Page 12 of A New Year Baby

CHAPTER 7

Clara drops the baguette, and proceeds to grab one of each cookie, and stuff the entire thing in her mouth. She chews thoughtfully, deliberately, and swallows. “Gingerbread!” she finally declares. “It’s the best one. So soft… it just melts in my mouth.”

“They are filled with marzipan,” I tell her. “Very good cookies.”

“I’ll take a dozen,” she says, grabbing one and moving over to her handsome hookup. “Here, try this, Mr. Claus,” she says, stuffing a cookie into his mouth.

He seems surprised, but he dutifully chews and swallows. “Wow,” he says, and he actually seems impressed. “That is delicious.”

“You’re delicious,” Clara says, dropping her crutches so that she can put both of her arms around his neck and kiss him deeply. Her injured leg bent at the knee and lifted into the air behind her.

I raise my eyebrows at this, but I continue to package her cookies. Ah, what the heck. She’s so drunk that she’s just going to tear it apart and devour it like a wild animal. The girl is pure muscle, and she eats like a horse. I doubt she cares much if there’s a pretty bow on top.

Clara and her gentleman suitor are now passionately making out against my front counter, right beside the cash register. Well, this is awkward. But I’m sure that more awkward things have happened. I am sure it was super awkward for her when I was always making out with her big brother when she was ten. I place the cookies on the counter, and I am about to tell Clara that she can take them for free—but then she hands me her phone.

“You can use this to pay,” she tells me. “Just tap it.”

A strange idea comes over me then. Oh, no. I shouldn’t.Stella, stop. Don’t. But once the idea strikes me, I can’t stop myself.

“I just need your fingerprint,” I tell Clara, holding out the phone. She presses her thumb against the phone without even looking. I pull the phone back to me, unlock it, and navigate directly to her messages.

I scroll down, searching for her brother’s name. It isn’t very far.

Hey brother dearest. I messed up my ankle and it’s all over.

Too bad you never got to see me dance in The Nutcracker. They say I’ll never dance again.

I was really hoping you’d come home for Christmas.

Miss you.

ClareBear

My eyeswell up with tears. There is no response. If I scroll up further, I see dozens of text messages from Clara to Jack, but very few responses. I had forgotten how Jack always used to call her ClareBear. Seeing that nickname brings his voice back into my memory, clearer than it has been in years. I wonder what he would have called Luna. I try to imagine his voice.Little moon. Looney Luna. Silly girl.

On a crazy impulse, I press his name for his contact info. I grab a post-it note and scribble his phone number down. Why am I doing this? I’m not sure. I’m never going to text him. And if he barely responds to Clara, why would he ever respond to me?

I clear my throat.

“Your payment went through,” I tell Clara, feeling guilty about the lie and the snooping. Her gentleman friend reaches down to pick up her crutches.

When I hand Clara back her phone, she launches herself forward to give me a hug. She smells like seven different types of alcohol.

“Thanks, Stell! You’re such a good businesswoman, and such a good baker. Hey, can you give me some business tips? I think I’m gonna open a cat café.”

“A cat café?” I ask her.

“Yeah, we get like twenty-five cats, and then we get a café, and then we serve people coffee while they play with the cats. And then they can adopt some of the cats. It’s genius, right?”

I smile at her. “It’s a good idea.”

“Hey! Do you want to open the café with me?” Clara asks, with a drunken hiccup. “We can sell people coffee and cookiesandcats. Oh my god, that’s brilliant. We’re gonna be billionaires!”

Grabbing her crutches from her date, Clara wanders out of my store.

“Hey,” I say to the handsome stranger, as I hand him the cookies. “Take good care of her, please. She’s like a sister to me. If anything happens to her, I will find you, and I will kill you.” I reach for the nearest weapon, which happens to be a rolling pin, and hold it up meancingly.

“Yes, ma’am,” he responds earnestly. “Don’t worry, she’s safe with me.”

I stare after them, worrying about her, but also happy for her.

Maybe my mom is right, and going on a date isn’t a terrible idea.

Clara seems really… alive.

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