Page 7 of Fake it 'Til Christmas
“You’re not going to disappear again, are you?”she asks, and there it is—the real question.
“I’ll try not to,” I mumble, but I fail to sound reassuring.“Talk to you soon, Day.”
ChapterThree
Winnifred
“I heardfrom Nell that you took care of Aiden’s cat—again,” Mom says, her voice already at Defcon One Disappointment level.“Freddy, we talked about this.Pet-sitting is not a career.”
Ah, yes.The old this-isn’t-a-real-job-because-it-didn’t-require-a-degree monologue, back by popular demand and now in a limited-edition guilt-trip tone.
What is she going to say when I tell her I’m planning to open a cupcakery and cookie factory next March?Yes, I’ll call it a factory and not a bakery.It sounds trendy-cool.I’m manifesting frosting-filled assembly lines and whimsical branding.‘Frostationship’ is the working title.Okay, I’m still working on it.But it has a modern edge, right?Sounds disruptive.My cupcake-cookie aficionados will love the concept.
I could call it ‘Batter & Bloom,’ but where are the flowers?‘The Frosted Wolf’ crossed my mind, but something tells me my family would see that as a personal attack.I’m trying to break generational patterns, not declare a pastry-fueled war.
Convincing them this is a real plan won’t be easy.They already treat Aiden’s wedding cake empire like it’s an Etsy side hustle—despite the fact that she charges at least five grand per cake and turns out two weddings a week, plus custom cookies, and makes more in a month than Trish’s salary in a fancy law firm.But since she doesn’t have a PhD, MD, or Esq.behind her name, her success doesn’t count in the Wolfcraft family.
The good news is that she’s not a Wolfcraft.The bad news for Mom is that she’s only a Wolfcraft by marriage, so why are we even doing this competing shit?Okay, now I’m going off on a tangent.I stop myself and then focus on my current conversation.
I resist the urge to scream into the void.“It was just a favor, Mom,” I say, channeling my calmest customer service voice.“Aiden’s my favorite cousin, and I couldn’t say no.But if it makes you feel better, she picked him up last Monday, and I’m pet-free.”
“I don’t understand why she can’t just board the animal like a normal person.”
Is that even the norm?Mom wouldn’t know because she hates pets.I can’t explain to her either that Skylar has separation anxiety and once went fullExorciston a groomer.
What I do say is, “It’s fine.Really.I like helping her.”
Mom sighs, the universal sound of ‘you’re exhausting me, and also yourself.’“What are you doing this weekend?”she asks, all innocent-like—if innocent came with a lie detector and a moral compass set to Judgmental North.
Translation from Margot Wolfcraft to human:Are you broke again?Are you eating cereal for dinner?Is your electricity still on?
She’s fishing, probably deciding that I’m so fucking desperate I had to beg my cousin to let me take care of her cat, or I’d starve.
I’m not broke.
I’ve never been broke—just low on funds sometimes.
Though, I work ridiculous hours doing five different things that somehow still don’t count because they don’t come with health insurance or a mahogany desk.I pay my rent, my bills, and my emergency chocolate fund.That should be enough.But in my family, if you’re not saving lives, suing people, or running for office, you’re failing.
Do I have a retirement account?No.But I have twelve different revenue streams and serious savings.
Still, I know where this conversation is going, and I don’t have the energy for a debate with someone who still thinks receiving payments through my phone is a scam.
So, I pivot.
“Did I tell you about last night’s date?”I ask like I’m not dangling a shiny object to distract her.
“You went out with Chad?On a Wednesday?”She sounds scandalized as if I broke curfew at seventeen.I’m in my early thirties, Mother.
“Yes, Mom.He likes to be spontaneous,” I say because that’s the only way to take her off my back.Making my boyfriend sound like the swooniest guy in the entire world.
Is he?Not really.He needs some work.Did I go on a date last night?No, but she doesn’t have to know it.That’s the advantage of having my mother in another state.I can tell her whatever I want, and she won’t drive over to check if I’m being honest.
I lean back in the weathered chair on my deck, the sky turning dusky behind me.Soft lavender streaks melt into midnight blue as fairy lights flicker on around the railing.I love sunsets in Colorado.They’re magical.
My moment of peace lasts exactly three seconds.
Because thenheappears.
