by Becky Monson
“Morning, Julia,” he says, ignoring my fake, distant tone.
“Do you want the regular?” I say, still playing it cool.
“You know what my regular order is?” he asks with a smirk on his face.
“Um, no. Sorry, I thought you were someone else,” I say quickly, wishing I wouldn’t have admitted I actually do. I don’t want him thinking I care that much because I don’t. I’m just good at remembering orders. It’s one of my many useless talents.
“What can I get for you today?”
“The regular,” he says flatly.
“And that is?”
“Coffee and a scone—I’ll do blueberry today,” he says, pointing at the fresh scones I’d just placed in the case.
I get his coffee and scone, and then point him in the direction of Beth so she can ring him up at the register.
“Thank you,” he says simply.
I don’t respond. I go back to the display case, arranging the remaining pastries and muffins, trying to figure out if we need to make more muffins. I decide we do, and then head back to the kitchen to start up a quick batch of almond poppy seed muffins (my favorite). I love that I can make executive decisions about what’s needed, without getting the approval of Beth.
At first, I was always asking permission, not wanting to step on any toes. Beth finally told me whatever I thought we needed, I should just do it. She told me she trusted me and would let me know if I ever stepped over the line. I’ve worked for Beth for nearly a month now, and I’ve yet to find that line. It’s so refreshing to work for someone like Beth. I actually feel like I’m working more for myself.
It turns out that my “young keen eye” Beth used to get me out in the front when Jared was there, is actually quite useful after all. I’m actually not too bad at counter design and display, something I didn’t know about myself. Beth is always impressed with my ideas and I’ve even rearranged the tables a bit in the front to make the bakery a little more Zen. Okay, I don’t really know what being Zen entails, but it feels super Zen-like to me.
While I wait for the muffins to bake, I go back to the front and take an inventory of what else we might need.
I squat down so I can get a good eye of the inside of the case. I can hazily see, through the case window, Jared coming back up to the counter. I don’t move. I just stay there, arranging and rearranging. I know it’s ridiculous. I’m being childish. I just don’t feel like talking to him again. It’s tiring. With my brain reminding me to hate him, and my heart fluttering shamefully at his smile, it’s an internal struggle best left avoided.
I can only see his legs as he closes in on the counter. He doesn’t say my name or try to get my attention. He just puts something on the counter. Then I see him turn and walk out the door. I wait until I hear the door shut completely before I stand up.
On the counter in front of me, condensation twinkling under the overhanging lights, is a can of Dr. Pepper, a fresh, cold Dr. Pepper.
I stare at it.
Beth comes over from the register and stares at it, too. “What’s the deal with the Dr. Pepper?” she asks, pointing at the can.
“It’s my favorite drink.” The gesture takes me by surprise. He remembered my love of Dr. Pepper, a small, unimportant detail about me.
My heart flutters, and then my brain reminds me to ignore the fluttering. I turn and head back toward the kitchen, leaving the Dr. Pepper sitting there. But then, on second thought, I turn around and grab it. No use in wasting it.
~*~
The following day, Jared comes in as usual and requests his standard order from Beth. They’re on a first name basis now, the best of buddies (oh, brother). He’s his annoying, charming self. Debbie gets all dreamy-eyed when she sees him, and he’s always complimentary with her and she giggles like a little teenage girl. Gag. Patti, who rarely comes out to the front, has even started to be seen more when Jared is there.
I was wrong, Jared is better at stalking than I gave him credit for. He’s wormed his way into my new life pretty seamlessly. He’s shown up every day like he said he would, and charmed my new coworkers and boss. He’s even befriended some of the other regulars.
The morning rush has calmed a bit, and after fiddling around with the display case, Beth comes over and tells me she wants some cream puffs for the lunch rush, and that I should go get started. Excited to get away from the front and back to the kitchen, I don’t argue. Not that I ever would, really, the kitchen is where I belong and where I want to be.
Debbie is in the back working with Patti as I enter the kitchen which has a strong lemon smell that wafts deliciously toward me. I send Debbie back to the front to help Beth, as she had asked me to do so when she ordered the cream puffs. As Debbie leaves the kitchen, I swear I catch her giving Patti a little look.
I ignore it because it’s not that unusual for those two. They’re always giving each other little looks.
I get to work on the cream puffs. Patti and I work in silence as I separate yolks from whites for the choux dough.
“Jared still here?” she asks, breaking the silence. She’s measuring out flour for some lemon bars (hence the lemon smell in the kitchen). I made them one day for a special, and they were such a hit that we’ve added them to our daily desserts.
“I guess,” I say and shrug, as I pull down a large metal pan from the shelf above the stove.
She slams down her measuring cup on the metal table making a loud bang. “You know you’re throwin’ the baby out with the bathwater, don’t ya?”
I scrunch my face at her. “What are you talking about?” What does she even mean? Who throws a baby out with the bathwater? That saying ranks up there with “She wants to have her cake and eat it, too.” Who doesn’t want to eat cake if they have it? It doesn’t make any sense.
“I’m sayin’ you can’t see the forest through the trees,” she says, now pointing her measuring cup at me.
“Okay, Patti. I’m sorry. I think you’re going to have to explain what you’re saying in Midwestern language.”
“I’m just sayin’ that I think you’re makin’ a mistake not lettin’ Jared explain himself. ‘Specially after he’s been comin’ in here like he said he would. You might be throwing somethin’ away that could be good because you can’t see past the bad.”
“You don’t understand,” I say, shaking my head. I don’t know how many times I’ll have to repeat myself to these hopeless romantics before they actually get it. None of this is about romance.
“Oh, I understand all right,” she says, dipping the measuring cup back into the flour. “You wanna know what I think?” I don’t bother answering because no matter what I say, she’ll still tell me anyway. “I think you don’t want him to go away. I think you like seeing him every day.”
“What? That’s ridiculous.” I scrunch my face at her. She couldn’t be more wrong.
“If ya didn’t want him here, then by now ya woulda let him have his say so he’d leave you alone,” she says, raising her eyebrows at me.
“Oh, please. That’s totally not true!” I roll my eyes at her.
“Ya oughtta think about it. I mean really think about it.” She shakes the measuring cup at me again.
Defiance boils inside me. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” She cocks her head to the side and purses her lips in a know-it-all way.
“Yes, you are. I’ll prove it. I’ll go talk to him right now,” I say, standing up straight with resolve. This is actually good. I can talk to him, agree to let him explain. Even though I didn’t want to give him the pleasure, at least that’ll get him to stop coming here, and I can finally close the door on that chapter of my life.
“You do that.” She gives me a smart-aleck look.
“Fine, I will,” I say, having to have the last word.
I walk out the kitchen door, still carrying the whisk I was going to use on the eggs. I spot Jared in his normal seat, working on his laptop.
“You want to talk?” I say boldly
as I walk up to him, pointing my whisk at him.
He looks up from his laptop, his eyes surprised to see me and possibly alarmed at my whisk-pointing. I look down at my whisk and quickly put it behind my back.
“Fine. I’ll go to dinner with you,” I say flatly.
He smiles slightly. He won. He wore me down. But not really because I’m just letting him explain so he can get this off his chest and we can all move on. Then I can prove to Patti and the others that I don’t need Jared to come in here every day. I need him to go away. I need to be done with all of this and move on. So really, I’ll be the winner here.
“Okay, how about tonight?” he asks, slightly ruffled. He was not expecting me to come up to him like I did. I’ve unnerved him a little. It feels kind of good to have an upper-hand.
“Fine. Pick me up at six thirty,” I say, keeping up with my upper-hand. “Actually, no, I’ll meet you at the Paramount Café on Sixteenth at six thirty,” I add quickly, not wanting this to sound anything like a date because it’s certainly not.
“I’ll be there,” he says, picking up his coffee and sipping it. I stand there looking at him. I’m not sure what I expected. I guess I thought now that he’d gotten what he wanted he’d pick up his stuff and leave. But he looks like he has no intention of leaving. So, I pull an about-face, and my whisk and I head back to the kitchen.
Just before I turn to go through the door that leads to the kitchen, I see Debbie give Beth a little high-five in my peripheral vision.
Realization dawns on me rapidly. Beth wanting me to leave the front to make cream puffs, the out of the blue, jump-down-my-throat conversation I had with Patti, the conspiratorial look Debbie gave Patti as she left the kitchen. Those three nosy, little witches—they bamboozled me! I can’t believe it. Actually, I can. But how did I fall for it so easily? I should’ve seen the signs.
Whatever. It needed to happen, regardless of how it did. I’m just glad tonight Jared can free himself of his guilt, and I can go on with my life and not have his face show up every day to remind me of my old existence. Jared Moody will finally be out of my life.
Surprisingly, a little spark of sadness touches me as I come to the realization. I quickly push it out. This is what I want. Closure is what I need.
~*~
Beth and I work mostly in silence as we clean up and get the kitchen ready for tomorrow. I know I’ve said it before, but I love making the kitchen sparkle. The smell of bleach washing away everything we made today, giving a clean slate for everything we’ll make tomorrow.
Beth stops and looks around the kitchen, leaning on the mop she’s using to clean the floors. A sudden look of sadness crosses her face.
“Everything okay?” I ask, looking at her, concerned.
“Yeah, just a little melancholy, I guess.” She smiles slightly at me.
“Why are you melancholy?” I ask, curious.
She sighs heavily. “Can I tell you something that you have to promise you won’t repeat to Debbie and Patti? At least not until I’ve had a chance to tell them myself.”
“Sure, of course,” I say, feeling a slight twinge of nervousness. It often seems to go wrong for me when someone asks me to keep a secret.
“I’m selling the bakery.” She smiles sadly at me.
“What? No!” I say, louder than I expected, sickness instantly balling in my stomach.
“It’s time,” she says sadly. “Time for me to spend more time with my husband, my grand-babies. I love this place, but I think it’s time for me to move on. That’s why I’ve been coming in late. I’ve been discussing things with my husband, trying to figure out what to do.”
“What does that mean for Debbie, Patti, and me?” I ask. I want to be more supportive of her, but I can’t help my selfishness. I just found a workplace I love, and now it might go away.
“I don’t know. I guess it depends on who buys the place,” she says and sniffs slightly. She starts mopping the floor again.
I look around the kitchen. Is this all suddenly going to go away? Now that I’ve found a place to work where I feel like I belong, where I actually feel useful? “When are you going to sell it?” I ask, hoping she’ll take her time and then maybe during the process she might end up changing her mind.
“I promised my husband I’d put it on the market next week,” she says, concentrating on the mopping, not making eye contact with me.
“Next week? So soon?” My heart sinks into my stomach. “Who do you think will buy it?” Maybe it’ll be someone who just wants to keep things the way they are instead of turning it into something else. It’s not like the formula we’re using now isn’t working. In fact, the bakery is doing better than ever.
“Not sure. Could be anyone, really.” My heart sinks even further when she says this. I was hoping she’d say that she wouldn’t settle for less than anyone who’d keep things the way they are. This bakery is her baby, after all. Why would she want to sell it to just anyone?
We continue cleaning up, with me quietly contemplating. What would I do if someone comes in and changes this place to something completely different, like a full-service restaurant or something? I could hope maybe I’d stay on making desserts. But I’m not even a real, certified chef. Beth accepted that about me. Would the next owner be willing to as well? And if not, then I don’t know if another opportunity like this is out there, and I’ll be forced to get another desk job doing what I hate. I shudder at the thought. How can I go back to that life when I’ve had a taste of this one?
I knew this would have to end at some point, though. I only have two more weeks of stretching out my severance to compensate for what I’m not making here. But I had other ideas in the works, like selling my car and possibly doing something on the weekends. Who knows if it would’ve worked? Maybe this will just get me back to where I should be, working for some corporate dumb-stupid-idiot-crap job. I feel ill.
“Here’s a thought,” Beth says, pulling me back from what could possibly start turning into a panic attack. That’s where I’m pretty sure I was heading. “Why don’t you buy it?” She looks me in the eyes, eyebrows raised.
“Me? Buy the bakery?” I look at her dubiously, like that could ever happen. How could I own a bakery?
“Well, why not?” She gives me a look like this is the best idea in the world.
“Because I don’t know the first thing about running a bakery, that’s why,” I say, shaking my head. This is the most ridiculous idea. Me? Own a bakery?
“Oh, you could do it, Julia. Look how much you’ve learned in just the month you’ve been here.” She gives me a look of confidence. I wish I had that much confidence in myself.
I shake my head. “I don’t think I have what it takes, or the money, for that matter.”
“I think you’ve got what it takes, and what you don’t have I could teach you. As far as the money goes, we could figure something out. Some sort of payment structure. You wouldn’t have to come up with everything at once.” She smiles at me, clearly excited at the thought. Maybe she was actually struggling with the thought of just selling it to anyone.
“I just don’t think I could do it, practically or financially. I’m not a very good risk-taker, and it would be quite the risk.” I look at the floor. I hate how I’ve never taken any risks in my life. It seems like all changes I’ve ever made are ones forced on me, not by choice.
“Well, you should sleep on it,” she says, not giving up. “I think you’d make a great owner of my bakery, probably even better than I am.” She smiles brightly at me.
We finish cleaning up the rest of the kitchen. As we leave and she’s locking up the doors, Beth turns to me. “I’m really serious, Julia. Consider it. Consider buying my bakery. I think you would be great.”
I don’t say anything back. I just smile at her. I can’t own a bakery. It’s too much to wrap my spinster brain around. I’m not that kind of person. The thought of it though, even if I just recently had it, makes my heart practically jump out of my chest. It�
�s an exhilarating thought. It’s a dream I’ve never had before, but yet, it feels like it’s always been a dream of mine locked up somewhere.
My phone rings and makes me jump a little, pulling me out of my trance as I walk down the street away from the bakery and toward my condo.
I look at my caller ID, and it’s Anna. Anna is calling me?
“Hello?” I say, questioning if she’ll actually be there. It could be a misdial or something.
“Hey,” she says plainly.
“Anna, how are you?” I say cautiously. I need to tread lightly, not sound too desperate to talk to her, even though I truly am.
“Fine.” She sighs heavily.
It’s quiet on the other end of the line and, for a second, I think we’ve been disconnected.
“Are you there?”
“Yeah, I’m here. Look, Julia, I’m calling to tell you that I guess I’m sorry. I mean, I was pretty pissed at you for a while for your big mouth. But it’s not your fault I was an idiot and messed things up. It would’ve come out eventually. I don’t know what I was thinking. I guess I just hoped it wouldn’t.”
“Anna, I’m so sorry. I’ve wanted to talk to you so badly. I miss you.” The words slip out of my mouth before I can stop myself. That ranks under the dreaded cheesy-after-school-special moments with Anna. Telling her I miss her is just a little too gag-inducing. But it’s out there, and it’s true.
“Yeah, I’ve actually sort of missed you, too,” she says, clearly having the same issues as me.
“So, tell me what happened,” I say, wanting to know all the details about her conversation with my parents and how much information she told them.
“It’s a long story. What are you doing now? Wanna go get dinner or something?”
“Yes, let’s do that. Oh wait, no, I can’t. I’m going out with Jared tonight. Crap,” I say Jared’s name with disdain.
“What? Really? So, are you two together now?” she asks, sounding excited, clearly not hearing the annoyance in my voice when I said his name.
“Oh, no. No way. There’s so much I need to tell you, too. Hey, I’m not going out for a few hours. Wanna come over to my place?”