by Gabi Moore
The frown deepened.
“What will happen if you break up with Em now?” he asked.
I flashed him an angry look. But before I could reply he spoke again. “Will that be better or worse than having her wait here on earth for you, pining after you, knowing she can never move on but having no idea what her future holds? Wondering everyday if you’ve caught a virus or worse, wondering if she’ll never see you again, knowing that every single communication she sends to you will take at least two weeks to reach you.”
I looked at him.
“Well, if you love her so much, which is it? Which would you rather she experience?”
I clenched down hard on my jaw. Those weren’t the only two options.
“I can come back,” I said again, but this time not quite believing my own words. Admittedly, I had put the decision well out of my mind so far. I hadn’t told Em a thing yet. To be honest, I knew deep down that it would change everything between us. And my life with Em was perfect. The last thing I wanted to do was change anything.
“Here’s some advice from your old man, kid,” he said and leaned back in his chair. “Take it or leave it, I know you always were headstrong. But don’t half ass things. Decide what you want and go for that. But you’ll get nowhere sitting on the fence. The program doesn’t want people with attachments here on earth. You want that life, well, it’s all or nothing. Lead Em on and all you’ll do is jeopardize your career and your relationship. You have to commit.”
“But Em and I aren’t really ready for that…”
“I wasn’t talking about Em.”
I sighed loudly. I couldn’t argue with him. The return rates were slowly picking up but the ugly truth was that less than a quarter of those who left ever came back, let alone came back multiple times. It was dangerous out there. It was lonely. But it was also the dream I’d held onto for as long as I could remember.
The next evening, Em and I broke up in her dorm room. She had looked at me confused for the longest time, like I was speaking a foreign language. And then she started crying. Why had I bothered to start a relationship when I knew I was going to throw it all away to leave for Mars? Why had I led her on? Why had I told her I loved her only to break her heart?
I didn’t have answers for her. I tried to be stoic about the whole thing. I knew that if I tried to explain that I had never lied, that I had always been sincere but that I knew that this was best in the long run, best for her, she wouldn’t understand. I heard the words leave my mouth but didn’t recognize them. I sounded like my father. Like the space jocks who gave their ships female names and swore allegiance only to the ideals of Progress or Exploration and wouldn’t be bogged down by petty things like college girlfriends and other worldly attachments.
I’m not so good with emotions. It took me weeks to realize that I was as sad as she was, and whole months for me to cry as much as she did that night. But I did cry. I told myself the story that broken up was better than widowed. That if I had to leave, it was better that I did so without taking all her future hopes and dreams with me. None of it mattered of course. Her sloping eyes tilted the other way and she looked at me like I had slapped her. I tried to apologize, tried to explain. Tried to say those simple three words again. But nothing came out. She screamed at me to get out; I left.
Three weeks before my very first mission was about to embark for Mars, I heard through the grapevine that her father had passed away and that she had unenrolled from all her classes, dropped out of college and disappeared off the radar completely. For all of it, I felt responsible. On the trip over I fantasized about a grand gesture, about returning, about giving up everything if she’d just forgive me and let me into her heart again. But my own heart was already hardening. I had wanted to join one of the terraforming operations on Mars for as long as I could remember. There was no point in leading myself on.
I cared about progress. About exploration. I would be working miracles in brave new worlds, carving out a mission on mankind’s furthest horizons, with nothing but my own wits and persistence. I would throw every last drop of myself into the mission, blurring the edges of my small, temporary human identity with the noble goals of an undertaking far greater than anything achieved by the generations that came before me.
I never forgave myself for breaking her heart. To punish myself, I learnt to forget her.
Chapter 3 - Emily
Five years later. January 19, 2082.
“Waste not, want not!” I said, maybe for the hundredth time that day, then flung open the huge recycling vat and threw in a few pastry offcuts.
I had spent a lot of money on this small-scale fermentation/recycling unit and even though it was just a few scraps here and there, it provided me with almost a quarter of the energy needed to run the bakery’s ovens. Soon, I’d invest in my own colloidoponics kit, too, or find a way to build my own.
‘Waste not, want not’ was more or less the personal philosophy of the last few years of my life. Thinking positive. Looking for solutions and all that.
When the virus took my father, he left the bakery to me, and I took the opportunity to manage it since I couldn’t let the family assets go to waste. And just because I had spent my early youth in a college program I never completed, it didn’t mean that that should go to waste, either. A bakery seemed like such an old-fashioned idea these days, but I made the best of it.
I was slowly refitting the place to eventually be zero-input, a lofty goal for a family bakery, but I chalked up my DIY science experiments as a hobby and allowed myself to dream a little. After all, just because my future didn’t turn out how I thought it would, didn’t mean I still couldn’t do some good, right? And as for what happened in college, as for Buck Johnson and all the others, well …I was still trying to figure out a way to look at that whole mess and see what could be salvaged.
But life was good. Life was OK. It was …bearable.
My ‘morning rounds’ consisted of making sure all the equipment was thoroughly cleaned, that the workers all understood their schedule for the day and that our baking stocks were looking good.
It was all a balancing act.
My father had grown this business from a small backyard operation to one of the region’s most successful bakeries, and he had done it all within those little margins – the tiny spaces where the right flour can save .6% of the cost on the croissants, or where buying smaller, more expensive batches of couverture chocolate actually meant less of it spoiled prematurely and we ended up with more viable chocolate eggs in any one month.
Honestly? I was no good at the business side of it. Not really. I’m an academic. Or, I was an academic. But like I said, there’s no point holding onto pain from the past. Buck has his own life now and as for Felix? Well, I didn’t even dare to let myself think of him too often. He made his choices, and life doesn’t give second chances.
I stood at my work station, fresh new apron knotted at my waist and the broad stainless-steel surfaces gleaming back at me. In a few minutes, we’d open and start serving the morning crowd, and then quickly get busy with the lunch time rotation. I could already smell the sourdough baking in the enormous vaulted ovens. It was an archaic way of doing things, sure, but it just goes to show that no matter how technologically advanced humankind gets, there’s always a part of us that just wants a warm slice of toast and a break from it all.
Becky, one of the servers, came in and switched on the corner projector. The news flickered to life on one of the far walls. It was a story that felt depressingly familiar. Prometheus, an American funded terraforming corporate on Mars, was having contamination issues with a new corn hybrid they were trying to establish. Harmful microbes in the soil were thwarting all their efforts, killing crew members and making investors back home nervous enough that the talks had seemed to change from rescue missions to court summonses.
“Have you seen this, Em? They’re going to eat each other one of these days. Doesn’t look like we’ll be opening a Warren’s Ba
kery on Mars any time soon, doesn’t it?” Becky said with a smile, then got to work wiping down the tables and arranging the café chairs out neatly.
I laughed.
“Oh, I don’t know, I think you and I could pull off something interesting. There has to be a market for politician pie or something,” I said and, came to help her straighten things out.
She laughed.
The image of a tiny, two-leafed seedling growing secretly inside a colloidal tank flashed into my mind. Of course, that project was now done and dusted. Nobody cared about that kind of research anymore.
But I still couldn’t help feeling that it was all a missed opportunity. That if I hadn’t …well, hadn’t made such a spectacular mess of my life, I could have done something really special. Maybe, instead of military bases and greedy corporates taking over the Mars project, I could have contributed something more valuable, maybe even made a difference somehow.
But no. My life was now meringues and custom-made ice cream cakes. Taking over the bakery was a second chance for me, in so many ways. Of course I knew I shouldn’t complain about any of it. Better people than me could try and save the world. I mean, who was I to talk, when I had such a crummy track record as it was?
“Oh shit!” I said and looked at the time. I tore off my apron and dashed out the door. Becky looked at me wide-eyed.
“The meeting with the bank!” I said. “I almost forgot. I’m gonna be late if I don’t leave now.”
She looked crestfallen.
“But you were going to look at these Easter designs with me,” she pouted.
“Shit, I know. Can we do it later?”
“But, we have to place those orders by tonight, remember?”
I cursed under my breath. “Becky, can you just take care of it? Just choose what you like, send the order, it’s fine. If we don’t have enough cash just put it on the card for now, I’ll sort it out when I get back. Just for the love of god, remember absolutely no—”
“No bunnies. Got it. No bunnies and no carrots.”
“Good.”
“Not even carrot cake though?” she asked, tilting her head to the side. I gave her a stern look and she nodded and got back to work. I grabbed my jacket and flew out the door.
I blustered out into the chilly January air and pulled my scarf more tightly around my neck. I didn’t care if she thought it was weird. Honestly, I had stopped asking myself about who knew and who didn’t know. Who still remembered and who didn’t remember. I just assumed that everyone I met knew of my scandal in detail and was judging me, but after so many years they probably had the decency not to mention it or ask questions about the gossip they’d heard. I didn’t want any fucking bunnies, or carrots in my bakery, ever, and I wasn’t going to discuss it.
It was my bakery. My business. It was slowly generating more income and after I’d done the renovations, we’d save huge amounts on overheads alone. It needed improvements, I know, but I would handle it. The past was the past. If leaving the past where it belonged meant I had a somewhat irrational hatred of rabbits and carrots, well, so be it. It could have been worse.
I arrived at the bank just on time, and settled down in the waiting lounge trying to catch my breath. It wouldn’t take much. A small loan to cover some new ovens and a larger biofuel tank would already make a huge difference. And in any case, Warren’s was basically an institution in the town. People here had known and loved my father and besides, who hadn’t personally enjoyed one of our popular chocolate chip cookies?
They’d have to give me a loan.
I caught myself fiddling with the zip on my jacket and mentally berated myself. I had to play it cool. I checked my watch. Fiddled some more. A woman in a pant suit came over to say that the representative I had arranged to meet with could no longer see me today, but that their new loan manager would be over shortly to discuss my application. I nodded and then nearly fell over when I saw who was walking quickly behind her.
He extended a meaty arm and smiled mockingly at me. Fucking Buck Johnson, in all his glory.
I meekly took his hand and struggled to remember how to speak. He wasted no time in whisking me off to a consulting room and clicking the door shut behind us. It felt as though my entire abdominal cavity had been sucked out and replaced with champagne bubbles. Clearly, he knew to expect me. I sat down feebly and tried to think of what to say to the person who ostensibly ruined a good chunk of my life.
“Em, it’s been a while huh? You look well.”
I wanted to puke.
“Um, if this is awkward, I can just reschedule with the other guy, I honestly didn’t expect--”
“Awkward? Come on, relax. It’s no problem. Please. Water under the bridge.”
The way he said it was almost as though he had graciously forgiven me. What a fucking asshole. I stood up quickly and made for the door.
“I really want to just speak with the other guy actually,” I said and squirmed away from eye contact. He was still good looking. In that cocky, stupid way.
“Em, Joe Caspello is on leave and will be for almost a month.”
“Well, then I’ll go to a different bank,” I blurted. He was already on his feet too and standing to block my exit.
“Another bank? Come on, Em, you and I both know that everyone else has turned you down. You need a loan? Let’s get you a loan.”
I stood in shock for a few seconds as the words seeped in. Yes, this was indeed a special version of hell that I had landed myself in. I was groveling at the last bank in town that would hear my case and the man I had to deal with was none other than Buck Johnson. I didn’t have to look at his stupid face to see that he was grinning. Those were the same lips that had first uttered those evil words, the words that had haunted me for years. But instead of saying them, he said, “Em, please, sit down,” and gestured to the chair.
I felt the room spin around me.
Already I was planning an escape. Maybe I could sell. Maybe I could downsize. Limp along on the credit card and afford the renovations piecemeal. Something else, anything else but this. Sure, Em, and how long would that take you?
He swiftly tapped his fingers and brought up some documents on the projector and in oversized letters I suddenly saw a giant snapshot of the bakery’s financial history. There had been loans before. Several loans. In fact, my father’s history with this bank was the only reason they hadn’t thrown my application out the window in the first place.
“So, as you can see the bakery’s not in the best shape and you yourself have little in the way of personal guarantees or collateral,” he said, in a tone of voice that almost made me forget who he was for a moment. “You also haven’t provided us with any insurance information for these new power sources you want to have installed, which, just as a little insider tip, was a really red flag for us.”
I bristled at the prospect that this, this oaf was sitting in judgment of me. Just who the hell did he think he was?
“Those are experimental units, though. They’re new, so the insurance company couldn’t quote me yet… They’re devices intended to bring the building to zero-input in a few years,” I said, realizing how jumpy I sounded.
“For a bakery?” he chuckled. “Even worse than I thought.”
I fiddled with the zip of my jacket, furious. He carried on scanning idly through the documents when I had a sneaky suspicion he had already pored over them at length. I sat and tried to maintain a shred of dignity.
“My father was a very astute businessman. Warren’s is an institution. It’s a household name around here. It just needs some time to recover after his death.”
“Pardon me, but your father …how do I put this? Just because he made a good Danish doesn’t mean he knew what he was doing in the finance department, you know what I mean?” he laughed.
Ah. There it was. The arrogant, haughty-as-hell asshole that I knew. I wanted to punch him.
“I don’t need this shit,” I said through clenched teeth. He smiled and shrugged.
“Again, no offense, but you kind of do.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to think. The worst thing, of course, was that he was right.
“Well,” I said and shot him an icy look, “if you know so much then just tell me straight up whether it’s a yes or a no and let me get on with my life, how about that?”
The cocky smile remained plastered to his face.
“You know a loan application is not that simple, Em.”
Of course he would try to do this. Of course he would enjoy manipulating me, now that he knew he could. What else did I expect? I was fuming. The bakery was my bakery now. It was my second chance. This was real life, the past was the past, and I was going to make at least something work in this disaster I called my life. And if that meant getting over the embarrassment of being in the same room as this halfwit, then so be it. I tried to think quickly. Then I took a deep breath, pulled my shoulders back and stared at him head on.
“Let’s just cut to the chase, shall we?” I said slowly and deliberately. “You and I have a history, one that I’m not proud of. I would be happy if I never had to lay eyes on you ever again, but since we’re here now, let’s just be frank with one another. If you think you’re going to have your fun with hinting at what happened in the past, well, you’re wrong. People have forgotten. Nobody makes fun of me now. And I won’t let you bully me, either.”
I couldn’t help but breath heavily as I delivered this little speech. He raised one impressed eyebrow at me and held up his hands in defense.
“Look, nobody mentioned anything about the past, nobody’s bringing up any of those, you know, those issues, that are no behind us, and--”
“I’m not Fuck Bunny anymore,” I spat.
He looked at me with amusement.
“I’m not embarrassed anymore. That’s all in the past,” I said. The words still felt like poison on my lips. It was the nickname that had nearly destroyed me, the two words that felt like choking to even speak out loud, but I had to show him that if he thought he could humiliate me again, he had another thing coming.