Page 2 of Eat My Moon Dust
I held out my mug and clinked rims with both my employees, then held it between my palms, savoring the scent as Sam and Adam talked family plans. I settled back against the counter, feeling the hefty oak against the small of my back, the delicious ache in the balls of my feet.
My bakery,The Three Sisters, was my pride and joy, even when we mopped the floors, took out the trash, and counted the register after a long, hard day. All I had to do was look at the photo–nohkomipan,or my grandmother, my mother, and ten year-old me, roasting marshmallows and sweet potatoes over the backyard fire pit one fall–that was hanging above the wheels of bannock and scones displayed along the wall to feel renewed.
Besides, my bakery wasfreaking beautiful.Everything about the interior had been chosen specifically for that sense of Old World wonder, with brass-frame counter displays and my growing collection of vintage teacups on high, hand-carved maple shelves. A few Métis Octopus bags made by a local master craftswoman completed the walls and stole the show with their intricate beading and eight “legs.” They were an expression of love and family that perfectly embodied the roots of my bakery, and every time I set my eyes on them, my insides melted like syrup.
This was especially true during the holidays, when we closed the shop early to string up garland and twinkle lights, place red velvet cushions on every chair, fill polished copper bowls with striped peppermints, and have a party to decorate the Christmas tree with cloth birds and glass pinecones that glittered with snow. Then, after everyone else had left, I’d hang the beaded snowflakes I’d made with my mom as a kid, a chore I always set aside for myself. Putting them next to the bags on the wall made me sappy and nostalgic.
But the decorations had been out for a long while now. Today was the last day we’d be open for a couple weeks. Tomorrow was the day before Christmas Eve, and Sam and I would be driving up to Wahgoshig first thing in the morning, retreating into the beautiful snow-laden trees of the reserve to spend time with our families and friends. I wouldn’t be unlocking the bakery doors again until after New Year’s Day.
Which meant a whole week to eat my dad’s cooking, to sleep undernohkomipan’swoven blankets, and to saw the top off of a balsam fir and decorate it inside our home, where the scent of terpenes would permeate my every pore…
As much as I loved my bakery, man, I couldn’twait.I needed this holiday more than anything.
Sam clapped Adam on the back and squeezed his shoulder as he poured him another mug. My father’s friend had been my first employee once I’d realized in the spring that I needed help. The bakery had gotten too busy, and I was dead tired when Sam showed up, putting on an apron without a word. My dad had sent him, no doubt, but I’d never asked. Neither of us had taken a break since.
I bit the inside of my cheek, hiding the quiver of my bottom lip against my mug as I took another long, thankful drink of holiday spirit.
Sam had “moved away” from the reserve after the attempted genocide and mass graves of Indigenous children hit the news. The entire community had been bowled over with latent grief, their memories unearthed and bleeding fresh. I’d known–all of us had–but witnessing the impact on the older generations still felt like being punched in the heart with blocks of ice. I found out later that Sam had been a residential school survivor and remembering had been too raw. He’d fallen into the bottle and couldn’t pull himself out.
When he’d realized how badly it affected his family, he’d enrolled in a rehab program in Kingston and taken up morning yoga. The only time he’d spoken to me about it was a quiet summer morning before dawn in the kitchen,nohkomipan’sfavorite bluegrass album wafting through the lobby. I’d wiped a tear from my cheek on my shoulder, missing home as I made her sweet bannock recipe…
“Sometimes healing takes us far away,” Sam said, cleaning fresh strawberries with a soft bristle brush.
I sniffed the memories back, blinking away the next tear as I looked up at his shoulders. “Hmm?” I managed, my usual peppy self, preparing for him to turn around and put on a brave face. He didn’t though, and just kept carefully cleaning each strawberry.
“My wife told me that before I enrolled in rehab. And she was right. Every time I visit, the black cloud hanging over the house is a little lighter. Working at your bakery helps. So just take it day by day,wâpos,and your black clouds will lighten too.”
Sam–or I guess his wife–was right. My dad and I had tried to have a ship-to-order bakery in our house afternohkomipanpassed away, but I’d outgrown it and made the hard decision to move to Kingston to open a bakery. I’d felt so guilty, leaving him there alone. But I’d come to realize that staying would have been harder in the long run, and the good I could do here was fulfilling.
Like hiring and spoiling Adam, the foster teen the police chased off for loitering on the street corner.
I grinned, stepping away to unearth the gift bag stuffed with glittery white tissue paper from beneath a mountain of clean rags.
“Merry Christmas!” I announced, holding the bag out to Adam. He blinked at it, a blush racing up his neck. “Go ahead, open it.”
“For me?” he asked.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, c’mon!” I shoved the bag against his chest and took his empty mug. “It’s nothing major.”
Adam pulled the tissue paper off the top of the contents and withdrew the fleece scarf I’d made last night. I clapped my hands together, trying hard not to laugh. He unraveled it, looking over the maroon and green plaid, its edges cut into uneven fringe with a pair of kitchen shears.
“Did youmakethis? No way you bought it…”
I couldn’t help but cackle with cheer. “It’s not perfect, but that’s what makes it special! Like an ugly sweater, right?”
Adam shook his head but couldn’t help an awkward, boyish smile. “Yeah, sure.” Then he wrapped it around his neck and struck a pose, the fringe sticking up at weird angles. We all laughed as I stuffed a bag of sugar cookies into his jacket pocket and zipped him shut.
“Go on before it gets too cold, okay?”
Adam dished out a couple of great hugs, tossed his ratty old backpack over his shoulder, and left with a bounce in his step. I washed his mug, following him with my eyes as he disappeared around the corner.
“Such a sap,” Sam teased.
“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” I snarked, blotting my eye on my shoulder. We both looked up at the clock on the wall and Sam perked up.
“Oh, you’re right. Last AA meeting of the year tonight. I’ll toss these in the wash then get going. Don’t wait up, okay? I think some of us are getting coffee afterwards.”
“Okay, but take some sugar cookies,” I said, nodding my chin at the displays. Sam packed up some cookies, coffee cake, and butter tarts, then saw himself out, smooshing a toque onto his head.
