We eat dinner—the conversation never lulls. By the time we’re done, I’ve eaten more than I should have. I’m feeling exhausted, so after I help clean up the leftovers and the dishes, I make my way towards the couch in the living room. Snuggling into the couch corner, I lay my head on the arm.
Dad follows me in, sitting on the opposite side.
I look at him out of the corner of my eye and mumble out, “Where’s everyone else?”
“Playing board games.” He rubs his hand across his face, and I peek at the group that I can see at the formal dining table. Sam catches my attention and winks at me. I duck my head to hide my blush.
“I wanted to talk to you about moving back to Charleston.” I sit up and give Dad my full attention. “You know you can always move home. This is your home, and you are always welcome here. But if there is any chance you’re hesitating because you don’t want to live here specifically, you can always move into the condo.”
“Ethan’s condo?” I sit taller on the couch, “But I thought you guys sold it.”
“We still have it. Every time your mom and I talk about listing it, she says it isn’t the right time. We paid it off with Ethan’s life insurance. It’s just sitting empty, and you wouldn’t have to pay for it.” He runs his palm across his face again. “Well, not empty; a lot of his stuff is still there.” He looks a little guilty. “We’ve been over there several times, and we’ve been going through Ethan’s things, trying to sort through them. But it’s been hard to say goodbye.” I scoot over to him and give him a tight hug.
“Oh, Dad, I wish I were closer so I could have helped with all of this. I don’t know how I feel about moving into his place, but it would make things easier.” I give Dad a sheepish smile. “As much as I love you and Ma, and as much as I love this house, I don’t want to live with my parents, you know?”
I pull my legs onto the couch and sit cross-legged. I look over at the dining table and see Mom smiling at something someone said. I look at Sam again and see he’s watching me. He smiles at me before returning to the game in front of him.
God, he’s like a beacon, and I can’t seem to keep my eyes off him.
“I know, baby girl. The condo is yours if you want it. No pressure. Just an option.”
Moving into the condo would be a great way to keep paying half of the condo in Columbia while also being able to afford a place here. I wouldn’t feel like I’m letting Liv down or leaving her hanging. “Thanks, Dad. I would love that.” I lean my head against the back of the couch and stare at the ceiling. It might be weird, but it would make things a lot easier.
“Kat?” Mom’s voice is gentle and quiet.
“Ma? Is everything ok? What time is it?” It’s still dark in my room, and I feel my body stiffen with the panic forming in my gut.
“Everything’s fine, pretty girl. It’s 4:00 a.m. Sorry to wake you. Are you still ok with helping me at the bakery today? It’s going to be very busy with all the shoppers. I could use the extra hands.”
In my haze, I remember Mom asking me to help her last night and realize I forgot to set my alarm. Sitting up slowly, I see she’s already showered and dressed. “Sure, Ma. Do I have time to shower?”
“Of course. I’d like to leave in about thirty minutes, if that works for you.”
“Yeah, ok. I’ll be ready.” I watch Mom leave my room before I stretch and climb out of bed.
By the time I make it downstairs, Mom has a to-go mug full of coffee ready for me. Taking my first sip, I groan into my cup. She made it just the way I like it.
“Do you mind if we eat something at the bakery? We had some leftover croissants from Wednesday. I offered everything to Cassandra, but she only took a few things home with her. I probably should have brought everything else to the house and added it to the Thanksgiving feast we had.” I get the feeling she’s talking more to herself than to me by the end.
Mom gives the leftover baked goods to her employees. But on Wednesday, she worked with only one other person, and they closed early. Mostly selling rolls and desserts for Thanksgiving.
“I don’t mind at all. I love your croissants.” She makes amazing croissants. They’re so flaky and buttery, even when they’re a couple of days old. I’m secretly crossing my fingers that there are a couple of cream cheese ones left so I can devour them.
Mom’s bakery looks small from the outside. It’s on one of the main shopping streets in Charleston, nestled in between a bookstore and a coffee shop, the perfect combination, in my opinion. When the bakery opens, its windows are filled with glass displays showcasing the available items for the day. Right now, they’re empty.
I look up at the sign above the shop door, “The Little Loaf” is in pink letters with black whisks on each side. I’ve always loved the sign. I smile at it as we walk inside.
We’re the first ones here, so Mom unlocks the door, and we step inside. I’m immediately hit by the smell of sugar and flour. The scent is intoxicating and cathartic.
I spent a lot of my childhood in this shop. When I was young, Mom would measure out ingredients, and I would get to dump them into the large commercial mixers. As I got older, she let me knead the dough and shape cookies. Now, I’ve helped Mom here so many times that I can make almost anything with her, as long as I have a recipe, that is.
I start wiping down the counters, cleaning the cases, and sweeping the floors. The shop is thoroughly cleaned at night before locking up, but Mom always likes to go over everything each morning to ensure it’s spotless.
She prepared croissants and muffin batter before locking up on Wednesday, so she pulls those out of the coolers, puts the muffin batter into muffin cups and into the pre-heated oven and lets the croissants proof before baking them. She moves on to mixing ingredients for various items she plans on selling today.
Soon, Cassandra and Susie walk in the door and start helping to get things ready.
Now that everything is clean, I shift my attention to making frosting for the red velvet and chocolate cupcakes that will be ready soon. Mom insists on using buttercream frosting on most of her cakes and cupcakes. It’s one of my favorite things, and I may or may not have sampled the delicious frosting.
