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“Why? Because it might come true?”
“You still believe that? Sounds like life hasn’t kicked you in the face hard enough yet,” I said bitterly. “We could fail at this. Hell, I’m halfway to failure already. I don’t need to drag you down with me. I sank everything I had into this bakery, Jazz. I was fueled by grief and a fair dose of gumption. But now, I—shit.”
“You haven’t failed,” she said quietly. “Not yet. You only fail if you quit. I really think we can do this.”
I didn’t reply as I mulled over her words.
“You can’t keep working sixty-hour weeks.” She pointed out. “Not in your condition. And you don’t have enough money to hire staff to keep the bakery going the way you want. What if we temporarily closed the bakery to the public? What if we only use the kitchen for catering events? It would be more flexible. It would give you time to regroup.”
“This is all I’ve ever wanted,” I said. “To own my own bakery.”
“You still own your own bakery. But now you can own a catering company, too.”
It’s not just about me anymore…
“All right, Jazz. Let’s get a van.”
She smiled. “Welcome to the dark side.”
I chuckled and then got up. “More tea?”
“Sure.”
I went to the kettle and filled it.
“Brooklyn?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you happy? About the baby, I mean?”
I set the kettle onto the burner and turned it on. “I’m like, seventy percent terrified, twenty-eight percent in shock and two percent happy. I’m hoping after a few days the percentages change, because I think…yeah, Jazz. I think I can be really happy about it. I just need time.” My eyes instinctively went to the black-and-white photo that hung on the wall over the TV. “It’s strange though…”
“What is?”
I turned to face her. “I grew up without a mom, and this baby will grow up without a dad.”
“That’s poetic irony if I’ve ever heard it,” Jazz stated.
* * *
“Find everything okay?” the guy behind the counter asked as I set a stack of books in front of him.
“Yeah, I think so.”
He scanned the items as I rooted around in my purse for my wallet. I handed over my credit card, trying not to wince at the workout I was giving it.
I’d been up since three in the morning, waking from a sound sleep, my mind filled with questions about my future. While my brain was active, I’d put myself to work. I’d cleaned the apartment, throwing out the harsh cleaning chemicals, getting rid of the last bit of Jameson, and dumping the caffeinated coffee. Then I’d gone grocery shopping. My fridge was full. And now I was at the small, indie bookstore buying out their entire section on pregnancy. Not really, but it felt that way.
“Have a good day,” the man said, handing me the handle of the paper bag.
I smiled. “Thanks.”
“And congratulations.”
I blushed and ducked my head.
My phone rang while I was driving back to the bakery, but I didn’t answer it. When I drove down the alley to park behind the building, I couldn’t get through to my normal spot. There was a huge, white van parked and two men in orange construction uniforms were working on the telephone pole.
