Page 54 of Bountiful
“The pattern. The history. We grew up assuming that everyone’s mother turned tricks for her next hit. And every father slapped his kidsaround.”
Bess didn’t say anything for a minute. “I also grew up knowing that brothers were awesome, and that somebody always had my back. I don’t see why you and I shouldn’t end up happy, Davey. We deserve what everyoneelsehas.”
That shut me up, because ofcourseBess deserved the moon and stars. But our past had left me wondering if there was such a thing as a happy family. And if chasing the illusion only made you into asucker.
I hated to be asucker.
“Are you going to meet her family?” Bess asked. “I think it’s important that you show your face. Right now Zara has everything handled, and your daughter is onlyababy…”
Your daughter. The words still sounded like a foreignlanguage.
“But meeting the family sets an important precedent. That you won’t duck your responsibility to your child. Who knows what could happen down the road? If Zara hits a patch of trouble, they might need to know whoyouare.”
“I’ll go,” I said quietly. “I’m not duckinganything.”
She reached over and patted my arm. “I know. I wouldn’t let you,anyway.”
ChapterSeventeen
Zara
The next dayI did not, in fact, text Dave the details of Sunday dinner. And then I didn’t text them on the day after that,either.
For starters, I just couldn’t picture him sitting down for ham and pasta with my family on Sunday, while my brothers and my uncles asked pointedquestions.
But even if Dave was willing to withstand that sort of trial, I wasn’t sure I wanted him there. I’d feel so exposed, sitting there beside him while my family looked on. Because the truth was that I’d often wished for a man in my life who would come to Sunday luncheon, drink beer with my brothers, and holdthebaby.
If Dave was sitting there beside me, stepping into that role only for a day, I was afraid that everyone would be able to see right through me. Old yearnings would rise off melikemist.
My tough-girl cred would take a serious hit. I didn’t want that. So I wasstalling.
Wednesday morning it was my turn to open up the bakery. I took three early days and Audrey took three. And we traded off on Mondays, which keptthingseven.
At five a.m.—per our usual routine—I tapped on my brother Alec’s apartment door, which was right upstairs from mine. Still mostly asleep, Alec shuffled in his boxer shorts down the staircase. Without a word, he went into my apartment (really Benito’s, of course) and lay down on the sofa for the next leg of hisslumber.
That’s where I left him, as well as Nicole asleep in her crib. I tiptoed out again, heading down the stairs and across the lot to thebakery.
In an hour Nicole would wake up and babble to herself until her sleepy uncle managed to stagger into her room to greet her. They would hang out together for an hour or so until my mother arrived for her babysittingshift.
This was my patchwork support system. It allowed me to run a business. On the other days—when I went to work at ten or noon—Nicole went to a daycareintown.
Going to work at five in the morning wasn’t ideal, but I enjoyed the solitude more than I’d expected to. The first thing I did was preheat the oven and stir together a batter for muffins. I enjoyed moving through the early morning stillness of the coffee shop routine, flipping on lights, warming the espressomachine.
There was tremendous satisfaction in owning a business. Every month Audrey and I learned a little more about what worked and what didn’t. How to predict which days would be busy and which would be slow. How to price our products and how to entice clients to try newthings.
Someday I hoped my daughter would go to college and be a scholar. I hoped she had her pick of careers. But I was going to show her what resourcefulness looked like. It looked like four-dozen muffin trays ready to go into the oven beforesixa.m.
July was berry season. So I stirred local blueberries into the first batches of muffins. Audrey had taught me the rudiments of baking, but I’d learned a lot myself. When fall came, I couldn’t wait to try some new recipes with the pears from my family’sorchards.
As the daylight strengthened outside the kitchen window, I cooled the muffins and took delivery of the bagels we sourced from a bakery in Montpelier. I measured out the dry ingredients for the cookies that Audrey would make when she arrivedlater.
Then I went into the front of the shop and patrolled the tables and chairs for cleanliness. I restocked the coffee grinder and checked our supply of milk and other mixers. I made coffee, its rich scent as familiar as breathing. I took the chalk to our signboards and listed blueberry muffins as today’s seasonalpastry.
One of the beams where I wrote pithy sayings had been smudged, so I cleaned it with a cloth, then wrote a new saying in its place.If I’m silent, I might be furious, or maybe I’m just chillin’. May the odds be ever in yourfavor.
I loved improvising this way. Putting my own personality on the walls. It was tough to run a business, but also fun and freeing. Just like single-motherhood.
The first customers—as well as Kieran, my part-time barista—began showing up right after I flipped the sign to “open” at seven. Then the real hustle began. For the commuting crowd I made lattes and poured coffee. I sliced bagels and spread cream cheese while chatting about the weather and theRedSox.
