by Jackie Lau
“What’s going on down here?” My mother enters the room.
“We’re leaving,” Dad says. “Best to go before rush hour starts.”
“What happened?”
“Your son seduced the caterer.” He gestures vaguely in Sarah’s direction.
“She’s my girlfriend,” I say.
“You hid the fact that you have a girlfriend from your own mother?” Mom asks.
“Don’t listen to him,” Dad says. “He’s lying that she’s his girlfriend.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Sarah steps forward as my parents bristle at the swear word. “He’s not lying. I’m his girlfriend, but this makes it all too clear why he didn’t want to introduce me to you yesterday.”
It’s at this point that I notice she’s wearing the pi necklace. I remember her reluctance when she saw the jewelry box; I remember her saying that I was a distraction, that I was making her do stupid things like slice her finger open in the kitchen.
And then yesterday, she said, “I love you.”
I ball up my fists.
My father takes my mother’s hand and walks toward the door, and I don’t stop him. I don’t see the point.
Thinking I’d actually have my father again? That was too good to be true.
He told me he was proud of me.
And then? He snatched it all away.
The door closes behind them, and I turn to Sarah.
“Your father is a piece of work,” she says. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize he was down here with you.”
For most of my childhood, there was a picture on the mantle of my dad holding me at the hospital, not even an hour after I was born, looking so happy. My father, who would clean my scraped knees and sing Cantonese lullabies to me.
And then...it was gone.
Eventually, Sarah will get fed up with me, too. Love is conditional, and one day, she’ll close the door for the last time.
I blow out a breath. “We need to break up.” I’m better off alone. I can see that now.
She cocks her head to the side. “You don’t mean that, right?”
“I say what I mean. We need to break up.”
“Because your father said you were getting ‘carelessly involved with women’? He seems to have puritanical beliefs when it comes to relationships. We’ve done nothing wrong, and I know you’ve had a bunch of casual sex in the past, and there’s nothing wrong with that, either. I’m sure you never coerced anyone, and I’m sure you were respectful and safe.”
“Not with Melinda.”
“And I bet that incident made you obsessive about safe sex.”
It did. I had sex without a condom once. Only once. And it changed everything. I would never, ever be so stupid again.
I blow out a breath. “Yes, my dad is a bit rigid, but he’d finally apologized to me, and then you came in and—”
“You were silent! I didn’t know there was anyone in the kitchen until it was too late. Like I said, I’m sorry. But now you’re talking about breaking up? I don’t understand.”
“You said you love me!” I say accusingly.
“I do.”
“Love is temporary. Love is conditional. And I can’t go through that again.”
“Come on, Josh. I’m not your father. I won’t dump you because you make one mistake.”
I grasp the pendant around her neck. “When I gave this to you, you told me I was distracting you from work, from your dream. I can’t imagine you’ll want to keep me around.”
She cringes as I throw her words back in her face.
“I was wrong,” she says. “You’re not a distraction. You’re an important part of my life.”
I can’t accept her words. “You’ll change your mind.”
“No. Now that I’ve realized the truth, I won’t change my mind. I won’t decide that being with you is bad for me.”
“It’s better to end this now. It’ll hurt even more later on.”
“Who says it has to end?”
“Because that’s just the way it works!” I raise my voice. I can’t help it.
“Your parents are still together. My parents are still together.”
“That’s just the way it works for me,” I amend.
“You haven’t even tried to have a relationship since high school...until now.”
“So? Neither have you.”
“That’s true,” she admits, reaching for me. “We can learn how to do this together.”
I jerk my hand away from her. “No. I can’t. I’ll do something foolish, and you’ll fall out of love with me, and it’ll be just what I deserve.”
“Why are you saying it’s what you deserve?”
“Even my own father wants nothing to do with me.”
“Your father is an ass. I understand why you want his approval, but you have to let go.”
“What about you?” I shoot back. “Your mother said you would fail, and it’s been gnawing at you ever since. Is that why you’re so determined to turn your pie shop into an empire?”
“An empire? I just want a few shops, and to sell pies in some Toronto grocery stores. And that’s what I want—I’m not doing it just to prove her wrong. Unlike you, who became a goddamn CEO so your dad would be proud of you, and guess what? He still didn’t want to talk to you. You’ll never be enough for him.”
Her words sting, but they’re true. “I know, I’m—”
“That doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with you. He’s the problem, not you. You’re fucking great.” She practically spits out the words. “Except now. You want to throw away what we have, as though it’s nothing.”
“It’s future pain. That’s what it is.”
“Why are you so goddamn scared?”
“I’m being rational.”
“You smile and act like you have this easy confidence, but underneath, you’re still a scared little boy who’s emotionally stunted. And I still want to be with you! Because I love you and you treat me well. Can’t you accept that I love you, even if you’re not ready to say it back? Can’t you give us a chance?”
We stare at each other for a long, long time.
“No,” I say at last. “I can’t.”
Chapter 24
Sarah
I take the subway back downtown and go to Happy As Pie. The kitchen has always been a refuge of sorts for me. I get started on some cherry pie filling, but I can’t focus.
I keep thinking about Josh.
I said words to him that I’d never expected to say to a man, and I’m angry at him for being unable to truly believe me. My love is not conditional on him being the perfect boyfriend.
Case in point? I still love him now, even though he broke up with me.
I’m furious at his father, too. I’m glad I talked back. I’m glad I swore in front of him. He deserved it. How can he not see what a great person Josh is? How can he not see how much damage he’s done to his son?
I shove the container of cherry pie filling into the fridge and slam the door shut.
“Everything okay?” Fatima asks as she walks in.
It’s only seven thirty in the morning and I’ve already had a break-up. This must be some kind of record.
“Yeah, everything’s fine.” I head to my office. “I’ll be back out in a bit.”
In my little office, I collapse on the chair and remember the time Josh found me here, doubled over with cramps, and brought me home and looked after me. He was so sweet.
And now he’s gone.
I know he could love me, but I made my case and he turned me down.
God, if only I hadn’t said those things about him being a distraction. Would he believe me if I’d kept my mouth shut the other day? If I hadn’t seemed wary when I saw the jewelry box? I’m all in now, but I wasn’t before...if only I’d gotten to this point sooner.
I shouldn’t think about the what-ifs. It won’t help anything.
I force myself to go over the bills. A while later, Ann knocks on the door.
“How was th
e party?” she asks.
“It was good,” I say.
She raises her eyebrows. “Something’s wrong.”
Dammit. My face can’t hide anything. “Josh broke up with me.”
“Oh, sweetheart.” She comes toward me and holds out her arms. “Can I hug you?”
I nod, and silent tears stream down my face as she comforts me. But I can’t let myself fall apart too much at work.
I yearn for someone to take care of me, though. Just for a little while.
Despite our differences, I want my mother.
* * *
At five o’clock on Saturday, I leave Happy As Pie and head to the train station. My crew promises they can keep everything running smoothly on Sunday. It’ll be the first time the shop opens without me. I trust them.
It’s a two-hour train ride to London, Ontario and I try to read. I have Around the World with the CEO and Pregnant with the CEO’s Twins with me. I attempt the twins book first. The CEO is an Italian man who’s the head of a big pharmaceutical company, and he has a one-night stand with a beautiful brunette he meets at a club. And then...surprise! She’s pregnant! With twins! Which doesn’t terrify me nearly as much as quintuplets.
Maybe I could have a baby or two. It wasn’t something I let myself consider before, since I didn’t plan to marry and being a single mother seemed incompatible with my career plans.
Now, though, I’ve had a relationship, and I start wondering...
I shut down that line of thinking. I won’t let myself go there.
Eventually, I manage to lose myself in the book, and when we arrive in London, I’m more than halfway through it.
My father picks me up in the old car he’s had since I was in high school. After I climb into the passenger’s seat, he pats my shoulder and tells me it’s good to see me, and we don’t say much else on the half-hour drive to Ingleford. My dad has never been a big talker, except when trying to convince me that chocolate milk came from brown cows, and strawberry milk came from the rare pink cow.
When I step into my childhood home, a wonderful scent greets my nose.
My mother’s chicken noodle soup.
“Sweetie, what happened?” Mom hurries into the front hall. “Why are you home?”
As soon as I see her, I lose it.
“He broke up with me,” I say, sobbing into her shoulder.
I feel pathetic, crying over a man I didn’t know for very long, but I can’t help it.
She pulls back. “Josh? But I saw him on Monday. He was crazy about you. I could tell by the way he looked at you.”
I sniffle. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“That’s okay, honey.” She holds me for a moment, then ushers me into the kitchen and serves me a bowl of chicken soup. Rich broth and vegetables and egg noodles.
It’s just what I need.
After dinner, she feeds me apple crisp and vanilla ice cream, and we watch TV for a while. When I crawl into bed, I finish Pregnant with the CEO’s Twins.
Sunday morning, I wake up at six thirty, which is late for me. My parents are still asleep, so I go for a walk around Ingleford, the town I was so desperate to escape as a teenager. I walk by the grocery store, the convenience store, the diner, the Tim Hortons, the farmer’s co-op, and the few other businesses that make up “downtown” Ingleford. None of them are open at this early hour. I walk by the elementary school that I attended for nine years. There’s no high school—we were bussed to the next town. Aside from old Mr. Albert and his dog, I don’t see anyone.
It’s nice being back here for the weekend. Familiar. Comforting, in a way.
Though I never want to live here again.
When I get back to my parents’ house, my mother is up.
“Want to make pancakes together?” she asks.
“Sure.”
We’ve done this many times before, since I was a little girl. I sift together the dry ingredients and make a well in the center of the bowl. Then she pours in the milk and egg and melted butter and mixes it up while I heat up the pan. She scoops the batter into the pan, and I sprinkle on the blueberries—we always make blueberry pancakes in my family.
There’s something I need to talk to my mom about while I’m here. I’ve been avoiding it for years, but I can’t do that any longer, not when it haunts every conversation I have with her.
“Why did you tell me I’d fail?” I ask.
“What are you talking about?”
“When I told you, after I finished college, that I was staying in Toronto and wanted to open my own place one day, you told me I wouldn’t make it.”
“I said that?” She frowns.
Jesus. She doesn’t even remember. “You did. Those words have bothered me ever since. I want to know why my own mother thought I’d fail.” I look at the blueberry pancakes in the pan rather than at her.
She takes a seat at the kitchen table. “I remember now. You were packing up everything in your bedroom, because you had no intention of coming back, except at holidays, and yes, I said some things. I didn’t mean that, though.”
I look up at her sharply. “You didn’t mean it?”
“Of course not.”
“Then why did you say it? Why have I spent the last decade determined to prove you wrong?”
“If it hadn’t been for what I said, would you have stayed in Toronto?”
“Yes. But that made me angry. It motivated me.” I flip over the pancakes.
She sighs. “I was afraid you wouldn’t fail. In fact, I was pretty sure you’d succeed, and it scared me. Because I wanted, so badly, for you to live in Ingleford, or at least in London, so I could see you every week. At first, I imagined you being an accountant, but then I thought you could have a cute little bakery on Main Street—we could use one of those, don’t you think?—with sandwiches and soups and cupcakes. I could stop in and see you whenever I wanted, and all my friends would be eating your baked goods. That was the sort of life I wanted for you. One that would keep you near me.” She pauses. “All my other children are in the area. All my sisters are in the area. In our family, we stay. But you never wanted to stay, and selfishly, I didn’t want you to have your dream. I’m sorry, honey. Truly. I now understand it’s where you belong, and I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you.” I release a breath, trying to collect myself.
For a decade, I’ve wanted to prove my mother wrong, but I didn’t need that extra motivation. I didn’t start Happy As Pie just to prove a point; I started it because that was what I really, truly wanted.
After releasing another breath, I manage a smile as resentment seeps out of me.
I understand why she didn’t want me to go. I miss my family, too.
I remove the pancakes from the pan and set the plate in front of my mother before pouring in batter for three more pancakes.
“I’ll try to come back a little more often,” I tell my mother.
“I’d like that. But, sweetheart, I’m so sorry I let you think that for so long. I had no idea.”
“I forgive you.” I pause. “I should have said something earlier.”
“I understand why you didn’t.”
She pours a generous amount of maple syrup on her pancakes and starts eating, and all of a sudden, I imagine Josh as part of this family scene. I imagine us driving to Ingleford in his car, showing him the town where I grew up. The school, the diner, the ice cream parlor with its diverse mural. My childhood bedroom. I imagine sitting around the kitchen table in the morning, eating blueberry pancakes with him and my mom and dad. Dinner with my siblings and their children.
A sob escapes. I want that. I want that so much.
But it will never happen.
My mother walks over to me as I stand at the stove, watching the pancakes cook, and she puts her arms around me and holds me close. At last, I know she believes in me and she’s proud of me, and it feels good to be in the kitchen with her and breathe in her Mom scent.
I just miss Josh so, so much.
* * *
When I get back to Toronto on Monday evening, I head straight home and eat the leftover chicken noodle soup that my mother sent with me. Afterward, I stare at the bottle of white wine that I bought last weekend, a bottle I thought I’d split with Josh.
Screw it.
I open the bottle and pour myself a glass, and I’ve just taken a sip when there’s a knock on my door.
I freeze. I’m not expecting anyone.
But maybe it’s Josh, and he changed his mind!
I fling open the door. It’s not Josh, but Chloe and Valerie, and I try not to let my disappointment show. I’m happy to see my friends. I just...dammit, I wanted it to be Josh. Valerie is carrying two pie pans with my chocolate tart and berry crumble pie. Chloe is carrying what looks like two pints of ice cream, except there’s nothing printed on the containers; they’re plain white.
“Ann told us about Josh.” Chloe puts down the pints and wraps her arms around me.
I let myself be embraced by Chloe, then Valerie.
“She also gave us extra pie to take to you,” Valerie said. “Chloe brought ginger and taro ice cream that she made with our new equipment.”
“We’re going to have a little party. I see you’ve already got the wine.” Chloe nods at my glass. “I’m so sorry, Sarah. I know you really like him.”
We serve ourselves plates of pie and ice cream. The ice cream is really good. I’m impressed. As we eat and drink wine, I tell my friends about what happened with Josh, and I find myself crying for reasons other than the break-up.
I’m making friends in Toronto. My mother doesn’t think I’ll fail. Happy As Pie may not be a runaway success, but we’re steadily building our business, and our first foray into catering went reasonably well.
Lots of things are coming together for me. It’s wonderful, but I want to share it with Josh.
I don’t regret telling him that I love him. It’s the truth, and I’m glad he knows it, even if he doesn’t know what to do with it.
I’m not sure I should have called him a scared little boy who’s emotionally stunted, however. Josh is far from emotionally stunted. He knows how to care. He knows how to be a wonderful boyfriend. He just has some blind spots.
But I made my case. I didn’t hold back. I don’t think there’s anything else I can do.