Page 92 of Frosted Fakes

"She really moved out?"

Julia took a sip of coffee and burned her tongue. Good. Pain was distracting. "She's staying with Shay."

"Have you tried… um…"

"She doesn't want to talk to me, Jamie." Julia's voice wobbled. She hated that it wobbled. "I ruined everything. I was trying to help, and I ruined everything."

From the kitchen came a crash, followed by Tom's muffled swearing.

"Come on." Jamie took her arm. "Let's talk in the kitchen before you fall apart in front of more customers."

"What customers?" Julia laughed, and it came out slightly unhinged. "Look around. No products, no customers. No Elliott, no bakery. I'm finished."

The kitchen was a disaster zone. Flour coated every surface. Something unidentifiable had exploded in the mixer. Tom stood in the middle of it all, holding what appeared to be a smoking tray.

"The biscuits also caught fire," he reported. "I can handle the basics, really. But Elliott has done something to the programming on the oven and I don’t know what."

"Everything catches fire in this kitchen," Julia said. And then, horribly, she started to cry.

Not delicate, pretty crying. Proper ugly crying, the kind that made her face swell and her nose run, and her voice go all high and squeaky. She slid down the counter until she was sitting on the floor among the flour and the failed baking attempts, and she sobbed.

"I'm not a baker," she gasped out between sobs. "I've never been a baker. Everything I make is a disaster. The only reason this place worked at all was because of her, and now she's gone, and I've got nothing."

Jamie sat down beside her. Tom quietly put down the smoking tray and backed toward the door.

"I'll just… front counter," he murmured, and fled.

"I thought I was doing the right thing," Julia continued, words tumbling out between hiccups. "For once in my life, I stood up to my mother. I asked her for something. Not for me, for Elliott. I wanted to show her that someone was on her side. That someone had her back. And she…" Another sob. "She looked at me like I'd betrayed her."

"Did you ask her first?" Jamie's voice was gentle. "Before you went to your mother?"

Julia wiped her nose on her apron. Disgusting, but she'd stopped caring about dignity approximately three minutes ago. "She would have said no."

"Probably." Jamie handed her a paper towel. "But it would have been her no. Her choice."

"I just wanted to help."

"I know." He bumped his shoulder against hers. "But maybe… maybe stop trying to fix things for people. Start being honest instead. Maybe, I don’t know, fix things for yourself first?"

Julia stared at the flour-covered floor. Honest. She wasn't even sure she knew how to be honest anymore. She'd spent so long smiling when she wanted to scream, agreeing when she wanted to argue, pretending everything was fine when everything was falling apart. "Honest with who?" she asked.

"Your mother. The town. Elliott." Jamie paused. "Yourself, mostly."

Before Julia could respond, the bell chimed again. Heels clicked across the shop floor. "Julia? Where are you hiding?"

Gabby.

"Oh god," Jamie said. "Sorry, love, but I’ve got to go." He got up and snuck quickly out of the back door.

Julia scrambled to her feet, swiping at her face. Like she could hide the evidence of a complete emotional breakdown with a quick wipe. She’d cried surrounded by so much flour that she was somewhat surprised it hadn’t all turned into glue.

Her mother appeared in the kitchen doorway, took in the scene, and raised one perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "Well. This is pathetic."

"Mum…"

"Empty shelves. Burned… whatever those are." Gabby stepped over a pile of ruined dough. "Your girlfriend has left you. And you're sitting on the floor crying about it. Not your finest moment, darling."

"She wasn't my girlfriend," Julia said quietly. "Not really."