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“The doctor called me for her. She wants all of us to come if we can and stay at the house together again. You’re the first of our Paris roommates I’ve called. I’m leaving as soon as I can arrange it with my editor.”
Her roommates’ faces flashed in her mind. Brooke, the go-getter. Dean, the dreamer. Sawyer, the thinker. Madison, the rebel. And Kyle, the golden boy. From the beginning, they’d been the most unlikely of friends, so different from each other in just about every way anyone could be. But their connection was proof friendship could be found in anyone, anywhere.
“I’ll take off from the bakery and leave as soon as I can.”
But it hadn’t been that easy.
Fate had followed through with another kick in the pants—despite her years of service, her boss had refused to grant her any of the vacation she was owed, pushing her to do something she’d never imagined: quitting her job. On the spot.
The very thought of it had her sucking in air and moaning, “Oh God,” making the two Parisian women who would never find themselves in a life crisis from the looks of them give her a haughty glare.
She wasn’t the kind of woman who made abrupt decisions. She dreamed of owning her own bakery someday, and quitting a successful job ran counter to pursuing that dream.
But this was family. Nanine! The mother of her heart.
After quitting, she’d jumped on the first flight to Paris she could find, draining what little savings she had. Her parents had tried to talk her out of it, of course.Thea, but you’ve worked there ever since you got your fancy degree in Paris. The Snyder family has been so good to you. Everyone loves you there. Don’t be rash.You’re not thinking straight.
She’d tried to explain.The bakery hasn’t been the same since Patty died two years ago and Fred took over. He never lets me have time off. All I do is work.
They hadn’t listened, of course. Her people were farmers and had married early. They’d never traveled out of the Midwest—never wanted to, especially not to a faraway place like Paris. They hadn’t understood why she’d worked every job she could find to save money to train as a baker instead of living and working on the family farm, and now they didn’t understand why her long-time job wasn’t enough.
Feeling a little faint from heat and dehydration, she signaled to the waiter as he swept in to refill the wineglasses of the two chic women two tables over. He didn’t spare her a glance, and she wanted to slide under the table in shame. She’d bet F. Scott Fitzgerald had never had a problem getting a drink here when he was reportedly writingThe Great Gatsbyin the right corner table beside the mahogany bar.
She supposed she could leave, but that would also be gauche since she’d already used the bathroom. Rule number one of Paris: when you had to use the bathroom, you got a beverage to pay for the privilege.
He was making her wait because he didn’t think she belonged, and that wasn’t right. This was her old stomping ground, and Antoine’s place. Old Thea might have slunk away with her tail between her legs, but the new Thea she wanted to be would stand her ground.
She dug into her carry-on for her old recipe journal. If she kept herself occupied, she might feel less awkward. The sight of the dancing breads made her run her fingers over the front cover. When she’d packed, she’d spontaneously rifled through her hope chest for the perfume Nanine had given her as a gift years before, and she’d found her old spiral-bound journal under it. She’d brought it with her to Paris ten years ago, thinking to fill it with recipes, but instead, she’d filled it with her dreams after realizing it was too corny forLe Cordon Bleu.
As she’d lifted it out of the chest, a scrap of paper had fallen out. The glue she’d used to adhere it to the page must have given out. Much like she had on some of her dreams. The fortune cookie slip was from one of her last meals in Paris with her roommates and its message still gave her goosebumps.
The friendships you make will last a lifetime.
She hadn’t known then how true that was, but she and her roommates had stayed in touch and seen each other when they could. Of course, certain people were closer with each other, like she and Brooke, and everyone had stayed in touch with Nanine. She was the rock, the anchor, the woman who had given each of them something special.
Returning to Paris and bringing her old journal was like coming full circle. The whole book was chock-full of her dreams of running her own bakery and becoming more confident, along with memories of her roommates and their time together with Nanine. She still remembered the moment she’d tucked it and her perfume away. Her mother had called herfancyfor wearing perfume to Sunday dinner. She’d cried when she’d gotten back to her apartment, missing Paris and her roommates and Nanine.
Well, that half-life she’d been living was over. She was back and she could resurrect her dreams like she had her old journal. She turned to the first page and read what she’d written on the note card ten years ago.
Recipe for:A Delicious Life
Date: August 24
Prep time: One Year
Ingredients: Studying & working hard, Patience, Confidence, Openness, Friendship, Humor
Hard-to-find ingredients: see Confidence above, Mastering the French language, New look
Notes: This is your chance. When you work hard, good things happen. This year is your ticket to better things. Getting a degree at Le Cordon Bleu will help you own your own bakery someday. Listen to your teachers. Try and put yourself out there more. Don’t be weird. Maybe learn a few tips on how to dress better.
Every successful recipe starts with finding the best ingredients and following the directions.
She stared at the last part. Shehadn’tfollowed all the directions once she’d gotten home. She’d settled back into her old life, one where every day tasted like oatmeal. Sure, she’d gotten a great job as a baker at a renowned family-owned bakery. Sure, she’d kept her friendships with Nanine and her roommates alive. But she hadn’t kept up the wholeput yourself out therepart. She still didn’t fit in where she’d been born and raised, and she’d gone back to hiding in plain sight.
The truth was, the prospect of turning thirty in October had made her take out a magnifying glass to examine the state of her life. As Nanine liked to say, milestones had a way of making one examine one’s journey so far. She turned to the first entry she’d written on the plane—the one she couldn’t even bring herself to put in the first person because that would make it too real.
Recipe for:PATHETIC
