Let Them Eat Cake

by Sandra Byrd

  Luc was unhappy with me. Sophie was overrun with lunch orders and scowling in my direction.

  God seemed to be in and out of my life.

  And now this perfect stranger was upset with me too.

  I pointed to the reach-in, my voice rising to match his own. “Let them eat cake!”

  He stared at me, shocked, and I stared back.

  Fine. I’ll get fired from my ten-dollar-an-hour job and eat soup and bread on Saturday nights at Nonna’s church.

  After a few seconds he took a deep breath. “Well, then, could you box some cake up for me?”

  Blood rushed to my face, my anger draining away. I really needed to think before I spoke.

  I took several of the nicest cakes from the case and carried them back to Patricia.

  “What is this?” she asked in broken English. She refused to speak French with me. She looked at me, mad, I knew, about the loss of the pastry cream.

  “Rush order,” I said.

  “I am busy,” she said. “You will have to do it.” She turned back to the fruit tarts covering the counter.

  I grabbed a silver catering tray and set a doily on it. I saw some fresh lemons in the cooler and plucked the shiny, waxy leaves off them. I arranged them on the silver tray with a dozen of our nicest, freshest petit fours. Please God, help this look okay.

  From the bread room, I knew Luc watched me out of the corner of his eye, but he didn’t come back. He was too busy getting the bread onto the cooling racks, and I think he assumed the situation was under control—which it was. Maybe he was testing me, to see how I handled it.

  I also cut a gâteau basque into bite-sized pieces and artfully added both mini lemon tarts and fruit tarts. Some chocolate cakes with chocolate crème inside finished the tray. I took a few fresh flowers out of the pastry case and put them on the tray, then double-wrapped everything in plastic to make sure it didn’t slide or slip. I set it in a large box and brought it forward to the café.

  “Voilà!” I said. “I hope this works out.”

  He had softened some, but still looked at his watch. “I do too. No time to check on it. I’ll send someone back to the shop with the tray.”

  We locked eyes for a minute, and then I turned away.

  He dashed out the door, and I put on my happy and confident mask and helped Sophie through the lunch rush.

  After the busyness, we cleaned up in silence. I wiped off the tables, replaced candles that had burned down, and smoothed out the cover of the Paris Match on top of the stack of magazines.

  “I’m going back to the cooler for a while,” I said.

  After checking with me to make sure I’d gotten the special order out and checking with Sophie to make sure lunch was taken care of, Luc had run to La Couronne for the afternoon. The bakery and pastry area was, therefore, blissfully quiet. Even the croissant rollers had left for the day. The café closed in fifteen minutes. Only Patricia was left fussing around in the back, freezing tomorrows mille-feuille before she locked up for the day.

  I went into the cooler, sat down on an upturned bucket, and faced the wall. I let the tears silently roll down my face.

  How could I mess up that order? Worse yet, how could I raise my voice at a customer, no matter how angry he was first?

  Sophie opened the door.

  “Who’s up front?” I asked.

  “Patricia locked the door,” she said. “It’s three o’clock.” I tried to wipe the traces of tears from my cheeks. She held out an almond croissant. “Hungry?” I shook my head.

  “You haven’t eaten at all today,” she insisted.

  “What about you?” I asked. “I never see you eat anything here.”

  She gave me a friendly look. “I’m a vegan.”

  “A vegan!” I couldn’t believe Sophie and I were talking.

  “Yep. All I can eat here is bread, French onion soup, and the lettuce and tomatoes we line the sandwiches with.” She held out a napkin for me to blow my nose. “I know you love to cook and bake,” she said, avoiding the obvious topic of today’s disaster.

  I stood, brushing the wrinkles from my pants. “Well, I’m working on it. I have faith that it’ll lead somewhere other than a soup kitchen.”

  Like an assistant manager’s position in a French bakery in Seattle. I left it unsaid. I had no idea if Sophie knew Luc was looking for such a thing, since I wasn’t supposed to know. We’d certainly never discussed it. We’d never discussed anything, really, before now.

  “Faith, huh?” Sophie said. “What kind of faith? Or do you just do your own thing?”

  “I’m a Christian,” I admitted, feeling weird. I didn’t want my temper tantrum with the customer to make Jesus look bad by association.

  “Oh,” she said. “I kind of do my own religion. You know, combine the best of everything. But I’m into checking stuff out.” I heard the roar of a motorcycle outside. “My ride’s here. Lexi, I’m sorry about today. You were in a tough spot, and we all make mistakes.”

  “Thanks, Sophie,” I said. I smiled at her and she at me. For the first time, I felt that maybe we could be friends.

  “Maybe I can visit your church sometime since I’m looking around.”

  “I’d like that.” First I’d better find a church myself.

  “Take it easy. You can deal with this when you come back tomorrow,” she said. “I’m sure Luc will want to talk about it.”

  I put my head back in my hands. I wondered if I could line up another job in one night.

  Maybe for minimum wage. If I broke down and called Uncle Bennie.

  That weekend, Nate and I finally got some brother-sister time.

  “Lane is ready for Simon and Garfunkel,” a nasal tone called over the bowling alley intercom. “Again, lane ready for Simon and Garfunkel.”

  I chuckled at my cleverness, took Nate’s arm, and dragged him to the desk to see which lane was ours.

  “So am I Simon or Garfunkel?” he asked.

  “You’re prematurely balding, so you get to be Garfunkel,” I said. “Just don’t grow a giant Chia Pet ‘fro to distract from the fact.”

  Nate patted the top of his head with increasing panic. “Do you really think my hair is thinning?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m just teasing.”

  “Because it is a possible side effect of one of the medications I’m taking for acid reflux,” he said. “I’ve got to keep an eye on that.”

  Oh man. I hadn’t meant to initiate a round of obsessive worry.

  It had been a long time since I’d been bowling, and I was glad Nate chose it for our outing. I loved the waxy floor, the sixties lamps, the molded, orange plastic seats. I decided I looked good in bowling shoes. They were kind of retro and funky without being too out there.

  God, this is a small prayer request, but if there’s any way you can bring bowling shoes back in style, it would be nice. I’d have an edge for once.

  I held the little nub of the pencil and the sheet with Simon and Garfunkel printed on it and prepared to keep score.

  “Remember when Mom and Dad used to bowl in a league?” I asked Nate. “And we’d sit in the game room and pump quarter after quarter into video games?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “That little machine that ‘guaranteed’ a win of a Tootsie Roll or something. I wish life was that easy now.”

  “Me too,” I said. “Speaking of which, how’s work? Is being a lawyer in a high-powered firm everything you hoped it would be?”

  Nate nodded. “Yeah. It’s hard, and I have to prove myself for the first few years. We newbies have to do the grunt work, but it’s a fair firm, and I know I’ll work my way up.”

  “But lawyers are always looking for how someone else is wrong, and you’re always arguing,” I said as he grabbed a black, fourteen-pound bowling ball. “Hey! I should get some kind of professional bonus for training you throughout our childhood. Like royalties.”

  Nate elbowed me in joking protest. “It can be fun. However, I got into an argument the other
day with one of the other lawyers. I spouted off. I feel bad about it, because I know I’m supposed to live at peace with everyone as much as possible, Romans 12 and all that. But it’s interesting work. Not like being an accountant or something, punching numbers day after day.”

  “Accountants,” I groaned. “Spouting off.” I stepped up to the ball return to get the neon green ball I’d chosen.

  “What’s wrong with accountants?” he asked.

  “I got into a tangle with one last week.” I explained the situation with the Davis, Wilson, and Marks order.

  “Oh man, Lex,” he said. “Not good. Was your boss mad?”

  I slipped my thumb and two fingers into my ball and stood with it on my hip for a minute. “I don’t know. He hasn’t seemed mad, but he hasn’t been as chipper either. He might be mad.”

  Nate looked thoughtful. “Or maybe he’s got other things on his mind. Women always assume that if a guy is distracted, it’s about them, and mostly it’s not.”

  I cocked my head and smiled. “It’s nice to have a big brother, Nate. I’m going to miss you when you’re married.”

  He looked surprised. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “I know,” I said, “but you won’t really be a big brother in the same sense anymore.”

  “It’ll be okay,” Nate said. “Just different. Speaking of getting married—I need to get Leah some flowers and drop them off on the way home.” He threw his ball and scored a split.

  “It’s nice that you still pursue her,” I said.

  He updated the score sheet before he replied. “She still pursues me too. Guys don’t like to be taken for granted either. We want to feel wanted just as much as girls do.” He gestured toward the lane. “Get bowling, Simon.”

  I did the handy, foot-at-ninety-degree-angle-behind-the-left-leg trick and I made a strike.

  After the game, we sat at the bar and had some appetizers.

  “Do you think you’ll keep the job?” Nate asked.

  I shrugged. “I think so. I’ve made a commitment through mid-June. Luc hasn’t indicated that things will change, though things are slow outside the breakfast and lunch rushes. And he hasn’t mentioned my special product rack project again.”

  Nate seemed sympathetic. “What about asking Uncle Bennie to find something for you? I mean, he is a human resources guy, and he has a lot of connections.”

  I squeezed a lemon into my Hefeweizen and sipped it, then ate a fry. “Nate, do you remember the job Uncle Bennie set me up with in Bellingham? the last one I had before I moved back?”

  “Yeah, the one that you got laid off from,” he said. “Tough luck.”

  “I got let go.”

  He set his glass down. “Really?”

  “Yeah. The job was totally boring, and some of the people were irritating. I was doing a lot and no one appreciated my effort, but I wanted to keep the job, just to make something work. I guess they could sense my boredom.”

  “You know, Lex,” Nate said quietly, “you can’t be the vice president right out of the chute.”

  “I know,” I said. But did I really? Wasn’t I doing the same thing at L’Esperance, counting on an assistant manager job that had never even been mentioned to me?

  No, I decided. That was completely different. I was earning that position, not expecting it to fall in my lap.

  Right?

  “I haven’t had any luck finding a place for you to live,” Nate said, changing the subject, for which I was grateful. “I haven’t even had time to help Leah find something for us after the wedding.”

  “It’s okay,” I replied. “Soon I might not have a job to pay the rent with anyway.”

  “You should talk with your boss,” Nate said, “just to make sure the air is cleared.”

  I agreed. I hadn’t talked with Luc about the bread for Nonna’s church either. Last Saturday I’d bought the loaves remaining in the store and delivered them to Pete, who called me Saint Alexandra. I looked her up online later and found out she’d been a closet Christian.

  Somehow, that was unsettling.

  “Can I help in some other way?” Nate asked. “Just name it.” I shook my head. “No. But thanks.”

  After another hour, we parted ways. As I pulled up in front of the house, I felt it—like a kidney punch—more than saw it.

  Le courage donne naissance à la surprise.

  Courage gives birth to surprise.

  Igot up early the next Sunday, but it was like sleeping in compared to my usual hours at the bakery. It was a rare sunny morning in March. I’d asked Sophie if I could come in late on Sundays, and she’d agreed if I would open on Saturday mornings. She liked to come in late on Saturday because she was usually out late on Friday night.

  “Ready?” my mom asked cheerfully, jingling the car keys in my direction. “Yeah.”

  “Why did you decide to come with me today?” she asked once we were in the car. “Not that I mind. I’m really glad you’re coming with me, but I just wondered.”

  I rubbed the seamed edge of my small Bible. “I’m tired of feeling separated from God. Someone told me that everyone wants to be pursued and that one person in the relationship shouldn’t have to do all the heavy lifting. I guess I’ve been expecting God to do all the heavy lifting instead of seeking him out too.”

  I didn’t tell her who said it. I didn’t want the conversation to veer off toward Nate’s finer qualities right now. Mom nodded.

  “And I have a friend at work who might want to go to church with me,” I added.

  “Luc?” She looked hopeful. I wondered if she understood that Luc was my boss. I wasn’t sure I’d ever made that clear, but then, I knew why. My dad would give me a ten-point lecture about officers not fraternizing with the enlisted personnel. In other words, no dating your boss.

  “Not Luc,” I said. “Sophie.”

  “Sophie? She doesn’t look like the church type.”

  With self-control worthy of a tightrope walker, I stopped myself from rolling my eyes or pursuing that discussion. I knew she meant the piercings.

  Mom parked, and we walked into the building. I sat in the pew my mother had been sitting in since I was a child, and looked around, willing myself to tune out the squawking kids.

  Ever since I was a kid, this one rich woman has always waited until almost the last moment every single week, then paraded down the runway—I mean the aisle—to the very front, ensuring that everyone saw whatever outfit she was debuting. She didn’t seem very Christian.

  I felt bad as soon as I’d thought it. I made as many assumptions about people as my mom did. I closed my eyes and repeated, Live at peace with everyone ten times.

  The worship songs began. As I sang, I felt the urge to stand and hold my hand toward God in freely expressed faith. I’d yearned for it, but had never given in. I’d overhead Nonna once, when I was a girl, pointing out people raising their hands on TV as being showy. So I’d never mentioned it or attempted it. The last thing I wanted to be was showy.

  I lifted my hand a little and caught my mother’s distressed look out of the corner of my eye. She didn’t like attention called to her in public, and we were in her most sacred public. I hesitated, torn between honoring two kinds of parents.

  I put my hand down and hoped God understood.

  For the rest of the service, I didn’t fold the bulletin into a Japanese crane or mentally circle how many letter es were on the front page of the bulletin, as I had as a teen. I didn’t scan the congregation to see if any of my friends had married or compare myself negatively to anyone around me. I focused on the service, on the message, as though I’d be tested later.

  It was okay, but like Nonna’s church, it didn’t feel like me, somehow.

  We drove home, and Mom pulled up in front of the house. She leaned over and kissed my cheek. “I love having you in church with me.”

  I kissed her back. “I loved sitting with you too.” I hoped she didn’t notice that I’d dodged responding exactly in kind.

/>   I slipped into my Jetta, tossed the Bible on the passenger seat, and took off for L’Esperance. Maybe I’d read through Matthew, just to hear Jesus’s voice more. That’s what I said I wanted, wasn’t it? Why not start at the beginning?

  I’ll seek you. Please find me.

  The rest of the day went by quickly. Luc told us he was closing the store on Mondays, traditionally our slowest day. We would all still get our full forty hours, but he wouldn’t have to keep the store open on the seventh day.

  As we cleaned, preparing for the closed day, Sophie looked at me out of the corner of her eye. We both wondered if things were slowing down financially—if they had overextended by opening more stores too quickly. I had yet to talk with Luc about the bread or the Davis, Wilson, and Marks incident.

  On Monday, my new day off, I got up late—hurray!— worked out, and went apartment hunting. And I scored! A cute complex that hadn’t been showing previously was finally open, though all units weren’t done yet.

  “Next month,” the building manager promised, taking down my name. I told him even a studio would do.

  When I looked out the living room window of the unfinished studio he showed me, I could see the ferries gliding back and forth across the Sound.

  I craved that apartment and everything it represented to me.

  Sophie and I had developed a good rhythm now that things between us had warmed up, and between rushes we actually chatted. That was good for my social life, but not for my job life. I couldn’t afford to work fewer than forty hours a week, and though Luc hadn’t yet asked me to cut back, I still worried.

  If I were the assistant manager, though, Luc could release some of his duties to me. I’d be busy forty hours a week, thus able to afford the apartment I’d found, and he’d be free to open new bakeries. We’d all be happy.

  Sophie took care of the cash register, and I put pastries and breads on display. As he passed by, Luc tugged on the back of my French braid.

  “If you have a little time when things slow down, can we talk for a few minutes?” I asked him. I thought I might as well get him while he was feeling magnanimous.