Page 11 of Leo and His Love Bunny

“I think you called them delicious,” Mom says, and it is obvious she is digging for details.

If only I had some to give her.

Actually, I do. Leo is supposed to be showing up later. He mentioned that we are planning on doing something together. I...don’t know what exactly to expect. I suppose I could pour my heart out to my mom, but I’d probably start to cry.

I get off the elevator but stand in front of it, holding the parakeet, my phone, and my bag and digging in it for my house key without dropping my phone.

I need another hand. Or another life. That would be good too. One with alligators and dungeons rather than breasts and biceps.

“I was nervous. I don’t usually talk on the air. And actually, I didn’t even realize I was on the air. Not when I said that about Leo and his biceps. But the whole day was...nerve-racking.” To say the least. The absolute very least. In fact, I’m not sure nerve-racking does it justice. Feeling like I was facing a running chainsaw whipping in front of my face less than a quarter of acentimeter from my eyeballs might have been a better way to describe my day.

Mom will think that is dramatic though. Did I mention she believes in personal responsibility?

I’m supposed to grab my day by the horns and wrestle it into submission.

Well, my way of doing that is going inside, grabbing the ice cream from the freezer, and sitting on the floor crying while I eat it. That’s gonna show my day who’s boss.

“Well, anytime that you are required to talk in front of people, it’s always a good idea to practice. That way when it’s time for you to start talking, things that you don’t expect don’t come tumbling out of your mouth.”

“You’re right, Mom. I’m gonna try to practice next time, although I highly doubt there’s going to be a next time. I’m pretty sure the radio station has put me on their do not go on a live-action broadcast ever again list.”

Mom laughs a little, like that is some kind of joke. I do typically have a sense of humor, but it’s been notably absent today.

“Yeah, kid,” Mom says, and I can tell that I’m about to get a pep talk. “We’re having a surprise birthday party for your dad on Saturday, and I’d like to hire someone to make cupcakes for it. Do you know anyone who might be interested?” Then she adds as though it is an afterthought, “I don’t want breast cupcakes though.”

“You know I’ll do it, Mom. And you don’t have to hire me.” They ask me to bake for special occasions all the time, and they’re so proud of me. My parents are awesome.

“No. I didn’t realize that your shop was struggling so much. You provided cupcakes for me, for the school, for chorus concerts, band concerts, your dad’s work parties, and church activities. No one has paid you. You’ve been very generous withyour time and your talent, and it’s about time that you start being appreciated for it. I’ll try to make sure you get paid from now on.”

“Mom, I like to donate things. Really. I... I think I’ve come to the conclusion I’m a terrible business owner, because while I love to bake, and I love to give things away, I don’t love to charge people for things. And that’s...kind of a requirement whenever you have your own business.”

“Nora.” My mom’s voice holds so much compassion I almost start crying right then. “Don’t give up. Everyone goes through hard times. This will make you stronger if you let it.”

I know she’s right, and I appreciate the fact that she’s trying to encourage me. It’s unusual for my mom, since she feels like everyone should have a secure job the way she did, with benefits. This idea of me being my own boss and having my own business is stressful for her, I know. And for her to encourage me to keep going is a big sacrifice considering that what she would really like for me to do would be to quit and get a real job.

“You know, those seminars they always make your dad go to, the positive thinking ones, they always say that when you’re on the bottom, the only place you can go is up.”

I know she has a point. I mean, come on, it can’t get any worse than embarrassing myself on our town’s biggest, and only, radio station, as well as having cupcakes that look like human breasts.

The only thing worse that could happen would be for the cupcake shop to burn down, and as long as no one got hurt, I really wouldn’t consider that worse.

“Sometimes you just need to continue. Sometimes really wonderful things are just about to happen, but we quit before they can.”

Now my mom sounds less like a junior high teacher and more like a self-help guru. Maybe that comes with the juniorhigh territory, but I appreciate it. She loves me, and she knows that this has been my dream since I was a kid. Even if the business side isn’t what I thought it was going to be, I love what I do.

“Thanks, Mom,” I say, because I don’t really have anything else to add. She’s right. I can’t just quit. And I do love it. And maybe things really will get better. Maybe people will come to my shop not just for breasts, but for actual cupcakes. And...maybe Leo will forget we ever met. Except, I know he lives in my apartment building, and he must know I live here too, since he said he is coming over tonight.

Maybe he was just saying that for the benefit of the people listening and didn’t mean it.

Mom and I talk for a little more, and I feel better by the time we hang up. I still sink to the floor and open my tub of ice cream, but at least I’m not crying in it.

Chapter 5

Miss Phyllis

“Do you think it’s going to work?” Phyllis asks as she looks furtively down the hall where Nora just disappeared on the elevator carrying Trixie the parakeet.

“It was your idea. I don’t know why you’re asking us if it’s going to work,” Carrie says, tacking a piece of green upholstery in place. The chair she is working on is not Phyllis’s favorite, but sometimes a person has to work with colors they don’t particularly enjoy. Green is one of those colors for her. She likes happy colors like red and orange and yellow. Green looks like puke. Or slime. Or...it just reminds her of things that smell disgusting.

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