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“Let’s call it what it is,” Noah told him. “I didn’t do a good job after Bubbe died.”
“You were twenty,” Adam argued. “I was just as responsible for ruining your life.”
Noah didn’t mean to wince, but the truth of it stung. He grabbed the scoop and the flour and began to slowly add it to the mixer. It smelled heavily of almond and seasoning now. He missed Bubbe more than ever in that moment. She’d at least know what to say to not make the situation worse.
“I used school as an escape, just like I used hiding here when I got home,” Noah told him. “I didn’t deal with any of my issues, you know. I threw myself into what I thought was supposed to be normal. It blew up in my face every time.”
Adam blew out a puff of air, then hopped up on the counter where all the aprons were waiting to be folded, and he swung his feet a little. Noah’s chest ached at the sight of him—how young he looked suddenly, how very much like the little boy who’d clung to Bubbe’s skirts and absorbed everything she had to teach him with wide eyes and busy hands.
“She should have given this place to you,” Noah added quietly.
Adam said nothing until Noah turned the mixer off and unhooked it. It tipped onto the cookie table in a lump, just firm enough to shape with his hands but still tacky. He laid out a sprinkle of powdered sugar and began to divide the dough into sections.
“Why didn’t she?” Adam’s voice rose over the quiet din.
Noah looked up at him and saw him now sitting in a stream of morning sun, his hair curly and long, almost aglow like it was lit with flames. Adam had the best of both parents, and for a sudden moment, Noah was overcome with another wave of frustration and anger toward his mother for not giving them a chance, for not being willing to try harder.
“Noah, why did she leave it all to you when you were willing to let it fall apart?”
Noah blinked, startled, and it only took a second to realize what Adam was saying. Heknew. Swallowing thickly, he scooped a single ball of dough from the pile and began to shape it with his hands the way Bubbe had taught him. “You went through the office.”
“I was pretty sure you were hiding something, and I knew it had to do with the bakery.” Noah didn’t look up, but he didn’t need to to know Adam was chewing on the edge of his thumb. “So yeah, I went through it. I saw all the default notices, and I saw the loan paperwork. Were you ever going to tell me?”
Noah wondered if it was because of Talia that Adam’s voice didn’t have the same fight it would have had just months ago. He still didn’t look up now as he placed the crescents on the baking tray. “Yes.”
“When?”
“Before I had to sell.” Noah let the words fall as soft as he could manage, which wasn’t soft at all.
“When?” Adam asked again, his voice more strained. “And how long has it been this bad?”
Rubbing at his eyes, Noah sighed. “Since before she died. She handed me a sinking ship, Adam, and I did my best to save it, but I couldn’t.”
“And you thought shutting me out was going to work?” Adam asked, his voice going hard.
Noah turned to stare at him. “You were fourteen when I came back here, and by the time you were old enough to take over, there was no saving this place.”
“So instead of giving me a choice…”
“Yes,” Noah admitted with defeat. “That was my mistake, and I’m sorry for it. But I’m not sorry you met Talia and started something for yourself. You worked your ass off for that truck.”
Adam scoffed. “She gave it to me. I didn’t work for anything.”
“She gave you the keys. You built it into what it is now. You have a partner,” Noah said, praying his brother would understand how lucky he was. “You have someone who loves every piece of you, and if you fall, she’ll be there to catch you.”
Adam was silent, sullen, but Noah could see him working it out through the tiny frown on his face.
Noah turned toward the ovens, opening both doors and placing two trays inside. He set the timer, then swiped his hands on his apron before facing his brother. “I’ll show you where Bubbe put all her financial records if you want to see them. I didn’t know about them until I started getting calls from debt collectors. She was behind on the mortgage here and behind with all her vendors. I was twenty. I had no idea what I was doing or how I was going to save it.” His voice cracked, and he stopped, willing himself not to think about pushing back his crushing grief to deal with the mess his grandmother had left him. “This wasn’t my dream, Adam.”
Adam’s face was still hard, but there was something else in his eyes now. “No. But it was mine.”
Noah let out a small scoff and moved back to the table to finish shaping the rest of the dough. “You werefourteen. I didn’t know this was what you were going to want. You had lost the only mother you had ever known. You were furious at me for getting time with Ema that you never had. You were furious that I remembered Tel Aviv and that you’d been barely old enough to open your eyes when we left.”
“Ema could have taken us back there,” Adam said, his voice barely a whisper. “Instead of wasting away here, where she was miserable.”
Noah didn’t mean to laugh, but he couldn’t help it. It had taken him years to remember the way his mother really was—too thin, haggard, sleepless, angry. She was sick, and she was dying. It was only a matter of time before she was gone, even if there hadn’t been a crash. Noah rubbed at his sternum.
“She never got over Abba’s death. Ever. She would wait until Bubbe was asleep, then creep into my room and sit on the floor by my bed and tell me how she wished the three of us had died with him. Or just you and me so she wouldn’t have to sit and look at us and remember him.”
