by Katie Cross
What are you running away from, Rachelle?
I shook my head to dismiss the thought.
“Night, Mom.”
She lifted a hand in farewell.
I fell asleep staring at the ceiling, listening to the rolling laugh track of a comedian in the background, wondering why my mom always looked so sad.
Later that week, I stood beneath the anemic lights of my bathroom and stared into my own eyes.
Sometimes I still caught myself doing a double take every time I passed a mirror. Surely the overweight, loud, obnoxious Rachelle would come screaming back any minute now. After losing all that weight, I’d grown out my bangs. My hair fell to my shoulders, straight and chocolate and silky. When I was twelve, I used to dream of what it would be like to see my cheekbones. The day I realized they had emerged—the same day I realized I had lost seventy-five pounds—replayed through my mind.
That’s it? I remember thinking.
I forced air out of my mouth with pursed lips and splashed cold water on my face, banishing the thought. Cheekbones or not, I had to hobble outside. Mira would arrive at any moment to take me to the Frosting Cottage. A gray cloud hovered above me, placed there by Janine, even though the appointment had been days ago.
After a dash of lip gloss and a quick tug of a comb through my hair, I left the bathroom. I hadn’t dressed up in any of my old cosplay outfits in months, which made getting ready really fast compared to what it used to be. No more braiding, curling, or coiffing my hair. No more elaborate makeup, long nails, or complicated boots. All my old cosplay clothes were stuffed in my closet, gathering dust, too large to wear now.
I missed the gold glitter.
Just as I opened the door, Mira pulled up to the curb. She honked once and waved, her teal eyeshadow visible even from this distance. I turned to call over my shoulder.
“Bye Mom.”
“Where are you going?”
“My new job.”
The stymied silence that followed made me sigh. I’d told her twice that I’d gotten a new job. My crutches moved easily beneath me when I headed out the front door, letting it slam shut behind me. My palms had started to harden, even. Mira leaned across the seat and opened my door.
“Ready for today?” she called.
“Sure.”
“It’s your last day of training. We just have one more frosting tip to learn and two more designs.” A wide grin crossed her face. “Isn’t it exciting?”
“Thrilling.”
My crutches clattered when I pulled them inside. She peeled away from the curb, tires squealing, before I could buckle my seatbelt. I gripped the seat, thrown back against it by the force of her speed.
“Geez, Mira!”
“Sorry.” She grimaced as we took a corner too fast, throwing my shoulder into the door. “I forget that I need to drive more responsibly when other people are with me. Are you all prepared for today? I’m glad I taught you the register before now. You’re going to get lots of opportunity to practice it today.”
My brow furrowed. Today? She skidded to a stop at a red light just a few moments before sliding into the intersection, and I let out the breath I’d been holding. As long as we were stopped, I’d be relatively safe.
“What’s going on today that will give me so much practice?” I asked.
“SummerFest at the college.”
My eyes widened. SummerFest. Right. The four biggest fraternities in town hosted a party to kick off summer. They invited other college students from all over the state. The sheer number of football players that streamed in from two states over were enough to cause a surge in the local economy. This wasn’t an event to miss. Last year, I’d gotten drunk with a guy named Nigel and woken up in his dorm room the next morning.
“Are cupcake sales supposed to be high?” I asked.
“Anything with sugar.” Mira’s tires squealed as she soared through a fresh green light. “Sophia said she sells cookies, lemonade, brownies, and small pastries pretty well. Says the college students get really munchy for some reason.”
I suppressed a snort. Munchy. Right. Smoking too much pot had a way of causing that.
First, however, I had to stay alive. With Mira driving, there was no guarantee. I braced myself as she slowed down just a few inches from another car and prayed I’d make it to work.
After today, just a week left until I didn’t have to face another scrumptious-looking cupcake again.
When we entered the Frosting Cottage, Sophia stood behind the counter, a vat of dough in front of her. She glanced up—her ever-present baseball cap still perched high on her head—and grinned.
“Hello, ladies!”
I dropped my backpack in her office, picked up my hat off a sprinkled marshmallow peg on the wall, and went back into the preparation area. A quiet, yoga-like track trilled in the background. Sophia was a new-age goddess. Megan would adore her.
Sophia plucked a fistful of dough out of the mass, grabbed a metallic square with her other hand, and cut the dough piece free. Then she rolled it into a circle, tossed it around, and slapped it onto a waiting cookie sheet. Poufs of flour billowed into the air. I could already feel the gritty tinge of it. It made me think of wintry nights at home, when Mom used to make her own pasta.
“Need some help?” Mira asked.
“Just finishing the last hot cross buns. Cupcakes for you again, Mira, if that’s all right with you.”
“Sure.”
“Rachelle, I have something else for you to do.”
I paused. “Me?”
Sophia tilted her head to another pile of dough in a different vat. “I need to get three batches of cinnamon rolls going. I had a sorority call and ask for two dozen for SummerFest, and I’ll want extras for the munchies that walk in.”
“I don’t—”
“I’ll walk you through it.”
I hesitated for half a breath. Why couldn’t I just do cupcakes? Mira had done the cinnamon rolls before, so why wasn’t she doing them now? I stuffed it aside. Getting my hands into some dough actually sounded … not so bad. Maybe I could punch them into submission, unlike my life.
“Um … okay.”
Sophia glanced up with a smile. “If your ankle is bothering you, you can try to do it sitting.”
“Actually, it’s okay right now. It’s been up all morning. It’s been less sensitive to that lately. I’ll just kneel on a chair.”
Which, now that I thought about it, seemed like excellent progress.
“Good. Wash your hands at the sink. Be sure to use the scrub brush underneath your nails. Scrub at least sixty seconds. Are your nails short? Good.”
Ten minutes later, my fingers were knuckle deep in sticky, gooey dough that wasn’t, actually, as fun as I’d hoped. The bogginess clung to me like tentacles whenever I touched it. So much for getting my hands into dough; it had practically absorbed them. Sophia grinned.
“The rolls stay more moist when it’s that wet.”
“I can’t even form it.”
“Try a little bit more flour, but not too much!”
Once I beat the dough into a form of submission—and had gobs of it clinging to my knuckles and fingers—Sophia walked me through each step until I had a doughy roll stuffed with melted butter and packed thick with cinnamon and sugar. She slid the square, metallic tool toward me.
“Now, slice it with this. Two-inch strips.”
While I cut, Mira puttered in the background, moving cupcakes, stirring frosting, and singing an old Frank Sinatra song. The air conditioning blew a cold breath against the back of my neck. All told, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant working here, even if the smells did make me want to melt into the rolls. My frustration with the dough made me want to punch it, not eat it. Who needed Janine? Apparently cooking was the only form of rage control I needed. Once I finished slicing each roll, Sophie strolled over, a hand on her hip.
“Nice. The perfect thickness.”
“They’re good? I did them pretty thick, bu
t that creates better middles.”
She nodded toward the far wall. “Agreed. I’ll stick these suckers in the oven. Then I’ll walk you through the cream cheese frosting. I layer it nice and heavy. Excuse me for a minute. I’ll be right back.”
Sophia slipped into the back while I rubbed flour off my fingers with a satisfied slap of my hands. Something about finishing that first batch felt good.
The door chimed before I could pitch in to help Mira with frosting the cupcakes, so I grabbed my crutches and made my way over to the register instead. The light from outside illuminated a familiar, muscular silhouette. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. Even longer for my brain to comprehend what—no, who—I saw. A man advanced further into the shop, a beam of sunshine from the tall window casting light on his face. My heart dropped into my stomach.
Chris.
Handsome, attractive, linebacker Chris. The man who once had my heart. The only man I’d ever run away from. The only one I still thought about.
No, I thought. No way. Not today.
His blond hair, buzzed short, seemed to glow in the bright summer light. Cornflower blue eyes peered back at me in befuddlement. He blinked and tilted his head to the side.
“Rachelle?”
“Hi,” I squeaked.
His expression drooped. For a long moment, neither of us spoke. I cleared my throat.
“Yeah. Hi. Uh … h-how are you?”
“You look—”
“Yeah. I know,” I said quickly. “I, uh … I lost a lot of weight after … “
That horrible, awful night.
He tucked a hand into his pocket. The other reached back to rub his neck. “You look … ah … great. It’s … good to see you again.”
“You here for SummerFest?”
He glanced over his shoulder, as if hoping someone would be there to save him from this awkward encounter.
“Yeah. Yeah. My friends are in a frat here.” He motioned to the chalkboard. “I’m here for desserts for tonight. Not sure what…”
“Good. Yeah. Uh, just let me know what you want when you figure it out.” I turned around and screwed my eyes shut, grateful for his intent study of the chalkboard. The moment to compose myself turned into three. Then five. My throat felt as parched as a fire.
“Hey Mira?” I called. “Can you get me a drink of water?”
She glanced up, concern on her face. Frosting dotted her apron. She opened her mouth, then with a sharp no from me, closed it again. “Sure, honey.”
She disappeared long enough for me to wonder if I’d ignored Chris for too long. He had to be feeling even more awkward now that I’d kept my back to him, but I couldn’t force myself to turn around. I couldn’t. Because then I’d remember it all again.
That horrible, horrible night.
When Mira returned, ice cubes clanked against each other in a fresh, sweating glass. I tossed the water back like a shot. The ice-cold liquid burned my throat, reminding me of vodka. Just like the last time I’d seen Chris. I gulped three more times. The water slid down my throat like a shock but didn’t banish any memories.
“You all right?” she whispered.
“Fine.” I set the glass down. “Thanks.”
Mira returned to the cupcakes but kept a wary eye on me. I put a hand to my flushed face and willed my body to calm down. Like that fateful night happening all over again, I felt a crack. My body falling. Heard the sound of my own awful singing. After making such a fool of myself, there was no doubt about it. Chris and I were ancient history.
He cleared his throat, drawing my attention back.
“Uh, yeah. I think I know what I want.”
I spun around.
“Sure.”
While I bagged four cinnamon rolls, a dozen cookies, and six brownies, shame burned hot at the back of my throat. Should I apologize to him now? Maybe he’d forgotten about it, but the way he fidgeted banished that idea. Nope, he hadn’t forgotten.
This was intolerable.
I set the box down and pressed my hands against the counter. “Can we clear the air?”
Chris shifted his weight. “Uh…”
“Look, I’m sorry about what happened a year and a half ago. It was all my fault. I made an ass of myself, and—trust me—it wasn’t the first time. Hopefully it was the last. I’m … sorry for embarrassing you and putting you in that situation.” I met his gaze. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head, lips tight. His eyes didn’t quite meet mine, and I wondered if he even felt like he recognized me. Sometimes I didn’t even recognize me.
“None necessary,” he said.
“Thank you for getting me out of there and … thanks.”
He nodded. I shoved the box of goodies toward him, swiped the credit card, and handed it back. Neither of us made eye contact as he signed.
“See ya, Rachelle. And thanks.”
“Yeah. Good to see you again.”
He turned to go, stopped at the door, and glanced back, then with one last nod, strode back into the summer sun. My heart followed, as if it wanted to go with him. I sucked in a sharp breath.
“Mira?”
“Yeah?”
“I need a break. I’ll be back.”
“Sure, honey. Anything.”
Without any further explanation, I grabbed my crutches and disappeared out the back door. I sat on the stairs in the alley and let out a long, teary breath. Then I grabbed my phone and dialed the only number I could think of.
“Rachelle?”
Lexie’s voice came over the line thirty seconds later, right in the middle of my heavy-breathing-can’t-get-air panic attack.
“You all right?” she asked. “This doesn’t sound good.”
“N-no.”
A shuffling sound came over the line. Seconds later, Lexie spoke again, this time with more volume.
“What happened?”
I ran a hand through my hair, then closed my eyes and leaned against the wall. A vise-like feeling held my chest in a tight embrace, as if to squeeze all the air out of me.
“I just saw Chris.”
“Chris as in Bradley’s old roommate Chris?”
“Yes. He’s here for SummerFest.”
“Chris that you were madly in love with and wanted to have his babies?”
“That Chris.”
“Oh, sure. He can hit SummerFest but couldn’t come to our wedding.”
Her words trailed away, lost in my almost-hysterical breathing. Dots broke out across my vision. When my fingertips tingled, I knew I had to get it under control. I sucked in a deep breath and held it. My thoughts continued to whirl, but the panic seemed to pause.
“Can you calm down?” she asked.
“Y-yes. Just … give me a second.”
“Want me to talk about how in love I am with my niece? Because they’re putting her in a cute baby contest next week, and I know she’s going to win.”
“S-sure.”
Lexie prattled on about her niece’s latest Shirley Temple dress and the bow that wouldn’t stay on top of her head. The sound of her voice, the even flow, started to soothe me. It always had. Lexie talking in order to calm me down was nothing new. After explosive fits of temper when I was a teenager—when Mom and I had screaming matches and I didn’t know where to turn afterward—I would call Lexie just to hear her talk.
It worked.
The tension in my chest broke apart, and I took in a deep, cleansing breath. My vision returned to normal.
“… and then she pooped everywhere,” Lexie said with a sigh. “Everywhere. Kenzie said she was scooping it out of the car seat by the handful. I so wish I had been there. Can you imagine Kenzie dealing with poop everywhere?”
“No. But I’d love to see it.”
“Me too!”
A long, steady breath flowed out of me. My brain seemed to reset a little. “Your niece is perfect, Lex.”
Lexie half groaned, half sighed. “I know! It’s killing me that I’m not there. Enough of
that, now. Sounds like you’ve calmed down. What’s up? It’s been a long time since you’ve had a panic attack like that.”
A year and a half, to be precise. I swallowed the hot ball of emotion sitting at the top of my throat. Although my breathing had calmed, I felt as if all the flame had just spread into my chest, where it burned like a flow of magma.
“Yeah.”
“Listen, I know you don’t want to talk about Chris. In fact, you never even told me what happened that one weekend you went to see him. It’s like … I don’t know. Chris never even told me either. He just got all awkward about it, and the whole thing has been so weird.”
“I know.”
“Are you ready to tell me now?”
No. I’d never really be ready. It felt so much bigger, so much scarier, when I had to say it out loud. But if not now, when?
“Last time I saw him, Chris took me on a date.”
The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. But once they were out, they didn’t stop. “We were having drinks and, of course, I had too much vodka. Like I often do. Did.” I closed my eyes. “I started to sing karaoke.”
“That’s not so bad,” Lexie said.
“There was no karaoke in the restaurant,” I said quietly.
“Oh.”
“But I was determined to sing, so I … I climbed on the closest table, drink in hand, and belted out some horrific, drunken rendition of an Aretha Franklin song. I think. It’s all a bit hazy, to be honest. They asked me to leave, but I fought them off. A lot. I may have thrown a napkin dispenser once or twice. A bouncer came in there somewhere. And then—”
My nostrils flared. The memory came so fast it disoriented me, as if I were on a whirling ride that wouldn’t stop. Singing from the bottom of my belly. Was I sobbing through the song at one point? Then I was fighting off the manager. Bouncers rushed over. Everything sounded so much louder than normal. In the chaos, I could hear Chris pleading with me to cooperate. There were belligerent shouts. Chris saying we could go somewhere else, tugging on my hand.
“And then … the table broke beneath me,” I whispered.