Standing By: A Knight's Tale #2

by Burgoa, Claudia Y.

  “I can, as long as he stops teasing me. My name is Hayley, but he calls me everything but that. How can I take him seriously, Parks?”

  I point at the phone but then I think about it and seems childish to think that he gave me a time frame just to play with me. It’s been three or four years since the last incident when he decided to cross the green line that separates the customers and the service area. He called me a childish control freak that needed to chill out for telling him not to cross the line.

  “I’ll yield and give it a try, Parks. You’re right; a busy man like him can’t give me a precise time. I’m overreacting.”

  “I didn’t say that, but what you say sounds reasonable and mature, Hay-Bear.”

  Such an irony; including the words mature and my childhood nickname, Hay-Bear in the same sentence.

  “You look tan today, tell me the truth.” I point at him. “Are you living on a tropical island?”

  “You’re ridiculous; come on, Hay-Bear. The shop is clean and you need dinner before you have to go to bed in four hours.”

  Baker’s hours, I like to call my schedule.

  “Do we have to?” I whine like a two year old.

  “I’m afraid we do. It’ll be fine.”

  He agreed to have dinner with Dad and our oldest brothers under the condition that they didn’t invite Paige and we eat at four thirty.

  “So tell me what happened today?” he asks while hailing a cab.

  “Mom came to visit me today and she wanted to know the 4-1-1 of the wedding.” Then it occurs to me that he hasn’t answered my earlier question, so I ask it again. “Are you going to the wedding?”

  “Did you accept the honor of being in the bridal party?”

  I shrug.

  “Of course you did, Hayley. You’re too nice to her. She’s my sister and I love her but she’s a bitch with you. You need to put a stop to it before she hurts you more and causes irreparable damage.”

  More? I internally huff, knowing more is close to impossible.

  “I’ll try to go, Hay-Bear.”

  The conversation seizes while the cab drives through the busy streets of New York, heading to Frida & Diego. The twisting pain in my stomach increases as we approach the restaurant, knowing my two other brothers will be there. Another duo who like to bring my imperfections to the table and follow with an entire presentation on how I can overcome said flaws to become a better person. Starting, of course by giving me a recommendation letter to Harvard, Columbia or Yale where I’ll be able to spread my wings and reach my full potential.

  The restaurant is on the main floor of one of those post-World War II buildings. There’s nothing special to it, except when you enter, it’s like you are transported into a different country without needing a passport. The wooden tables and chairs are hand carved with Mexican prehistoric symbols, while the walls are decorated with sombreros, artesian clothing and pictures of landscapes of the country. Soothing music plays on the speakers; classical guitar with a melodic soft male voice emulating what I guess is nostalgia and suffering—I don’t speak Spanish. The hostess takes us to the corner table where Dad’s already sitting next to Benjamin, my oldest sibling. The man is forty-six years old—yes, my mother’s age. He and Brent are Dad’s children from his first marriage, and they treat me more like their niece by lecturing me every second we’re together.

  “Hayley,” Ben stands up and walks to the chair I’m about to sit on, he pulls it out lightly waiting for me to sit down, then kisses the top of my head. “How are you kiddo?”

  “I’m well, thank you,” then I spot the grey and silver plaid tie I gifted him for his birthday. “So, you did like the tie.”

  “I did,” he smiles and his blue eyes crinkle. They’re identical to Brent’s; they got that from Mel, their mother. Mel used to say that I look a bit like them. That, in fact, the five of us have many of my father’s facial traits, yet with the different hair, eye and skin color we don’t think we look alike. “I closed a sale for Parker and heard the new owner doesn’t play nice with you, will you be okay with it?”

  “Yes.” I fake confidence because what’s the alternative? “A couple of years back we had a misunderstanding, but we’re grownups now, right?”

  “I don’t think you should depend entirely on Willows, perhaps renting the space next to the bakery should be your next step.”

  “No, Benjamin,” Dad cuts him. “Hayley isn’t going to expand, not at the moment when she’s about to lose her bakery.”

  Thank you, Dad, for your vote of confidence.

  “Is this a let’s bash Hayley party?” I ask them as I look for an escape route.

  “Dad, we agreed over the phone that we were here to have a nice family dinner. Not to talk about our careers.”

  “Hayley doesn’t have a career,” Benjamin corrected him.

  Fortunately, the waitress arrives to take our drink order and since I know their menu – “For me it’s going to be the grilled chicken salad and water, please,” I order what I usually have here. Dad orders a taco combo and my two brothers choose the trio fajitas.

  “Hey, Parker, have you thought about having an alpaca farm?” I try to steer the conversation to a much safer one… away from me.

  Before the waitress leaves, Dad speaks, “Make sure you grill her chicken away from my sons’ shrimp,” the waitress writes something down and disappears.

  I’m allergic to seafood, and any contact with it requires a shot of an EpiPen and sometimes a trip to the ER. Another reason why a bed of baby greens with cucumber, corn, beans and fresh cheese with cilantro vinaigrette sounds great.

  “You need to eat more than rabbit food.” Benjamin is on a rampage to finish what my parents started earlier.

  “I have enough with Paige’s wedding, if I add a few pounds to my already fat body my mother will send me to some eating disorder rehab center. Believe me, she notices those things.”

  “You’re not fat.” Parker, Benjamin and Dad say simultaneously.

  “And yet Mom finds the need to remind me every time she sees me and you can’t forget the part that I need to do something with my life and stop with that hobby of mine. The bakery.”

  “Well, then expand it.”

  Before any of us can talk, a hand places a glass of water in front of me.

  “Gentlemen, Miss Muffin, what a surprise.” I tilt my head and find a beaming Mitchel Knight delivering water, a basket of chips and a container with guacamole to our table. “A token but not from me; Brent called to apologize. He’s still in the middle of the board meeting. He said you’d understand. Now, the rest of the meal is on the house.”

  “Why is he giving us free food?” I whisper to Parker.

  “Because I own the restaurant,” he mumbles close to my ear, his tousled hair caressing my skin and making me shiver. “By the way, Parker mentioned earlier something about margarita cupcakes. You should think about supplying those little jewels to my restaurant.”

  I switch my gaze from him to my father, then to Benjamin, and I wonder which one of them is the lesser of those evils. Then I stare at the knife but realize a butter knife won’t help me with getting the release I need.

  *

  I place the fruit on top of the cutting board and make sure I choose the right knife before starting the daily task of chopping. “You can always move to Seattle with me.” Parker says the next day as he pours milk in the mixer. He decided to help me open the bakery, after yesterday’s dinner, where Mitch Knight and Parker talked for two hours about restaurants. Parker dropped me at home and promised to help me today for a few hours so we could have some bonding time. “I can teach you how to milk cows.”

  “Oh joy, I can also sing for you ‘Old MacParker had a farm’,” I eye him before I continue. “E-I-E-I-O,” then I begin chopping while humming the tune of “Old MacDonald.”

  “I talked to Ben yesterday,” he starts with a name I don’t want to hear at the moment. Love the brother, didn’t like him yesterday. “He
fears you might not have a fall backing and that’s why he’s trying to push you to take the next step; either a solid career or expanding your business.”

  “You heard Dad, right?” He sighs and turns the mixer on.

  I continue chopping the strawberries and decide to ignore everyone, and if I have to, I’ll deal with Mitchel Knight and prove my family wrong. I can keep this bakery open, maybe tear the wall down and build a café. Margarita cupcakes in his restaurant might not sound as bad as I thought when Parker threw that bucket of ice yesterday afternoon by saying, “I sold the restaurant to Mitch Knight.” It’ll bring in some extra income while I expand and make the necessary changes to the business plan so I can survive on my own.

  “If all else fails,” I tell Parker, trying to look serious. “I can always leave the dream and move to Seattle. I’ll sing with your cows, pigs, horses and the chicks too.”

  He presses his lips tightly, but those playful eyes tell me he’s only doing it because he’s trying not to laugh.

  “So, why is Ben being so insistent about my future, anyway?” I ask, wondering why he wanted to circle around that conversation yesterday. Not that we talk much about it—thank the Lord.

  “One reason, I know for sure, he doesn’t want you to end up like Caroline, depending on a man to survive. According to Ben, if you follow her example, you’ll end up doing nothing with your life.”

  “I’m nothing like my mother; she slept with a sugar daddy and to me that’s just foul.” Loved the father but I can’t see myself dating a fifty year old man. Then it occurs to me that Ben’s never been friendly with my mother. The few times they’ve been in the same room, he is always extremely rude to her. “You know what? It puzzles me that Ben hates Mom so much. When Dad slept with Mom, he was married to Bridget—your Mom. His mother was out of the picture by then.”

  “Do you know how your mother met our father?” I shake my head and set out for more fruit. As I come back, he continues the conversation. “Caroline tried to date Ben first; his college sweetheart broke up with him because of her. I don’t know the details, but things got ugly. The point is that your mother turned out to be knocked up, not that I mind the results. I like you better than my other three siblings, mostly because you’re compact size.”

  “Too early for that kind of information and your height jokes, Parks.”

  I really need to find me a new family with less baggage. My mind suddenly rewinds to the part about Ben and Mom with the words: “and things got ugly” and “knocked up”. He never said anything about her dating Dad. My overactive imagination took a wrong turn and as it was about to crash against a big bulky reality; I ask to confirm that I’m being an idiot. Please let me be an idiot, I don’t want Ben to be my dad.

  “Ben isn’t my father, is he?”

  My back muscles tighten as I wait for an answer.

  “I’ll open the door,” Parker makes me realize someone is at the back door and he leaves me hanging.

  Chapter 6

  Mitch

  “This isn’t between the hours of noon and two,” Parker opens the door of the bakery, his eyes looking weary and his clothes are dusted with flour. I glance at my watch and shrug. “She thinks you gave her the time frame just to fuck with her, Knight.”

  “Of course not.” The entire phone call was to play with her head. “I decided to come early because I have a few things to do this afternoon and I also wanted to taste her treats.”

  “Well, you might as well make yourself useful, let’s start with the two second tour,” he lets me inside. I look toward the top of the stairs where there’s a wooden door and side glance at him. “That’s Hayl’s home and straight ahead is the kitchen. Now you know the place.”

  I always wondered what was on the second floor of the bakery. Without saying a word, I continue straight ahead and cross the threshold to find the kitchen. The walls are painted exactly like the bakery, green and purple stripes with a white trim in the middle. The stainless steel counters are filled with ingredients, boards, utensils and then I spot a frowning Hayley standing in the middle of the kitchen with both hands on the side of her waist staring at the ceiling as if asking for a miracle.

  “Jesus, Hayley, I told you something and you’re already twisting my words and making an entire novel out of it.”

  “Well, you left me hanging,” her glance moves towards Parker. “Yes or no, is he?”

  “Of course not, take a breath before you die of asphyxiation.”

  Her shoulders loosen, and the crease on her forehead disappears but then those pale eyes move their direction toward me.

  “This isn’t noon.” She points at the cupcake shape clock on the wall. “When the little hand points at the five and the big hand is at the number twelve, it means five. Not twelve.”

  “Oh, that’s what those arrows are for, I always wondered.” As I laugh, she huffs and moves to the sink where she washes her hands and after she dries them, moves to the counter where there’s a cutting board, and she begins to slice strawberries. “How can I help, Muffin girl?”

  “Why are you here?” Hayley asks, the tone isn’t rude, more like curious—I think. “One person I can take, two before six is kind of hard. No offense to either one of you but my human interaction usually starts at six in the morning. Obviously since both of you are here, I can use the help. Mitchel, do you mind washing the dishes?”

  I look at the sink, and it’s empty but then she points to the opposite corner and there’s an industrial double stainless-steel sink with a pile of containers, baking trays and… why did I come so early? Surprisingly after yesterday’s dinner with the Welsh family, I wanted to learn more about this quiet little mouse. She spoke a few times while her father and oldest brother discussed a few of their cases, then listened to everything Parker told me about his farm. Dinner had been all about everyone at the table, except her. I even ended up talking for a couple of hours with Parker about the restaurant business and the plans to expand the sushi restaurant throughout the entire country. Expanding, the key word, and the next step for this bakery, something Ben Welsh tried to talk about but was repeatedly shut down by the patriarch.

  “You should sell bagels and artisan bread,” I casually say while waiting for the second sink to fill up with hot water. “The business will increase drastically if you have—”

  “I don’t make bread, never cared to learn that part of the business,” she interrupts without glancing at me. “I have a Ph.D. in sugar.”

  “She does,” Parker adds and when I look over at him, I spot him staring at her and smiling. “Really, Knight have her play with sweets and she’ll surprise you. The rest … well let’s say she should stay away from the stove. Remember when you burnt eggs because you couldn’t tell when they were done?”

  “I was seven.” Hayley sighs and continues chopping.

  “You were twenty when you served me that uncooked roasted chicken, let’s not forget the crispy spaghetti, or … you can’t cook worth a damn.”

  “True stories,” Hayley stops, turns my way and confirms, then adding, “I’m willing to try the bread thing, but I’ll have to find a class that’ll fit into my schedule—or pay a teacher to come here and teach me during my down times.”

  “I can teach you,” I offer.

  “Fuck, I need to wake up, I promised to help my little sister today before I leave for Seattle,” Parker says as he finishes pouring batter into the muffin baking trays and heads to the oven.

  “I don’t get the comment,” Hayley says and I agree.

  “Well, usually you’re not up to learning new tricks out of your sweet zone and the two of you are behaving… civilized, which means I must be dreaming.”

  “I’m taking chances, Parks,” Hayley says. “I’d rather learn a few new tricks than become Hayley Roth-Welsh, Attorney at Law; that’ll setback-kill the dream.”

  “Atta girl,” Parker says thrusting his chest out with pride, then he slumps while shrugging his shoulder. “If not, you can alw
ays move to Seattle and re-open Pieces of Heaven 2.0. I’ll love having my little sister close by.”

  Hayley scrunches her nose and begins to hum “Old McDonald” as she turns back to chopping fruit. That’s one weird chick.

  *

  “I thought you said something about being busy at noon, unless you have trouble reading the clock… it’s past noon.” Hayley whispers the last words and then points at the circular clock on the wall doing a poor job of hiding the smirk on her face.

  “Ha, ha,” I ignore her and hand the credit card slip and a pen to the customer in front of me as Hayley cuts some ribbon and makes a pretty bow around the box. “You should have a sticker with your address and phone number or something for the boxes.”

  The customer thanks us, and waves before leaving. Finally, for the first time in two hours the store is empty.

  “It’s on my list,” Hayley pulls a notebook out of the drawer. “Next to renovating the store and right after kicking you out of said bakery.”

  Hayley Welsh wouldn’t be Hayley without those notebooks. She crosses the swinging doors to the kitchen and I decide to follow her. She goes through the motions of taking containers out of the refrigerator, pulling a bowl and mixing everything that she had in those containers in the bowl. That’s when I notice she also has a bottle of vinaigrette dressing next to the containers. Hayley pours some of it inside the bowl and uses tongs to mix it.

  “Lunch?” I ask as she takes the dirty containers to the industrial sink and grabs a fork from one of the top shelves that has cutlery.

  “Yes, want some?”

  Instead of accepting her offer, my curiosity makes me reach for the bowl to see what’s inside.

  “You had a salad last night; shouldn’t you be eating something with more substance?”

  “It’s the easiest thing to cook,” she claims her bowl back, pinches a leaf of baby greens with her fork and puts it in her mouth.

  “Dropping stuff inside a bowl isn’t cooking, you tossed a salad,” I can’t help but laugh at her constricted face. “Child, you’re funny. Now tell me, what’s today’s plan after we close the shop. Do you have time to go through your numbers; I’d like to increase your production and see if my restaurants can carry some of your decadent cupcakes.”