Sweet Surprise

by Haven Rose

  Perhaps that’s another reason remaining single for the rest of my life is what’s best. We might be feared, but there will always be someone stupid enough to try and take us on. And what better way to hurt your enemy than going after what they love? If I am lucky and the universe grants me a woman that’ll accept all of me, if she became a target because of it, anyone that dared harm her or our children would beg me for mercy…and find none.

  Chapter Four

  Valentina

  February 1st…

  “Val,” Phillip says, getting my attention after I finish ringing up a customer, “taste this for me, please.” I don’t know why he bothers; the man is a genius with this stuff and I don’t think he’s made one misstep yet.

  I don’t even ask what it is, just comply by choosing a piece and popping it in my mouth. My moan of appreciation is not exaggerated. It’s delicious, and my brother’s confident smile tells me he knows it. “It tastes just like the milk after a bowl of that cinnamon cereal.” He points to another row on the tray and has me try one of them. I do, and once more, it’s perfect. “This is the marshmallow brand with the different colors and shapes.” This continues for five more samples, each just as tasty.

  “Tell her what you want to name them,” Jackson declares as he comes out front. The laughter in his voice acts as a warning and I groan, familiar with Phillip’s weird sense of humor.

  “Cerealiously,” Phillip informs me, unable to keep a straight face.

  “That’s punny,” I state, seconds before cracking up. And that’s how our parents find us, bent over, wiping tears from our eyes. Jackson tries to explain, but it’s apparently the kind of situation that’s not as funny when you don’t experience it firsthand because they look at us like we’ve lost our minds.

  “Get it out of your systems before the next customer comes in,” Mom warns us, though her eyes are twinkling, which means something is coming. “Can’t have people thinking our children are Froot Loops.” And that gets us going again, with Dad and Mom joining in.

  It’s times like this that make me doubt my choice to not seek love and start my own family, but reality never fails to intrude. I recall my mom trying to call hers on Mother’s Day, and her dad the following month, and each time the sadness that would cross her face, the tears that would spill down her cheeks when she was told by the butler they wouldn’t accept. I once asked her why she kept trying and she said there was always the hope they’d answer, that even with how they treated her and my dad, and subsequently us, they were still her parents and she couldn’t completely write them off. That was also when I’d wanted to know if she’d ever regretted choosing Dad over them and she gave an instant and emphatic no.

  Perhaps it’s not that I’m scared of how others will treat any family I have because of what makes me, me, but that I don’t know if I’ll ever meet someone I could love that much or vice versa. Charles and Helena Carmichael, regardless of the obstacles they had to overcome, have a relationship that’s a fairy tale come to life. What if chasing something like that is the same as believing unicorns exist?

  Trying and failing to find that might actually be my greatest fear.

  Chapter Five

  Micah

  February 3rd…

  “You just missed Val,” Junie says as she lets me in their house. “I’m starting to get some superhero vibes here.”

  Milo chuckles as he greets me, telling his wife, “Juniper, I keep telling you Micah and Val are not Clark Kent and Superman.” She appears to pout, which instantly makes him want to fix it, so he peeks at me and asks in a whisper, “Are you?” These two had a rough patch due to a misunderstanding, engineered by her vindictive sisters no less, but they corrected it and have started a life together. I wish I could’ve been there for the impromptu wedding on Christmas that previous family obligations kept me from attending. As if they can read my mind, my best friend wants to know if I’m free on Valentine’s Day. I glance at him, his expression and mine stating how silly of a question that is.

  “We’re having a reception that night to celebrate our marriage,” Junie states. “And you better be there,” she teases with a hint of truth to her words.

  I lift my hand as if to say scout’s honor, but Milo scoffs before I have the chance to do the sign. “Don’t even try with that crap,” he advises me, his lips twitching at the irony of me doing it. Milo and I have known each other forever and he has never once looked down on me for the legacy I was born in to. To him, I’m simply Micah, and to me, he’s Milo, not all the wealth that comes with being a Jenner.

  “What can I do to help?” I offer.

  Junie giggles, piping in with, “You actually think Mom,” she’s referring to Milo’s not her own who doesn’t deserve that title anyway, “wouldn’t eagerly tackle all the tasks and those I never would’ve thought of?”

  “You have a point,” I agree. Natalie is a force to be reckoned with and a firm believer in handling things personally whenever possible. Party planners are not in her contact list unless absolutely necessary, and she usually deems them not to be. It’s refreshing to be honest as the women in my family are hands on as well. Not that there’s anything wrong with utilizing others as that does create jobs. I hang out for a few hours, the three of us talking about what’s new and anything else that comes up before my cell rings. I excuse myself when I see Baba’s smiling face on the screen. “Everything okay?” I ask her.

  She sighs, clearly embarrassed by my lack of manners, and proceeds to release a torrent of curse words. Baba is, of course, the one who taught them to me. “Pelmeni, is that any way to speak to your beloved grandmother?” She adds a sniffle for good measure, her skill in guilt matched only by my babulya. However, if I could see her right now, she’d be smirking, eyes twinkling, and high-fiving my deda (grandfather) at “getting one over on me.” All I can do is shake my head while being thankful for her. I let her think she’s fooled me, then properly greet her. “That’s better.” Her voice becomes muffled, but I can hear her tell my deda, “Why did I call him? Oh yeah. I’ll thank you later for the reminder.” Brain bleach. I need some right fucking now. “Did you just gag?”

  “There are things that are not fit for my ears.”

  “So, don’t listen,” she scolds me. I’m sputtering by this point, knowing I can’t win. “I just wanted to let you know that was a very nice thing you did for that young lady.” Tatty, and yes, she earned that nickname because she liked to tattle and try to get us all in trouble when we were younger, must’ve told her. “You’re a good boy, when you aren’t eavesdropping,” she adds before hanging up.

  Milo enters the kitchen, a look of apology visible in case he’s interrupting, but it quickly changes to laughter. “Baba?” I nod, unsurprised he guessed correctly. “She has a natural talent for eliciting that reaction.” And then he waves a finger in the shape of a circle, probably to indicate what is surely a mixture of laughter, stupefaction, and respect rolled into one.

  A great thing about Milo? He doesn’t ask questions nor get upset when I don’t or can’t willingly provide details. It’s not that I don’t trust him with my life, I have no doubt he’s a ride or die friend, but the less he knows the better in some cases. This is my way of protecting him, though I wouldn’t hesitate to reach out if needed. Whether that’s merely to talk or for a helping hand, he’d be there, no matter what.

  Could it be my true worry isn’t saddling my wife and children with my legacy, so to speak, but that they might not accept that part of me as he did?

  Chapter Six

  Valentina

  February 6th…

  Surprisingly, or perhaps it’s not as my brother knows what he’s doing, the Cerealiously treats are a huge hit. People are taking them as they’re meant to be, which is funny, instead of being, as my mom would say, sticks in the mud.

  Wanting to showcase them, I came up with a display idea while taking a thinking bath and about squealed when the idea popped in my brain. I have to get it just rig
ht, though. I gather the supplies I picked up at the store yesterday after work and begin creating after the final customer. My family knows to let me do my thing in regards to this stuff, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t watching me as I do it.

  I take the toasted cinnamon square I’d made and set it inside a bowl of “milk,” a little towel laying discarded beside it, a book propped in his hands as he reads while relaxing. Jackson, more than likely due to his talent with numbers, was able to engineer – and did so without question – it to appear as if it was becoming more cinnamony due to a timer he’d installed and hidden underneath that connected to an app he’d designed for this. We’d then done the same for two more types, one where the milk turned into various colors and another into chocolate.

  After ensuring everything was just so, I placed the handwritten ‘Don’t take life too Cerealiously’ sign in front of it with a list of the available options and the price for each quantity to the right. Phillip can’t make them fast enough as they are being purchased so quickly the inventory he makes in the morning is gone within hours of flipping the sign to open.

  During our busier seasons, the rapidly approaching Valentine’s Day for example, we extend our hours, giving those who might not be able to come in during the regular times a chance to do so. It’s also when we do the majority of our special orders as customers want to personalize their purchases for those they love.

  And if this is yet another year when someone doesn’t make that effort for me? I’ll simply once more act as if that’s how I prefer it, even if my heart aches with the knowledge of how untrue that is.

  Chapter Seven

  Micah

  February 12th…

  “Oh, pelmeni,” Baba says as I grab my jacket in preparation to leave. Deda wanted to go over a few things with me, so they invited me to breakfast. The latter part might’ve been at baba’s urging as she likes to fuss, declaring we don’t eat enough. Ironic considering her favorite endearment for me translates to an item of food. I turn, assuming she has leftovers, as in the extra she always makes to ensure there are any, and hold out my hands. Baba laughs as she gives me the bag, stating she spoils us.

  “Yes, you do, and we adore you for that and so much more.”

  “Silver tongued devil. How are you still single?” Now she’s shaking her head, tsking at me over the fact. So when she begins with, “Oh, there’s this…” I cut her off, telling her to try her matchmaking skills on the others. Baba harrumphs, informing me she’s not doing anything of the sort and I should have more faith in her. Properly chastised, or appearing to be as she’s pretending to be innocent, I ask her to continue. “I was going to ask, before you so rudely interrupted me,” I smother a laugh at that, knowing she wouldn’t appreciate it, “could you swing by Carmichael Candies and pick up a few items for me?”

  “Of course,” I instantly agree. Baba does love her chocolates, and that place seems to be the only one she’ll buy from. I think it’s a combination of the people that run it and how delicious their products are. She passes me the list, stating some were special orders, and tries to offer me money, which I refuse. After a hug, and me stopping her when she tries to slide the cash in my coat pocket, I make my exit and head to my car.

  The drive doesn’t take long, but finding a place to park does. Is it always this crazy? After waiting for someone to back out, I quickly take their spot, somehow thankful I’m only a block away. When I open their door, and while I’m not a fanciful man by any means, I swear it smells like happiness.

  And then I hear this voice greet me, “Welcome to Carmichael Candies. We have treats for every taste.” Baby, I think as my gaze automatically homes in on her, I’d give anything to taste your treat. And then I immediately scold myself at how skeevy that sounded, not that I didn’t mean it, but still.

  She’s gorgeous in the fact that she’s her, which makes no sense other than that her beauty can’t be measured in normal terms as no one can match her. Her smile beckons me closer and I heed its calls as my feet take me toward her. Moy vozdukh.

  “Hi,” she says as I reach the register.

  “Hello,” I tell her, eagerly soaking in the scent of oranges that surrounds her.

  “Can I help you?”

  First, you can start by telling me your first name, then by agreeing to take my last. Which is what I want to say, but thankfully my brain and not my heart answers. “I’m here by decree of my Baba, err my grandmother, sorry. Lidiya Kamenev.”

  She laughs, and the sound washes over me like sunshine, wiping away all the dark clouds that have made up my life up to this point. “By decree,” she repeats. “That fits her perfectly. She’s a lovely woman, yet there’s this strength to her that’s undeniable. Mrs. Kamenev reminds me of a warrior.”

  “Have you ever told her that?” I ask, curious about how well they know each other and amused at how she sees my Baba.

  “Yes,” she admits. “The third time she came in. A person was creating a ruckus outside, I don’t know what about, and she tore into them something fierce. They took off so fast you’d think she was chasing them.”

  “Then what happened?” I want to know, fascinated at another peek at my Baba and how much this enchanting woman is enjoying sharing the story.

  “She came in here, smacked her hands together as if brushing the dust from them, and proceeded to charm my parents as if she didn’t almost literally scare the pants off a stranger.” I can’t help but wonder if the other person recognized who she was, not that Baba can’t hold her own if she feels someone is behaving unseemly, but it’s a legitimate question. I also have a feeling she’s very protective of the Carmichaels, a sentiment I can understand as I suddenly find myself having the same reaction. “Where are my manners? I’m Valentina.”

  “I apologize if I’m being forward, but I must say that’s a pretty name.”

  “Thank you,” she blushes.

  “I’m Micah.”

  **Valentina**

  When Junie teased I might one day find a sweet surprise, I doubt she had any idea just how true those words would be. Forget being scared of never finding my soulmate, he just walked into my life and now I’m terrified he’ll leave it just as quickly.

  “Hi,” I repeat, then groan. “I mean, I’ll get her orders for you.” He appears as reluctant for me to do that as I am.

  “Okay. She needed a few more things, so I’ll take care of those.” I grab the counter to keep from falling as relief that he isn’t going right away about knocks me over. Jackson, who is helping due to the number of customer, steadies me, and I swear Micah growls. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the grim reaper is in his eyes as they stare at where Jackson is touching me.

  And I think Jackson knows it, too, because he squeezes my arm in what I interpret as a save me gesture. “Micah, this is my brother, Jackson.” Thankfully, Micah smiles and holds out his hand in greeting. It doesn’t escape my notice that he still did so with the one that would entail Jackson letting go of me.

  Jackson smirks, telling me he saw it as well, then shakes it. While they introduce themselves, I head to the back and slip a little surprise in one of Mrs. Kamenev’s bags. Call it a gift for her sending Micah to me, and I have no doubt that’s exactly what she did. She’s mentioned her family numerous times, though more so Micah. I have a feeling she’s decided we belong together, and who am I to argue with such a wise woman? Nay, with fate as this man is surely my destiny. I’m fully aware I may sound crazy, but if this is even an iota of what my parents experienced, no wonder they were willing to forego everything to have each other.

  Walking out, I place her stuff on the counter, then stand and watch Micah. I’m lucky there’s currently a lull in the customers as my eyes don’t seem to want to leave him. As if he knows, his gaze veers toward me a lot off and on as he inspects the shelves and table.

  When he reaches the Cerealiously display I see him chuckle and wish I could hear it, which comes true at the next. I’d taken some of our homemade
heart doughnuts, Philip makes them in various flavors, and cut one of each in half, placing a sign next to them pleading, ‘Doughnut go breaking their heart by forgetting these.’ Micah looks at me, and I somehow know he wants me at his side. And I am more than fine with that. Forever.

  “Why do I have the feeling these were your brilliant ideas?”

  “Because you know me?” I reply.

  “Not yet, but I will,” he informs me. Hot damn. Micah takes my hand and has me walk him around the store, pointing out what else I’ve done, then we repeat the process and search for what his Baba needs.

  When he steps outside to take a call, I can’t help but fan myself and mutter in disbelief. “Love doesn’t truly work this fast, does it?”

  “Why wouldn’t it?” Some guy off to the left answers, though he gives the vibe of being new to people-ing, as if he’d rather be doing anything else, but he’s trying.

  “In fairy tales, sure. But for real?”

  He shrugs, then states before moving toward the register, “It did for your parents.” How did…? Who was…? He couldn’t…? I watch in a stupor of what the fuckery as Jackson handles his purchases, then rush to the counter after he leaves.

  “Who was that?” I ask him all in one breath, hoping he understands me. He does, which means I won’t have to thump him, and checks the receipt.

  “He picked up…” Jackson merely laughs when I threaten to throttle him, not at all intimidated by me. “Fine. Spoilsport. His name was…What? That can’t be.”

  “I will break every single pencil you own in half. I will throw away the replacements for any that are mechanical. I will put glue on all your erasers so they won’t work. I will…”