“Yes. Go for it. Look at all these people.”
I figured if Mom gave a little spiel about Susansnaps and it wasn’t well received, then fine, we wouldn’t share it again. But I had a feeling people would be interested.
Mom cleared her throat and started speaking loudly, so that anyone who came near our tent would hear her. “Anyone can have a gingersnap,” she began, “but a Susansnap is unique. This is a very special cookie. I owned a small dessert business, and then, unexpectedly, my husband and my daughter Susan both had to go through chemo at the same time. Ginger is a stomach soother, and cookies make people smile, so I baked about a hundred cookies to give away to the other patients at chemo.”
As Mom continued, women walking by started tapping their friends’ shoulders. “Did you hear that? Wait, listen to this story. This mom and daughter work together. They bake these cookies.”
Mom drew a crowd around our table, and the funny thing at these shows is that when people see a crowd around a booth, they don’t care what you’re selling, they just want to get in on whatever is popular. One woman, waving her credit card in the air, called out from the back, “I’ll take three bags,” and just like that, shoppers left and right started pulling out their wallets. People bought our cookies as an afternoon snack for themselves, as dessert for the weekend, as gifts to save for Christmas, and even as something comforting they could give to friends or family members with cancer. We could barely keep up!
We got into a groove, and Mom told our story over and over as customers cycled in and out of our booth. Mom would reel folks in with samples. (Believe me, no one turns down a free cookie.) Once they were hooked on the delicious taste, she’d start telling our story. This went on for hours. Mom sold the cookies and I bagged them up, took the cash, and handwrote the credit card slips. We were nonstop busy. It was a good thing we’d eaten breakfast, because there was no time to stop and rest. But thankfully, we did have some bottled water. We both needed it when we started to lose our voices from calling out to the crowds so much. That was another thing—my throat. My voice would get weak, and projecting loudly would become difficult. I also had a swallowing issue due to the radiation treatment. It would flare up sporadically and was a nuisance. And then, I had this other random thing that was upsetting. Not only would I forget words, I sometimes struggled to get them out. Treatment aftermath. I guess that was part of the reason I was happy Mom was willing to call out to the crowd.
The sun was beating down on our tent, and with the sticky southern humidity, our booth felt like a hot sauna. The sun worked in our favor though. It was shining right on our sample jar and effectively rebaking our cookies, so that the smell of freshly baked gingersnaps wafted through the air, luring people into the booth. Mom and I continued to work together seamlessly, filling product, adding samples to the jar, selling, talking to customers, passing out brochures, and writing credit card slips. We were having a blast. And not because we were making money, but because we were pulling this off together, as a team.
The crowd was great, and we met all kinds of people. The feedback we were receiving was better than we could have imagined. Occasionally though, shoppers would say whatever came to their mind: “You haven’t been in business very long, do you think you can make this work?” “That seems pricey for just some cookies.” “Hodgkin’s? You know that’ll kill you.” “I read somewhere that eating chicken causes tumors.” Of course, it was the hardest to hear people weigh in on anything related to cancer. Mom suggested the best thing to do in those situations was to let the person say what they wanted to say, and then they’d move on.
The worst interaction of the show happened on the second day. I was on a selling high, all smiles, and went to help a man standing in the booth. Before I could get a word out, he said, “The government has a cure for cancer, they just won’t give it to us because they make more money off people like you being sick and dying.”
I didn’t know what to say—I just stood there like a deer in the headlights.
He kept going. “It’s population control. It’s fine with the government that thousands of people die. There will never be a cure. Your cancer will probably come back. They just gave you enough medicine to get by.”
By the time Mom realized I was in trouble, the crackpot had simmered down. She hurried over and asked, “Would you like to buy a bag or box?”
“No. I’m fine. Good luck to you,” he said as he nodded to me and walked away.
I couldn’t believe the terrible things he’d said to me. It was awful, and I hated the feeling of being backed into a corner. Mom wanted to know what he’d said. I started to tell her, but I didn’t want her to get mad. And I didn’t want to get upset. I turned my would-be tears into motivation. “Mom, we have work to do.” I looked out into the crowd and took a deep breath. “Who would like a sample? These are Susansnaps. I’m Susan. This is a delicious and unique cookie…”
Mom and I never had a grand plan for how we were going to build Susansnaps. Honestly, one thing just led to another. Something would happen—a media pop, a show, a big order—that would help us go a few more months. There were certainly frustrating days, days when I thought about other things I might be doing with my life. Now that I was feeling better, I wasn’t sure if or when I was supposed to go find a “real job.” I agonized over whether I should pack it up and go on with the life I’d always imagined. But that life was gone. Somehow, without even realizing it, I had a new reality. I never could have imagined myself building a bakery business with my mom, but I loved the work and we were getting good at it. Whenever the voice in my head whispered, But what are you doing? I would just go back to the basics. I’d had cancer, and now I was baking cookies. And that was okay. It might not have been “normal,” but, then again, what is normal anyway? My life might have been easier if everything had gone according to plan, but it would have been boring too. I would have missed out on selling cookies in the dirt with Mom!
Dear Sue,
When Susan was sick, I’d watch Carey lock arms with her and take her on walks. It was the sweetest thing ever. I would have done anything for you, so it was touching to see Carey step in so naturally and do the same for Susan. She knew instinctively what Susan needed, which was a comfort to me. Sometimes the two of them reminded me of us. I have hoped through the years that I was half the friend and sister to you that you were to me. My girls are inseparable. At times, it fills me with such joy seeing Susan and Carey together, and other times, it makes me long to hear your voice and laughter. It leaves a little hole in my heart. Sue, our relationship is irreplaceable.
15
For Better or Worse, in Sickness and in Health
You know how they say you shouldn’t marry someone until you’ve seen them through a bad cold? Well, Randy and I had that covered. We might have been young, but we were wise beyond our years. Randy had sat in the waiting room with my parents and overheard the surgeon say, “It looks like cancer,” and three years later, we were still good together.
One Friday evening, I got a call from Randy. “Hey, Suz, I got off work early. Want to grab dinner and watch a movie?”
I was happy to have a chance to hang out with Randy, although I was a bit confused about why he was off work, since he was bartending to help put himself through school and would usually try to pick up extra shifts on Friday nights.
But he’d said he was free for the night, so I ran out the door with my wet hair in a ponytail, wearing the first outfit I could find. It was already getting late, and I had to get up early the next day to sell at an outdoor art festival, but I didn’t think twice about it. No matter how often we saw each other, I never felt like I got enough time with Randy. There was never enough time. He had moved to Atlanta, and while his apartment wasn’t far from me, he was very busy working two jobs and keeping up a full class schedule. Since getting sick, I’d become aware that life can change in an instant, so I started to appre
ciate the little things along the way. I made more of an effort to live in the moment, to relax and have fun.
I met Randy at a Mexican restaurant near his apartment, one of our favorites. We sat at the bar and had a beer, cheese dip, and tacos before going back to his apartment to watch a movie. I followed him in my car, but I could barely keep up as he sped down the streets. By the time I pulled into his parking deck, he’d already gone inside. I walked into his apartment, and the lights were off and the place was quiet. I called out, “Hey, Randy! Where are you?” Then I saw light shining under his bedroom door. Something was definitely up, but I had no idea what. I opened the door and saw roses and champagne and Randy down on one knee.
“What are you doing?” I exclaimed. “Are you for real?” Then, tugging on my old tank top, I said, “Look at me!” It was so ridiculous that it was actually perfect. We had talked about getting married, so a proposal wasn’t entirely unexpected, but I was totally surprised by his timing.
“Susan,” Randy said, “I can’t imagine going through life without you. I want to spend every day with you. Will you marry me?”
I cried tears of joy, tears of laugher, tears of happiness. And I cried tears of heartache. Then Randy and I drove straight to my house, and I practically floated down the hallway to tell Mom and Dad.
We’d all known that Randy and I would eventually get married, but we hadn’t known when or what kind of wedding we’d have. Between Dad losing his job and my piles of medical bills, I figured that a traditional wedding would be out of the question and thought we’d just do something small and simple. But my parents surprised us. Less than twenty-four hours after Randy’s proposal, my idea of twenty people at the beach went out the window. Before Mom and I headed to the festival to sell cookies all day, Dad said to me, “You’re getting married. There will be a wedding. A church, a priest, a venue, the whole thing.”
I wasn’t just surprised, I was overwhelmed. This is too much. It’s too generous. My parents have already given me so much. But from the moment Dad said those words, Mom and I began talking, planning, dreaming, and having the most fun. I don’t know why people say weddings are stressful or cause fights. I wasn’t going to flip out over deciding between white, silver, or monogrammed cocktail napkins. I knew there were much bigger things in life to worry about.
I think we all viewed the wedding as a sign of moving on, moving toward the future. But it was also true that by marrying me, Randy was agreeing to take on my past and its implications on the future. There would be years of follow-up visits with Dr. Weens and routine PET scans. There would be medical bills and the looming, unspoken threat of the cancer recurring. I also had to pay extra-close attention to my health. If I went to the doctor for a cold, they would do blood work. If I got a bad headache, they’d order a scan. If I had trouble swallowing because of the damage that radiation had done to my throat, they’d send me to the hospital for an endoscopy. But Randy never minded, or at least, he never showed me that he did.
When I started sharing the news that I was getting married, people had all kinds of reactions, from the standard “I’m happy for you” to the less congratulatory, “Really? To whom?” or “When did you meet him? How long has he known you?” I got what people were hinting at. Why would anyone sign on to all this? I never thought of myself this way, but I eventually realized some people in the outside world saw me as damaged goods.
But Randy and I talked about everything, and we’d had conversations I don’t think most twentysomethings have had. When we had to go to marriage classes and they asked each couple to decide who would take out the trash and wash the dishes, Randy and I laughed. If chores were our biggest challenge, then we were going to be just fine.
• • •
A major perk of owning your own business is that you are your own boss and you can set your own schedule. That came in handy after I got engaged. Mom and I worked quickly and at odd hours so that we could check out wedding venues, visit dress shops, and meet with florists during the day. I didn’t have a binder full of ideas that I’d been saving for years or a grand vision of exactly what I wanted. I just wanted a nice day, a pretty dress, and Randy to be waiting for me at the end of the aisle.
But I was set on three specific things for the wedding: I did not want any crying, I did not want to use Susansnaps as reception favors, and I would carry red roses. As Mom and I stood around our shop table working on our baking assembly line, with the oven timer buzzing every ten or twelve minutes, we discussed these things.
“Mom,” I said, “I don’t want anyone crying at the wedding. It’s a good day. A happy day.”
“All right,” she replied. “But it could be emotional; there might be a few tears.”
I looked at her. “No, I really don’t want that. Cry now if you have to. Get it out. We’ve had plenty of bad days with tears, but this is not going to be one of them. If you start crying, or Dad, or me, then everyone will be crying. I really don’t want that.”
Mom was right, of course. It would be an emotional day. Weddings generally are emotional, but this one would be slightly more so. I knew there had been a time when Mom worried about whether Dad would even be alive to walk me down the aisle, but I just didn’t want to cry on my wedding day. I was so afraid that if we started crying, we wouldn’t stop. I also didn’t want that moment to be about cancer, about chemo or the two of us surviving or anything related to our health. I felt very strongly that if one tear was shed, it would look like we were crying over cancer. I wanted the wedding to be about Randy and me getting married, and nothing else.
We picked out the music for the church ceremony very early on. Mom and I went through a variety of songs before we landed on the one that would play while Dad and I walked down the aisle. It was a regal instrumental song, and I ordered it on CD for Mom. She told me later that she’d listen to it over and over again in her car when no one was with her and think about Dad and me coming down that aisle. She said there were plenty of times that she sat at red lights sobbing.
As funny as it may seem, I was adamant about not wanting to have Susansnaps at the reception. They may be delicious, and everyone does love cookies, especially as a party favor; in fact, we’d sold them to many brides. But I was not going to be one of them. I didn’t want to mix my work with my wedding, and I didn’t want the ginger cookies Mom had first made when Dad and I were going through chemo to be part of such a joyful day. Instead, Mom and I made what we called pecanies—buttery pecan cookies we hand-rolled into little balls, baked, and then tossed in powdered sugar. Each guest would leave with cookies, just not our specialty gingersnaps.
The last point I was really set on was the flowers. From the time I was little, I loved looking at pictures of Aunt Sue in Mom’s collection of family photos. I was completely captivated by her and would try to find physical similarities between us or something to link us together besides sharing the same name, but there was nothing. Aunt Sue had gorgeous honey-brown hair; smooth, pale skin sprinkled with freckles; a distinct twinkle in her eyes; and the most beautiful aura. I always wanted to know what she was thinking.
I especially loved looking at her wedding photo. I’d ask, “Mom, why does she have red roses?” The day of Aunt Sue’s wedding, the florist showed up with the flowers, and when Aunt Sue opened the box that held her hair wreath, she was shocked and disappointed to find red roses, not the white ones she had ordered. It was too late to replace them, so Aunt Sue wore the wreath of red roses. The rich red flowers were so beautiful against the soft curls of her light brown hair and her ethereal white wedding gown. It wasn’t what she’d wanted or asked for, but she’d made it work, and she looked perfect. I always liked that story because it said so much about Aunt Sue. I knew from an early age that someday, when I got married, I would carry red roses just like hers.
Ten months passed, and before I knew it, the church was filled with ninety-four of our closest family and friends. Mom, my b
ridesmaids, Dad, and I were in the back of the church waiting to walk down the aisle. As the organist started playing, my heart began to pound. Dad and I stood off to the side, trying to stay out of sight. This was the church we’d gone to every Sunday as a family, where I went to elementary school, and now, where I’d get married.
Mom came over to Dad and me. “You look beautiful. I can’t wait to see you two walk down the aisle.”
I felt my eyes brimming with tears. I didn’t say anything back, but I gave a huge smile as Dad told her, “Laura, you’ll miss your cue. See you at the end of the aisle.”
Finally, it was down to Dad and me. Just the two of us. It was an emotional moment, but I didn’t want to cry. Instead, my left arm began shaking uncontrollably. Dad laughed as I showed him my trembling arm, and I couldn’t help but laugh a little too.
Even though I didn’t want to think about all we’d been through, it was impossible not to. Dad looked great in his tuxedo, so happy and calm. I just thought, We did it. We made it. We’re both here. I was excited to get to the end of the aisle and stand next to Randy. But right then, in that moment, I was bursting with pride to be arm in arm with Dad.
Dad and I made our way to the center of the vestibule. The organist switched songs, the trumpet began heralding, the guests stood up, the church doors opened, and I thought my heart was going to leap out of my chest. Dad and I stood there and smiled. My left arm was still shaking. It was a long aisle…a very long aisle. I could feel tears coming. For a second, it all sank in—everything that had happened to lead us here. Not to mention that I could see Dr. Weens sitting off to the side. I was able to fight back the tears, but in the process I’d stopped walking. I whispered to Dad, “Please stop.”
He looked over at me. “Are you okay?”
I nodded. “One minute.”
After a few seconds, he said, “Are we ready to go?”
The Cookie Cure Page 15