by Lydia Reeves
In the kitchen I grabbed the biggest tray I could find and headed back out into the ballroom. At the dessert table I ignored the stares, the tactful whispers and less tactful comments, and loaded the tray with all the mousse. The damage had clearly already been done, but I said a few reassuring words to the crowd, doing what I could to salvage whatever vestiges of pride I had left, then headed back into the kitchen with the ruined mousse. My father, thankfully, was nowhere to be seen.
The rest of the food was fine; I knew that, I had sampled it all. Like any decent pastry chef would do. I don’t know why I hadn’t tasted the mousse. Because I was an idiot, obviously. I didn’t know if anyone would be brave enough to try the other desserts at this point, but I wasn’t going to stand around and watch to find out.
Bria was waiting for me when I finally retreated back into the kitchen with the tray of mousse, which I unceremoniously dumped on the counter.
Her eyes were wide. “Geoff, what happened?”
I tried, but I couldn’t keep my voice even. It boiled out in an angry whisper. “What happened? I proved my dad right, that’s what happened. I messed up, just like I knew I would. I should have stayed in med school.”
Her face was twisted in sympathy. “What, you think no one messes up in medicine?”
“You’re right,” I snapped. “I would have messed that up, too. I shouldn’t have done this. I knew better, but you and Sam wouldn’t let up, would you?” I couldn’t stop. I could see her expression hardening into stone, the emotion draining out of her face, and I tried to halt the flow, but it was too late. The embarrassment, the failure, the anger, it was too strong, and it poured out of me along with the words. “You both thought you knew what was best for me, even though I told you I didn’t want this. I knew this wouldn’t end well.”
“That’s right,” she said, color blazing bright in her cheeks. “Something went wrong, so you’d better give up, right? You made a mistake, so your dad must be right about everything.” Her hands were fisted on her hips, the air practically crackling with energy around her. “Don’t listen to the hundred people telling you your food is great, just listen to the one saying you’re worthless. What do we know anyway? We’re not validating your insecurities, so we must be full of shit, right?”
I rolled my eyes impatiently. “That’s not what—”
But she didn’t stop. “I guess if you stop baking, you’ll be looking for a new job, huh? Maybe we can job hunt together, if I’m not in prison by then!”
She hurled the final words at me and turned to leave, but my hand shot out reflexively, grabbing her by the arm. “What are you talking about?”
She spun back to face me, so fast her arm ripped out of my grasp, and I realized I could see tears in her eyes. She blinked them back, still clearly furious and trying to hold herself together. I suddenly felt like I had lost the thread of this argument. What the hell had I missed?
When she spoke again, she bit out the words in a trembling voice. “One of my patients died and there’s a police investigation. I’m under review for inappropriate treatment. They suspended me yesterday pending an investigation. Best-case scenario—I’ll lose my license. And I’m not holding my breath for the best-case scenario.”
The tears spilled over and she jerked her face away from me, then turned, and fled out the back door.
Chapter 11
BRIA
Geoff caught up with me in the parking lot, looking like he’d been hit by a freight train. A small, hidden part of me felt guilty—that probably hadn’t been fair of me, to hit him with everything like that, especially when he was still reeling from the failed mousse and the confrontation with his father.
But the larger part of me, the angry, hurt part, felt vindicated. How dare he blame me for this? I hadn’t forced him to take the job. Yes, I’d had the Foundation call him, but only to offer him the chance. He’d made the decision by himself. Hell, I hadn’t even brought it up again after I’d talked to Sam. Obviously, I’d thought it was the right thing for him to do, but I’d let him come to that conclusion on his own. And if he wanted to find someone to blame for his failure tonight, maybe he should blame the alcohol that was still painfully obvious on his breath.
Dammit. My tears dried up in the heat of my anger, and I swiped a hand across my eyes, probably smearing my makeup. I hadn’t even wanted to come tonight. The last thing I wanted to do was put on a dress and spend an evening socializing with the very people who were all no doubt whispering about me behind my back. It had been obvious from the second I’d walked through the door tonight, faces turning in my direction, alternatively speculative and pitying. I never would have come, except I had to support Geoff. I knew what this meant to him, and I had to be there for him. And then he threw it all right back in my face.
I stopped when he caught me by the arm, swinging me around to face him. I looked down, refusing to meet his eyes.
“Bria.” His voice was urgent. “Tell me what happened. Tell me everything.” His eyes were wide, illuminated by the lights in the parking lot, just beginning to come on in the gathering dusk. He sounded bewildered.
The anger still simmered in me, but it had been two days now, two days of fear and confusion, of second guessing myself, and having no one to talk to, and the story began to spill out in a flat voice.
“…and then I had to go to the police station and give my statement. The board put me on paid leave while the police conduct the investigation, and I don’t know what happened, but I saw the medical records. I…I didn’t think I did anything wrong, but if what they say is true and he died just after he left, and I was the last one to see him, then I must have.” My chest was tight now with the effort of keeping my voice from shaking. I knew I shouldn’t even be talking about this with him, with anyone, but I couldn’t stop. “I must have missed something, must have—”
“No.” He gripped me tighter, forcing my chin up to meet his eyes. “If you say you gave him the best treatment you could, then you did. There has to be another explanation, and if there’s an investigation, the police will figure it out.”
The certainty in his voice should have been reassuring, but I still felt cold inside.
“Tell me what I can do,” he said. “How can I help?”
The coldness inside me seemed to solidify. Because there was nothing he could do, no way he could help. I had gotten myself into this mess, and it was out of both our hands now. Just like Geoff had gotten himself into the mess inside, with alcohol and self-doubt, and he had to find his own way out of it. We weren’t in this together.
I don’t know what expression he read on my face, but he started to shake his head. “No,” he said, his voice sounding choked. “What—”
“Geoff,” I cut him off, and he closed his mouth with a snap. “You can’t help me with this. And I can’t help you with…that.” I waved my hand vaguely back toward the convention center. “I don’t…” I squeezed my eyes shut, and my voice was a strangled whisper. “I can’t do this right now.”
I didn’t know what he could say to make me change my mind, but I expected him to try. I expected reassurance, or apologies, or even pleading. I certainly didn’t expect to open my eyes a moment later and find myself standing alone in the parking lot.
But maybe I shouldn’t have been surprised. Maybe giving up was what he did best.
Chapter 12
GEOFF
I knew I’d messed up. I’d messed up on every level. I shouldn’t have blamed Bria for my mistakes, shouldn’t have taken my anger out on her in the first place. And I definitely shouldn’t have just left her in the parking lot. But I hadn’t known what to do. I’d been so overwhelmed, so frustrated and scared, and, I’ll admit, not entirely sober, so I’d fled.
I’d regretted it immediately. But when I’d come back out to the parking lot, she was long gone. I couldn’t leave until the end of the fundraiser, so I’d called her instead, apologizing and imploring her to call me back. I hadn’t expected that she would, bu
t I’d hoped, as I waited for the stupid event to finally end. I was right; she didn’t call. Or answer my texts.
On the plus side, at least one brave soul had decided to try the other desserts I’d baked, and once it was discovered they weren’t poisoned, word spread through the crowd. I wasn’t forgiven for the chocolate mousse disaster, but at least the days and weeks of preparing hadn’t been a waste.
My father left without seeking me out, not that I’d made any effort on my part either, and when the last straggler had finally, finally cleared out of the ballroom, I tore down my displays in record time, packing up the leftovers to take to Sam’s and hightailing it out of there.
I had every intention of heading straight over to Bria’s apartment, but with a little distance from the situation, and a little sobriety, I began to second guess myself. What if she didn’t want to see me? What if she needed some time? Hoping I wasn’t making yet another colossal mistake, I went home instead. I would wait; give her time to cool off and call her in the morning. I wouldn’t barge in on her unless she invited me.
But she didn’t invite me over the next day. She didn’t answer her phone, either. Or return my calls. Or my texts. The day after that was more of the same, and by Monday morning, when she normally would have had a long shift at the hospital, I was practically beside myself. I finally gave in and stopped by her apartment on my way to work. If only I could talk to her, just for a minute, I could ask how she was doing. I just needed to see if she was okay.
But she didn’t answer her door, and when I made my way dejectedly back out to the parking lot, I realized her car wasn’t even there. Where could she possibly be? The radio silence was killing me.
It only took about twenty minutes of me moping around at the bookstore before Sam came over and dragged me away from the cafe.
“Marian’s got it. Come with me. Look at you. You’ll make the customers depressed.”
I followed him obediently into the office, where I slumped into a worn leather chair. Sam took the rolling office chair, pushing his computer out of the way and propping his elbows on the desk.
“Okay, let’s hear it. What happened?”
“What do you mean? I told you what happened. I served chocolate-flavored salt to half the hospital staff and got to hear ‘I told you so’ from my dad.” I’d called Sam on Saturday morning with an update and an excuse as to why I wouldn’t be in that day. The second time I’d ever called off since I’d been working for him. I’d thought it wouldn’t take anything less than a knife wound to keep me from work, but apparently heartbreak and embarrassment would do the trick as well.
He rolled his eyes. “Yes, you told me about that part. But that doesn’t explain why you look like…” He waved his hand in a vague circle, encompassing my entire state of being. “…that.”
He looked at me expectantly and I gave in. He wasn’t going to let up until he was satisfied.
“I haven’t talked to Bria since the fundraiser. I told you about our argument.”
“Have you called her?”
I glared at him. “Of course I’ve called her. I’ve left about a million messages. And texts. I even went to her apartment this morning, but she wasn’t there. I don’t know what to do. She won’t even give me a chance to apologize.”
Sam shrugged. “Maybe an apology isn’t what she wants.”
“Well then what does she want?” My voice came out in an exasperated growl. “I can’t read her mind. I know I messed up, but I don’t know how to fix it! Besides, she’s dealing with all this shit from work right now, and she’s cut me out. I can’t comfort her, I can’t support her, I don’t even know what’s going on.”
Sam blew out a breath and leaned back in his chair, looking thoughtful. “I don’t know, man…Bria doesn’t seem like a mind-games kind of girl. If she’s avoiding you, there’s got to be a reason for it. What did she say to you before you left on Friday?”
The words echoed in my mind as clearly as if she had just spoken them. “She said…she couldn’t do this right now. She said I couldn’t help her, and she couldn’t help me.”
Sam’s eyebrows drew together, and there was a long pause. Finally, he said, “Well, that sounds pretty clear to me.”
“Enlighten me.” I couldn’t keep the frustration out of my voice.
“Look, man. She’s right. There’s nothing you can do to help her through this investigation. She has to get that straightened out on her own, and the outcome is out of your hands.”
“Yeah, but—”
“And she can’t help you figure out your shit either. She especially can’t help if you don’t listen to her, or if you blame her for your mistakes.” My mouth, which had immediately opened in defense, snapped shut. “You have to do that,” he went on, “and maybe what she needs isn’t an apology. Maybe what she needs is for you to fix your shit.”
“How do I do that?” I said in exasperation. “I thought you guys wanted me to try catering, and I did. But that’s not going to work out. Maybe you’re all right, and maybe my food tastes okay when I don’t fuck it up, but I can’t do it again. It’s too much stress.” I hadn’t even realized I’d made that decision until I spoke the words aloud, but it was true. I didn’t like who I became when I was stressed like that. I didn’t like how I’d treated Bria, or how I’d turned to alcohol to cope with the anxiety. I’d told Bria that I only drank when I was stressed, or dealing with my dad, and I’d told myself at the time that since I didn’t drink otherwise, I didn’t have a problem. But maybe that was the definition of a problem.
Sam just stared at me like I’d lost my mind. “Geoff, it’s not about what we want you to do. Who the hell cares what we want? What do you want? All that we want is for you to do what makes you happy.”
I just blinked.
“Baking makes me happy,” I said slowly.
Sam looked at me with exasperated annoyance, though I could see the corner of his mouth twitch up. “Things are always so black and white with you. You’re either in med school, or you’re a disgrace. You either have to kill yourself baking for huge events, or you can’t bake at all.”
I looked down at the floor. He wasn’t wrong.
“Look, I know you like running the cafe,” he went on, “but you’re obviously not completely happy here. You want more, but catering doesn’t have to be the only option. Why don’t you stop worrying about what your dad wants, or what I want, or what Bria wants, and figure out what you want.”
What I wanted was Bria. But I understood his point. I spent so much time being afraid of letting everyone else down, and all I was doing was letting myself down in the process.
I thought back over all the time I’d spent throughout my childhood trying so hard to be the person my dad wanted me to be—strong, successful, accomplished. I thought about how I’d always been teased for being who I was—soft, compassionate, emotional. And I wondered for the first time if those things were mutually exclusive.
I rose to my feet, thanking Sam and heading back out to the cafe, to the one place in my life that I felt like I knew what I was doing. His words echoed in my head as I walked. What do you want?
If I was honest with myself, I knew what I wanted, what I’d always wanted. What I didn’t know was how to convince myself that my dreams were worth following.
Chapter 13
BRIA
I was lost in a tangle of emotions. Between the situation at work, the meeting with the police investigator, and the argument with Geoff, I was still reeling. Everything had happened so fast, I hadn’t gotten a chance to process any of it. And so instead of figuring out how to deal with any of it, I just shut down.
I locked myself in my apartment, turned on the TV in hopes that the sound would drown out my racing thoughts, and then proceeded to ignore the phone when it rang. And rang. And rang some more. It wasn’t all Geoff. I didn’t answer Claire’s calls either, or my parents. But it was mostly Geoff.
At first, I didn’t answer because I was mad. Then I didn�
�t answer because I was overwhelmed and confused. But eventually, the main emotion keeping me away was a conflicting combination of guilt and hurt. Part of me was starting to regret the way I had reacted, and the things I’d said. While I knew he was in the wrong, he had tried to apologize. And what’s more, I knew he hadn’t meant the things he’d said. But that still didn’t make his words any less hurtful.
And at the same time, it was obvious I’d been wrong. I’d told him there was nothing he could do to help me through the mess with my job. But in reality, I desperately missed his support, his comfort, his sympathetic ear. Effectively having cut myself off from my friends at the hospital, I had no one else I could turn to. And really, aside from his blind spot where his own job was concerned, Geoff really was a generally rational and level-headed guy. He was exactly the sort of person I needed to help me through this.
So why couldn’t I just answer the phone?
The weekend seemed to stretch into eternity, and Sunday was even worse. I slept fitfully, tossing and turning and losing track of the time. I ran every second of my interaction with Mr. Templeton over and over in my head. I replayed my fight with Geoff in vivid detail. I drove myself crazy.
It was in the dark, moonless hours late on Sunday night when I decided I couldn’t take it any longer. I’d call him in the morning. Or better yet, I’d go see him at work. I’d apologize; I’d accept his apology, and we would get through this mess the way we both needed to—together.
I felt the barest relief at a decision made, but it still took me forever to fall asleep. When the harsh ringing of the phone jerked me awake, it could have been hours later or mere minutes, and I nearly fell out of bed as my heart leaped into my throat.
