Page 2 of A New Year Baby

Oh, no—she hasn’t heard the news yet. Tears gather in my eyes again. She was busy at the bakery all day, taking orders. Then I notice something. She’s wearing… what is she wearing?

“Mom?” I say with confusion, looking down at her glittery dress through my tears.

She shoots me a big smile. And then she spreads her arms out wide… and starts dancing.

More people begin to pop out of all the vehicles that have arrived, all dressed in similar fantastic outfits. Music is playing from one of the cars, and I recognize Jack’s sisters. Mary, Eve, and Clara move closer to surround the gazebo, all dancing to the lively, upbeat song. And Clara is actually a professional ballerina, so she’s wearing her pointe shoes and dancing quite amazingly well on the asphalt. It’s hard not to stop and stare at the big spin of her glittery skirt. What is happening?

Jack then moves in front of me and also begins to dance. He’s got a huge smile and expertly smooth moves. He looks stunning in his suit, but…

“Jack, please,” I whisper. “Mom—not now—please stop. I can’t—”

They don’t hear me over the music, and they are too focused on the dance moves.

More cars pull up, and more and more people begin to exit their vehicles, and dance all around us. Good grief, it looks like the whole town has showed up. And they are all doing the same dance moves. It’s choreographed.

It’s a flash mob.

Tears begin to pour down my face now, because I realize that Jack has put a great deal of effort into creating a magical memory. And involving both of our families. It’s so lovely, but I can’t do this right now. I can’t feel anything.

“Mom,” I say loudly, calling out to the dancing, smiling woman. But how do I tell her? I don’t want to ruin all this. She looks so happy.There was an accident at the oil rig, Mom.I can’t force the words out.He’s gone.

I turn around to face Jack, and find him down on one knee. He’s smiling up at me and holding out a little velvet box, open to reveal a gorgeous ring.

“Jack,” I whisper. “Please—”

“Marry me, Stella,” he says proudly. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, and you’ve been there for me through everything. Make me the happiest man in the world, and be my wife.”

I can’t stop crying. Now I’m sobbing. And I think everyone around me believes they are happy tears. They are all waiting for my answer, and I can feel their eyes on me.

“Stella? Stell?” Jack’s facial expression changes abruptly when he realizes how upset I am.

“I’m sorry,” I tell them all as I rush away, running to my car. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”He’s dead. My brother is dead.I plug the keys in the ignition and drive away as quickly as I can, trying to navigate through the crowd of people. I drive and drive in no particular direction, just to get away, still crying my eyes out.

And that is how I lost the love of my life.

It’s New Year’s Day, and my mom hasn’t been able to get out of bed. Since she heard the news about my brother, she’s been crying nonstop.

I took over running the bakery for her, but I’m not much better. I’m mostly standing here and staring into space. I’ve been struggling to function, and the garbage can is already overflowing with a pile of tissues.

Worst of all, I can’t seem to bake anything without throwing up. The moment I crack a few eggs, a feeling of nausea overtakes me. I think it’s the grief. I have already thrown up three times today.

I sent Jack a text and tried to call him, but he didn’t respond. I gave up.

I haven’t been able to tell anyone about what happened, other than my mother. We are both still in shock.

A customer comes into the store, and she is browsing the loaves of bread and buns. “Do you have anything that’s gluten-free?” she asks. Definitely a tourist.

I lift a hand and point toward the specialty section.

But she gets distracted on the way. “Oh, egg tarts!” she says with excitement. “I love these. I haven’t had one in years.”

When she brings them up to the cash register, the smell hits me in the face and makes me feel faint. I try to conceal my discomfort, ring up her purchase, and package them neatly for her.

“Honey, you’re turning green,” the woman says with concern.

“Just a bad day,” I tell her hoarsely.

“I couldn’t stand the smell of these pastries when I was pregnant,” she tells me. “Thank goodness that’s over! Take care.”

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