ONE
TYLER
Ilove my family.
I love my family.
I recited this in my head like a litany, my body going rigid with a fight-or-flight reaction that tensed every muscle in my body. It was as if I were getting ready to march into battle, not my grandmother’s house for her birthday. I was exhausted and annoyed before I even shut off the engine of my truck.
At thirty-five years old, one would think I could show up at a family function without being so goddamn keyed up. It had just been too many instances of the same thing. The flippant questions about my business were often followed by atskwhen they’d inquire if I was seeing anyone. The nosy questions about my ex-fiancée’s brand-new husband, who happened to be my former best friend. I tried to keep the answers short and deflect until I simply had to walk away when none of that worked.
It had been a very long year, and it was about to be a very long fucking day.
Sucking in a deep breath, I pulled the screen door open and walked inside. I caught my grandmother’s gaze first as she sat on the couch, guilt poking at my gut when a slow smile spread across her face.
“Happy birthday.” I smiled as I made my way over to her, planting a kiss on her cheek.
“There’s that smile.” She pinched my cheek between her bony fingers.
“What? I smile.”
I had to laugh when she tilted her head and cocked a brow.
“Not as much as you should. Such a beautiful smile,” she said, cupping my cheek.
“For you, I’ll smile today. A little.”
“Tyler, honey, did you remember the bread?”
“Hello to you too, Mom.” I turned around and pulled her into a quick hug before handing her the paper bags under my arm.
She kissed my cheek quickly, then scurried to the kitchen.
I’d worked as a pastry chef in several places, both restaurants and bakeries, before I’d saved enough money for a shop of my own last year. Business was going so well that I was able to add more staff this week, but whenever I’d bring up how great the bakery was doing at a family function, no one had any interest.
“Tyler!” My cousin Alan slapped me on the back. “Still keeping baker’s hours?” He snickered, taking a pull from his beer bottle.
“I guess I am.” I felt my grandmother’s gaze on me and forced a tight smile for her sake. Family or not, I could never stand the condescending prick, but I attempted to hold on to my cool. “When you own a business, the days are long.”
“A bakery isn’t like what I do. What’s the most stress you have, making sure you have enough flour?”
“Now, Alan,” my uncle Ken said, clutching my shoulder as if he were offering me sympathy, “baking is a noble profession.”
My cousins Ross and Alan were both stockbrokers, so no matter how well I was doing or what awesome plans I had for the future of my business, I’d never measure up to success in their eyes. What my uncle meant by “noble” was that I was probably able to support myself without any public assistance.
“Thanks,” I replied, even though my uncle’s defense of my livelihood was a lukewarm sentiment.
“Thanks for the discount on the cookies,” Ross chimed in. “The family ate them up. And I agree with my father. Why take a stressful job if you don’t have to? Make it how you can, right?”
I nodded without a word. Last week, he’d come into the bakery with his wife and kids, telling the cashier to give them the family discount. When the staff behind the counter asked me what the family discount was, I had to make something up because as much as I wanted to tell my cousin to fuck off I couldn’t with customers around.
I checked my watch and held in a groan. I had at least two hours of this to suffer through.
But in the end, it was my fault. Why did I expect anything different? I always left more pissed off at myself than anyone else.
“Carla and Olivia are here!” Mom rushed up to me with a smile as if this was good news.
“What? Why?”
