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Seventeen
-Lola-
I loveSundays at the bakery, and so do my customers.
I mean, who doesn’t want fresh muffins and scones and coffee first thing on a slow Sunday morning? Some come in and get giant boxes to bring back to families that haven’t woken yet; others are couples coming for a treat and to watch the sunrise.
It might be my favorite work day of the week.
And since it’s the day I open up earlier than the others, it’s also the most exhausting and the reason I’m already contemplating adding on my first employee.
Last week I was sold out of nearly everything before noon. This week, I stayed up late baking muffins and prepping scones, scooping doughs and making sure my case would be full and I could start baking as soon as I hit the bakery in the morning.
But it’s so chaotic here by nine, I’m wondering if I should plan to have someone working here by next week—that way one of us could continue to work on filling the case while the other helps customers and makes sure tables get cleared. The seeming success is already overwhelming me.
“You have a great day, okay?” I say to the father and daughter I’m handing a to-go bag to. They smile before walking off, and I turn my head to greet the next customer in line.
And then I see him. He’s in a crisp white button-down that’s undone at the top, opened to his chest to reveal a sprinkling of chest hair I’m sure is intentional. The cuffs of the dress shirt are rolled up to his elbows, the bottom tucked into perfectly pressed black slacks which end at shiny black dress shoes.
He looks incredibly out of place in my bakery with its bubble-gum pink and lavender touches everywhere.
He’s even more out of place on the boardwalk.
You don’t wear leather dress shoes to enjoy a day at the shore, where you’ll be met with salt and sand.
No, he’s here with a purpose.
He’s here to talk to me.
Fucking,fuckingDad.
“Hey, Johnny. Nice to see you.” He smiles wickedly, and for the first time since all of this started, I don’t just feel uneasy.
I feel true, all-consuming fear.
That is not the smile of a man who understands that I did not get myself into this mess, that I am being burdened by the literal sins of my father.
This is the smile of a man who knows how this could end and although I might not enjoy it, he would.
Greatly.
Before I let that fear settle, though, I straighten my back.
When I signed the lease for this place with the money I was able to squirrel away, I promised it wouldn’t be for nothing. If I was brave enough to start my own business, I needed to be brave enough to stand up for myself.
To end the cycle.
The old me was a pushover.
The old me was a people pleaser.
The old me sacrificed everything to make sure my dad was safe. That our family home was never in jeopardy. That my sister wouldn’t be touched by the chaos like I promised my mother.
The new me is a business owner.
The new me puts herself first.
The new me doesn’t let people’s opinions of her change how she sees herself.
