by J. Daniels
‘You eat your strange French toast. I eat you, yeah?’
Warmth spreads low in my belly, until my screen fades to black.
What? Really?
I light up my screen again, confusion pinching my brow.
Well, this is different.
Maybe he’s really busy at the moment? No time to elaborate because . . .
Reasoning settles over me like a thick fog.
Class. He must be starting another class. His typical first one of the day. He can’t text and instruct a class.
Of course. This makes perfect sense. God, Brooke. Use your head.
I convince myself of this completely logical explanation and set my phone on the worktop.
He’ll probably text later, like he usually does. Or stop in at some point.
I smile at the thought.
The front door chimes as I’m setting out my ingredients for the five dozen cupcakes. Movement catches my attention. Joey steps through the doorway wearing dark washed jeans and a bright blue polo. He stares at me, his expression unreadable as he moves across the kitchen.
I open my mouth to utter a greeting, something to ease us back into our regular everyday banter, when he halts me with a hand in the air.
“Let me just start off by saying how much I hate not speaking to you,” he announces, stepping closer and lowering his hand.
My grip tightens on the bag of flour. He does?
“I know this is all my doing. I should’ve apologized to you yesterday but I felt like maybe it would be better if I left you alone. Teasing you like that wasn’t . . . right of me. I regret doing it. I saw how upset I made you and it fucked with my emotions.” He leans a hip against the worktop, his arms tightening across his chest.
Typical Joey. Even in an apology, he makes it all about him. He’s lucky I like him that way.
I cock my head. “Oh, really? It fucked with your emotions?”
“Yes,” he snaps. “I barely ate last night and turned down a quickie in the shower. I hope you realize how little that happens. And by little, I mean never. Billy thought I was coming down with some weird virus that diminished my sex drive. He wanted to take me to the hospital.”
My mouth twitches. I open up the bag of flour. A white cloud of dust bursts onto the back of my hands and sprinkles the wood. “Good Lord. You two are dramatic.”
“Brooke.” Joey squeezes my shoulder, prompting me to look up at him. His sky-blue eyes are sorrowful. “I’m really fucking sorry, okay?”
I feel my throat tighten. “Okay,” I quietly reply.
“It’s like when I fight with Dylan. I can’t handle it. And I fucking hate the whole silent treatment routine.” He removes his hand from my shoulder and flicks his head, tousling his blonde hair. “Let’s never do that mess again.”
“Don’t be an asshole and we won’t.”
His eyes narrow. I let out a quiet laugh, and so does he. Spinning around, he rests his elbows on the worktop and leans into it, exhaling a rushed breath. “Can I be blunt with my opinion for a second?”
“When aren’t you blunt with your opinion?”
“Tuesdays, usually.”
We exchange mocking smiles. I dip a measuring cup into the bag of flour and level out a scoop, dumping it into a large mixing bowl.
Joey looks down at the wood, moving his finger through some spilled flour and making tiny circular patterns. “You’re different with this guy, Brooke. Really different. Don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re usually more like a puppy with men.”
I wince, dumping more flour into the bowl. “What?”
“A puppy. A cute one. Relax. Like those teacup ones you carry around in your purse.”
“Really? They’re so yappy.”
“I know,” he says playfully, lifting his head. He smiles at my tight expression. “Anyway, you get this new toy, right? One of those bones that squeak.”
“Only when you bite down on them.”
A slow grin pulls across his mouth. “Girl, you have no idea.”
I chuckle under my breath.
“Okay, so new toy. You’re really excited to play with it, but you don’t just want one toy. You want every toy, ‘cause you’re a puppy, and the minute another toy is placed in front of you, you’re dropping the first one and lunging for the other. That’s not happening with Mason. You aren’t even looking at other toys.”
I brush my hands off.
A puppy? Give me a break. They pee everywhere.
“Okay.”
I slide the sugar and salt in front of me and palm a measuring spoon. I bite my tongue, keeping any comments that might derail this conversation to myself. I am curious to see where Joey is going with this. Some analogy . . .
Not all that inaccurate though. I do like my toys.
“I just know that sometimes new shit can be scary. You have no idea what’s going on or how to explain it, and that makes some people bolt. Yesterday, when I was getting on you about it . . .” he pauses to straighten up. His hands flatten to the wood. “Look, I just don’t want you to do that. Bolt. I think if you did, it would be a huge mistake. He’s good for you. Great for you, actually, and you know I would say something if I thought you could do better. I don’t think there is better.”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I think about all the men I’ve been with, the ones worth remembering anyway. All of them pale in comparison to Mason. I never wanted to have any sort of real conversation with them. I never thought about them in scenarios that didn’t involve sex.
Did I ever even laugh with them? Or stay up late at night talking for hours until one of us passed out on the line?
Would any of them have been able to convince me to go camping?
Fuck no. Only him.
I nod, conveying my agreement with Joey as I measure out some salt and pour it into the bowl. “I’m not bolting.”
“You’re not?” He sounds surprised.
“No. I mean, don’t get me wrong. It is different. Really different for me, which when I think about it, I get a little freaked out, but that’s okay. I’m okay with that.” I look up at him. “I don’t want to bolt. I like Mason. I like what we’re doing. I called him my boyfriend yesterday and he . . .”
“Whoa.” Joey waves his hand. “Wait a hot damn minute. You called him your boyfriend?”
“Yes.”
“To who?”
I make a distasteful sound in the back of my throat, dropping my head and the measuring spoon. I slowly peer up at Joey. “You know the building I delivered to yesterday? Do you remember us going there last year, and the guy who hit on me?” Joey nods. “To him. He tried to get me to sleep with him again while I was there.”
He grimaces. “Go home, Vince.”
I shove at his shoulder. “You remember his name?” I ask, laughing. “I didn’t. I had no idea.”
He shrugs, his mouth twitching with a smile. “I lost my virginity to a Vince. That name is burned in my memory. Plus, I remember you telling me how he was uncircumcised and you thought his foreskin looked strange.”
I scrunch up my face in disgust. “We talk about the weirdest shit.”
“Word.”
“Anyway, I ran into Mason right after that, and I told him what I said, that I called him my boyfriend, and his face, Joey.” I frown, leaning my hip against the wood. My cheeks burn. “He looked so happy to hear me say that. I mean, I was literally freaking out, but he was just so ready, you know? Like yes, say it again. Again, Brooke. Please. I could practically hear his thoughts.”
Joey smiles gently. “I bet. So, are we calling him your boyfriend now? Please say yes.”
I shrug, turning back to the ingredients I laid out. “I’m just going with it. Whatever this is, I like it, so . . . yeah, I guess. I guess he’s my boyfriend. I have a boyfriend.” I let out a nervous giggle. My eyes widen. Joey regards me with barely contained jubilance. “Um, yeah I just had a tickle.” I touch my throat, swallowing thickly. “That was weird.”
Oh, my God. I just turned into a preteen.
“Weird indeed,” Joey remarks, wiggling his brows.
The front door chimes again, followed by the loud tapping of heels striking on tile. Dylan steps into the kitchen with my sister close behind.
Juls used to be a regular in the bakery up until last year when she popped out her second kid. Now she’s a full-time mommy, part-time wedding planner, and hardly has a minute to spare for visits that aren’t work related.
“Good morning, everyone,” she sings, circling the worktop and wrapping her arms around Joey. “Mm. You smell nice. Is that new cologne?”
“It’s Billy’s. I ran out.” Joey leans back, releasing her from the hug. “Do you like it better than mine?”
Dylan chuckles from her stool. “Oh, Jesus. Here we go.”
“What?” Joey cranks his neck around to stare at her. “I’m just asking. I’m secure, bitch. I know I smell fantastic in my own fragrance.”
“Excuse me? Shouldn’t you be manning the front, bitch?” Dylan affronts. “Don’t piss me off, Joey. My blood pressure is already off the fucking charts lately.”
“Is it?” I ask, dropping my gaze to the top of her protruding belly.
Dylan lets out a rushed breath, then gathers her hair off her neck and secures it into a messy pony. Juls and Joey loom closer. “Yes. I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow. Reese bought one of those home blood pressure monitors the other day when I felt really anxious. We’ve been taking it every night. It’s pretty elevated.”
“Other than that, do you feel okay?” Joey asks, rubbing Dylan’s back and shoulders. “Nothing’s going on with the baby?”
“No. I feel fine. Enormous and constantly sweaty, but fine.” She drops her head back and smiles at him. “Thanks. That feels really good.”
“Anytime, cupcake.”
“Women having elevated blood pressure when they’re pregnant is common,” Juls says. “It’s probably just something you need to keep an eye on. Maybe try and stay off your feet as much as possible.”
Dylan closes her eyes. “That’s what I’m worried about,” she murmurs, rolling her head to the side as Joey moves up to her neck.
Jesus. I can’t imagine Dylan staying off her feet any more than she already does. She’s always planted on a stool back here, and I can tell it drives her crazy. She wants to be up, running her business. I get that. She’s a very proud woman.
Juls reaches across the table and squeezes Dylan’s hand. “I’m sure it’ll be fine, sweets.”
Dylan smiles, her eyes remaining closed.
Turning her attention on me, Juls walks around the worktop to stand closer. “I see you survived camping.”
I roll my eyes. “Barely. Some tick nearly took me out.”
She gasps appallingly. “Oh, gross. See? That’s why I always shoot down Ian’s weekend retreat ideas. I’m not picking ticks off the kids.”
Dylan and Joey both start giggling. I pinch my lips together, fighting my own amusement at the idea of Ian roughing it as Juls looks across the worktop at the two of them.
“Something funny?” she asks, hands flying to her hips.
Joey moves to stand beside Dylan. “Ian wants to spend the weekend outdoors? Where in the world will he plug in his hairdryer?”
Wow. He took the words right out of my mouth.
Dylan’s eyes go round, her cheeks lifting.
Juls glares around the room, remaining silent, seemingly pissed, until her shoulders start shaking and she covers her mouth. “I know. God, I know,” she giggles, shaking her head. “He would be so miserable. I don’t know why he keeps suggesting it. My man is crazy high maintenance, but I don’t care. He’s so sexy, isn’t he?”
“No comment. We’re practically related.” I shuffle over to the shelf to grab some cupcake liners.
Juls glances down at her watch. “Oo, I gotta go. Hey, dinner this Friday, right?”
I give her a thumbs up.
She quickly says her goodbyes, bending down to speak softly to Dylan’s belly before she slips out the front door. I grab the two mixers and set them on the worktop. The bakery officially opens, and Joey disappears upfront, while Dylan slides some of the ingredients in front of her and begins making her own batch of cupcakes.
As my batter is mixing, I hit the button on my phone and light up my screen again. It’s possible that my text alert function is on the fritz. Maybe I missed something from Mason.
I note the time, and the pink glittered wallpaper set for my lock screen.
No messages.
I check the ring volume before pushing my phone aside and focusing on work.
At least until the cupcakes go in the oven.
Strolling up front after cleaning up the mess, I stand at the window and peer across the street, standing on my toes to see above the occasional car. I can feel Joey’s eyes on me.
“I’m surprised he hasn’t stopped in yet,” he proclaims, echoing my exact thoughts.
I chew on my thumb nail, jerking my shoulder as I strain to see through his large studio window. The distance and projection of the sun make that impossible. His entire studio front is washed out by the glare.
“He canceled classes so we could go camping. Maybe he’s squeezing them all in today to make up for it. He texted me earlier.”
And it was weird.
I push that thought out of my head.
It wasn’t weird, he was busy. He’s allowed to be busy.
He’s just really fucking busy.
I repeat this same rational justification for Mason’s nonexistence today as the hours pass. I repeat it so much that it seems to transfer into my own reality.
After the cupcake order is picked up, a frantic mother rushes into the shop in tears because she forgot to order her son’s birthday cake last week. She needs it by five-thirty tonight for his party. Doable, until the woman explains what exactly her son is requesting for his fourth birthday.
An elaborate Old McDonald style cake with a tall red barn and at least five of his favorite animals.
Have I mentioned how much I hate working with fondant? It’s the devil.
Dylan and Joey exchange worried looks as the woman waits anxiously for the verdict. I can tell which way this decision is leaning, and no child should be disappointed on their birthday. Even little Timmy, or whatever the Hell this kid’s name is, who had to go all out for his big day. We should at least attempt this.
“I think we can knock this out,” I say, earning a leery look from Dylan. “What?” I mouth.
The woman pulls me into a grateful hug.
Dylan smiles at me, telling her there is no guarantee, and that she needs to be prepared to settle on birthday cupcakes in case this doesn’t work out.
She agrees. “Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you so much!” And rushes out of the shop.
We immediately get to work.
Dylan stays off her feet as much as possible. I’m all over the place, pulling ingredients and supplies off the shelves, darting upstairs to grab some paper so we can sketch this out. Our design is promising. Whether or not we can pull of sculpting these fucking farm animals is another thing.
I work through lunch. Joey steps into the back after two o’clock and holds out a sandwich for me to take bites of as I roll out some fondant. Dylan takes several breaks and moves into a more comfortable seat when her back starts to hurt. We check her blood pressure twice. That whole thing worries me. I forget all about my phone and Mason in general as I mold fat little farm animals and place them around the barn.
The cake is completed with only minutes to spare. Dylan can’t believe it. I’m too exhausted to offer my opinion on the ordeal and collapse onto a stool. It only registers that I haven’t spoken to Mason at all today when I’m gathering up my things at the end of the day.
“Still nothing?” Joey asks as we step out of the bakery together.
I glance across the street. The studio lights are off. “No. Um . . .” I check my phone again and frown
at the screen. No Mason.
Disappointment prickles deep in my chest.
Joey bumps against my shoulder, then throws his arm around me and pulls me along the sidewalk. “Early night, maybe? If he had extra classes today, he’s probably beat. As am I. Jesus. Just watching you and Dylan back there knocking out that cake was enough to wipe me out. Of course, I barely slept last night due to our little lover’s quarrel.”
I feel the corner of my mouth twitch.
“Pizza and beer for dinner sounds fucking perfect right about now. I need carbs and booze. You in?”
Craning my neck, I watch the studio grow smaller behind us as we continue down the sidewalk.
Early night, maybe? I cling to Joey’s reasoning for Mason’s continued silence. I accept it as explanation.
Extra classes. Right. He’s probably beat, that’s all.
“Yeah, sure,” I agree, looking ahead and tucking away my phone. “That does sound perfect.”
Or at least I think it does.
By the time that option is actually laid out in front of me, an hour later back at the condo, my appetite is deficient and I can only manage to consume half of my slice of Hawaiian pizza and nurse a third of my beer. I pick off the pineapple chunks and stack them on the plate. The ham slivers next.
Billy asks me if I’m okay, if I’m feeling well.
“Just tired,” I mumble, standing and carrying my plate to the sink.
Probably beat.
I can’t explain my mood, or what exactly it is I’m feeling as I turn in early and take a hot shower.
Disappointment? Disbelief? It’s odd, not hearing from Mason, but it’s easily explainable, and that’s what I tell myself again and again as I towel off and slip into an oversized T-shirt and a pair of black lace panties.
No reason to overreact. Or react at all, right?
God, when did I become spoiled by our daily conversations? I feel like a huge chunk of me is missing.
I comb out my hair and grab my phone before sliding under the cool sheets covering my bed. The dim light of my screen casts over my pillow as I hold it next to me, my shoulder digging into the mattress. My thumb hovers over the FaceTime icon.
I scowl at my own desperation.
He’s asleep, Brooke. Early night. Really fucking busy, remember?