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Ugh. I needed to focus, but I was so confused and flustered about everything.
One week ago, my life had been flipped upside down.
Everest, my older brother, had discovered some eye-opening information after our father had been rushed to the hospital. He babbled daily about the four kids he’d had, which was strange, as we believed it was just Everest, his twin brother Juniper, and little ole me. Only under that morphine-induced high had Everest learned our half-sister was even older than him and had left the area and her past, before I’d barely turned six. Since thissisterdidn’t share the same mother as me, how was I to have known? Even my twin brothers were only half related to me – the common bond between us all was our father, or possibly not given Everest’s latest surprise. However, the twin’s mother had been buddies with my own, until things went south. It was so complicated, and my family tree was more a grove of twisted and interconnected vines than a single trunk with beautiful branches.
I now knew who my half-sister was, as my half-brother had stumbled upon her name while digging through some of our father’s personal effects. After that, it was fairly easy to piece the information together and learn about her. This small town didn’t hide much, like I did with my true identity, however, if I didn’t want to give anything away unprepared, I had to keep my stalking to a minimum.
My estranged sister already had kids; twins, as they ran on the paternal side of our wonky family tree – a boy and a girl. I just hadn’t figured out if she was married, not that it mattered. Apparently, she was in a long-term relationship, and the couple of times I’d spied on her, she seemed happy, and her joy infectious – something she clearly inherited from her mother as our father was a sullen, miserable old goat.
She was boisterous and friendly, and a regular at Sylvia’s Bakery, the establishment I’d started working at a couple of years ago when I was just nineteen. For the past week, I’ve been mustering up the courage to say more than a friendly hello, but it’s terrifying. How do you tell someone you’re related? That you’re estranged sisters?
It’s not like I could pass her the box of pumpkin spice scones and say,“That’ll be fifteen bucks. Oh, by the way, I’m your half-sister. Can we talk about our dying father? He needs you to match with him so he can have your kidney and live a little longer.”
These things have to be done with precision and delicacy. I needed to find a way in first, to soften the blow. That was the proper way, right?
The bells chimed above the door, and I stopped wiping off a sticky section on a table with the damp cloth this time and walked behind the display cases.
“Good morning–” I almost addressed her by name but bit my tongue. Although, it wouldn’t be rude; she was a regular after all.
Her bag was wider than she was, and it shielded her as she walked over, right on time, to pick up the order she’d placed yesterday.
“Good morning.” Her voice was soft and soothing, and I couldn’t imagine her ever raising her voice.
I stared unblinking, trying to see if there were any family resemblances, and aside from the shared blond hair, there wasn’t much. I was definitely taller and more filled out, but likely because I worked in the bakery.
“I’m here to pick up my order.” She set her huge boho chic purse on the counter and rummaged through to dig for her wallet.
“Ah, yes, your name please?”
“Cedar Ratzloff?”
“Right, sorry. I’m terrible with names. Faces I never forget, but I just can’t seem to stick the names. Let me just finish putting it together now.”
I added the last couple of items fresh off the tray and closed the box, tying the signature string around it.
She retrieved her credit card and held it above the pin pad as I typed in her total, but I was transfixed by her hand, something I’d never noticed previously. If I had doubts she was blood-related, they were slapped out of my head. Her pointer, swear, and ring finger were all the same length - just like mine. An oddity since everyone else I knew had a longer swear finger and some used it exceptionally well.
“The total?” She tucked her wavy blonde hair behind an ear with a sigh.
“Sorry.” Shaking my head, I punched in the amount and curled my fingers into my palm so as to not be noticeable.
The machine beeped and she put her card away, grabbing the package.
“Thanks for shopping at Sylvia’s.”
“Of course.” She adjusted her denim jacket as she looped her arm through her bag and grabbed the box of pastries. “I live for these.”
With that, she was out the door and I could finally breathe. How on earth was I going to ever going to muster up the guts to speak to her about our father, Frank, and ask her to test and see if she’s a donor match?
After wishing for a do-over while staring at the door for a while longer, I shook my head of my daydreaming and busied myself putting together the rest of the incoming orders. Each time I ran a pot of standard black dark roast to the patrons sitting in the dining portion of the bakery, I glanced at the door, hoping a miracle of an answer would present itself. Maybe she’d come back. Maybe Everest would show up and ask her himself.
My boss, the owner and baker, and the most loveliest woman in the area, if not in the whole entire world, sidled on up to give me a fresh stack of receipts. “These orders need filling by noon, hon.”
“On it.” I set them beside the others. There was always a growing stack, and it was wonderful to see. “Hey, Vee, can I ask you a weird question?”
She froze in her tracks and turned, putting her hand on her ample-sized hip. “Shoot, honey.”
“If you wanted to meet someone, but you didn’t want them to think it was weird, how would you do it?”
