As I walk toward the kitchen where she’s preparing her coffee. I kiss her cheek. She smiles at me and asks, “At what time did you come back last night?”
“Early?” I say, distracted.
I don’t know what defines late or early for her, but that answer is as good as any other. I find my phone soon after, tucked in the cupboard next to the glasses. I lift it in a wave, a little sheepish. I guess I left it there when I came to drink some water.
Mom cocks an eyebrow, a familiar expression that means Hadley can’t keep track of her things. She’s partially right. I still misplace items around the house but it’s been a couple of years since I declared anything lost forever. That’s an improvement, right?
“Did you see your friends?” She asks.
Oh, my sweet mother who believes I have friends in Baker’s Creek. The few friends I’ve made are either in Portland or far away from here. We’re the smart ones who didn’t want to stay in this prison forever.
I’m not being held here against my will, but how can I leave when Dad has a broken back and they’re struggling to make ends meet? Since I can’t lend them money, I moved in with them so I can help them with anything they need. Which is why I’m in a bakery helping my mom at 3am.
“What do you need me to do today?”
“Have you submitted any job applications?” she answers, narrowing her brown eyes that are so much like mine. “I heard they are hiring in the factory.”
It’s too early to discuss money. I was hoping she would ask me to visit Dad in Portland, or maybe even stay here while she goes to visit. I shouldn’t be surprised she needs money more than free labor. I had to buy some of the bakery supplies with my credit card last night.
“I applied for several jobs last night.” I say, trying to ease her mind. “I’m trying to apply for positions that relate to what I was doing before.”
“You could stay in town,” she suggests, again.
How do I explain to her that there’s nothing in here for me? Is she still hoping that one day I’ll take over The Cookie Jar? She loves baking. That’s not for me.
I shake my head. “Mom. I love you and I’m going to figure out a way to get you guys out of this financial mess. You won’t have to sell the bakery.” I don’t mention that I don’t plan to stay. I don’t think she wants to hear that today.
She sighs. “I could use some help at the bakery.” Her tone clearly says I’m not upset, just disappointed, and I can feel my younger self shudder.
This is going to be a long, yet, short day. Mom always sells out by two or three o’clock. I bet that today she’ll sell out before noon. Everyone in town is going to make sure they drop by to see if it’s true that Hadley is back in town. I don’t mind seeing old faces. Even when I’m a grown woman, I’m still scared of gossip. The cruel and false words that are spread like wildfire. The spark falls into a branch and the forest burns down.
Of course, all they care about is the gossip. They’re going to ask about my upcoming wedding with a certain Coloradan-businessman. They’ll be checking for my ring or asking if my soon-to-be husband is with me. And because I have a mother that loves to tweak the truth, I’ll have to find a way to avoid the conversation of how we’re not together, and he’s not rich, and god, small towns really are hell.
Not to mention, because I was living with him and working for him, I am now homeless, jobless, and penniless. If there’s a lesson to learn from my tale it’s that I have to be more assertive and practice my independence. For such an independent person, I depended a lot on him. To add insult to injury, our friends chose him. Even the cat chose to stay with the asshole. Mom only knows half of what happened. I’m not ready to hear yet another lecture from her.
At least I’ll be fine while the people in this town dissect my life. I’m not the same introverted girl who left ten years ago.
“Sure, let’s go to the bakery. I miss baking cookies,” I say. If worse comes to worst, there’s always the back of the store where I can bake and avoid the people.
Being strong, outgoing, and different doesn’t mean I’m ready to deal with them.
Baking is an art that requires passion and dedication. Mom loves this bakery as much as she loves Dad and me. She spends hours baking everything that she needs for the morning rush. Only hiring a cashier or two to help so she can be in the kitchen most of the day.
Every generation our roles change. My grandmother liked baking enough, but the woman was savvy when it came to business. She hired a couple of bakers and partnered with a few hotels in Portland to provide them baked goods. When Mom took over, things changed and she stuck to baking the best pastries on this side of the Mississippi. She hired employees to help her with the business side of her craft.
“I thought you had people helping you,” I say, confused as I stare at the fancy freezer on the storefront that says, ‘Aldry’s Sweets’.
In addition to the freezer, I can see shelves full of chocolates and candy, all labeled Aldry’s Sweets. Since when did we start selling their products?
“We did,” she confirms as she explains to me how to use the new register and the scanner that is used for the Aldry’s products.
“What happened to your employees?”
“I had to let them go. I couldn’t afford them anymore.”
No wonder she was exhausted yesterday. She’s already doing everything and she’s planning to take care of Dad when he comes back home because we can’t afford a nurse. There’s no way she can keep doing this with no employees. We don’t even have our goats anymore; she sold them to the Aldridges last weekend.
“Mom, how bad are the finances?”
“Not great,” she answers before turning around and walking back to the kitchen. I follow right behind. “We still need to finish a few more batches of croissants.”
She starts pouring the ingredients into the industrial mixer and I know the conversation is over. I go back to my station and roll the croissants carefully. If I manhandle the dough, they won’t be as soft and crispy as Mom likes them. As I work, I can’t help but wish she had told me before I left my job and left Randall. I could’ve lent her some money. Now we’re both broke and desperate.
We focus on baking. There’s no time for us to discuss Dad’s current situation, the bakery, or my plans.
Do I even have plans?
I plan to leave this town. Right after I get a job that pays well enough so I can help Mom pay for whatever she needs. Whatever that may be.
I need more information about my parents’ finances. They were doing fine, weren’t they? She told me Dad was making money from his goat hobby. Did she lie to me? Is the bakery at risk? Is the house?
Thoughts about my parents’ future are not only worrying me but giving me major anxiety. How am I supposed to help them? There has to be a solution. I do my best to clean the kitchen, bake more batches of muffins and croissants, and even bake the cookies for the ten o’clock rush.
It’s around eight when Mom comes into the kitchen holding a white box and says, “Here, take this to the Aldridge mansion.”
I want to ask why but I refrain. I can tell by her face that she’s over today. There’s no point in asking why they’re too good to come to the store.