “Rosa!” Brydie called. “We’re out of the pupcakes!”

  “It’ll be ten more minutes!” Rosa hollered, muttering to herself as she worked. “They’re going to have to wait!”

  Brydie smiled at the man in front her. “It’s going to be a few more minutes,” she said. “But how about a sugar cookie and a coffee while you wait?” She reached into the case and pulled out a Christmas tree–shaped cookie. “And a reindeer bone for your buddy.”

  The man took the treat and handed it to the little Yorkie in his arms. “Theo just loves your pupcakes,” he said. “We’ll wait. Thank you.”

  “This is just the cutest little place,” the woman behind the man in line said. “I never would have thought to have a bakery for dogs and people. How long have you been open?”

  “Four months,” replied Brydie. “But it feels like a lifetime.”

  “And . . . how long until . . .?” She nodded down to Brydie’s stomach, which strained the apron she was wearing so much it looked like a tent.

  “February second.”

  As the woman continued to chat and the line continued to grow, she saw Nathan turn the corner, Teddy in front of him and Joe behind him. They were arguing good-naturedly about something, and Brydie suspected it had something to do with Joe’s newest recipe—a cookie for people and pets. Nathan, for his part, couldn’t imagine such a confection existed.

  “Sorry we’re late, boss,” Joe said, sidling past the crowd. “We got caught in traffic. It is Christmas Eve, you know.”

  “Oh, I know,” Brydie replied as Nathan bent to give her a kiss, one hand flush across her belly. “Rosa is dying back there. You’d better see if she needs some help.”

  “Shit, I forgot about the pupcakes,” Joe said, pulling his apron over his head. “We meant to make a triple batch last night.”

  “Language!” came the only reply from the back.

  “I have to get to the hospital,” Nathan said. “Is there anything else I can do before I leave?”

&nbs
p; Brydie looked around the bakery at the throng of people drinking their coffee and eating their scones, at the children and dogs playing, at the sign above the entryway that read, “Pauline’s: A Place for People and Pets,” and let out a contented sigh. “No,” she said, with a smile as sweet as powdered sugar. “I think I’ve got everything I could possibly need.”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  It is with sincere affection and admiration that I’d like to thank the following:

  Priya Doraswamy—for being so much more than an agent. You are my friend, dear one, and I love you.

  Lucia Macro—for believing in me, and most of all, for being patient when I was having a rough year.

  Luke & Taryn England—for being Emilia’s parents.

  My husband—for bragging about me to his World of Warcraft buddies.

  My son—who teaches me something new ever single day.

  My mom and dad—for loving me no matter what.

  Brittany Carter Farmer—for eighteen years of friendship.

  The Liberal Lassies—for being my rock, my sounding board, and most of all, for being my friends when I needed them the most.

  P.S. Insights, Interviews & More . . .*

  About the Author

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  Meet Annie England Noblin

  About the Book

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  Pupcakes Recipes

  Read On

  About the Author

  Meet Annie England Noblin

  ANNIE ENGLAND NOBLIN lives with her son, husband, and four rescued bulldogs in the Missouri Ozarks. She graduated with an M.A. in Creative Writing from Missouri State University and currently teaches English for Arkansas State University. Her poetry has been featured in such publications as the Red Booth Review and the Moon City Review, and she coedited and coauthored the coffee-table book, The Gillioz “Theatre Beautiful.”

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