An audible groan of frustration chases me as I make a quick exit before she can change her mind.
I sink against the closed door, hands coming up to cover my face. Forgetting the makeup I put on this morning, I press my fingers into my eyes until I see stars.
She really said yes. I’m actually going to LA.
I’m going to be onAmerica’s Next Great Baker.
Walking back to my cubicle feels more like floating on a cloud than trudging through an office. The entire customer service team is already on its feet, waiting in a hush to hear the verdict. Apparently, Kara’s been busy broadcasting my news to anyone who will listen.
My eyes bounce over each waiting stare before a mega-watt smile breaks across my face, and I nod my head enthusiastically. Claps and hoots ring out from every direction, and I feel tears prickle my eyes, warm and unexpected, as everyone cheers.
“Good luck!”, “You’ve got this!”, and other congratulations fill the room.
Kara sneaks an elbow into my side. “See? They get it, we all know what you can do. Now go show the rest of the country why you really are America’s next great baker!”
?????????
The next few weeks are a curious mix of lightning-fast and slow-motion moments, packed with long days at the office and evenings full of practice that feel far too short. But every moment is worth it because today is the day I’ve been waiting for.
I dash out of work a couple hours early, eager to finish packing. Last night’s email from our producers came with the address for our LA house and a not-so-subtle demand:be there by 7:00 PM.
By the time I catapult through my front door, the adrenaline high has simmered into a softer, sweeter kind of excitement. My vision sparkles at the edges, and my hands tremble ever so slightly as I unlock the door.
The apartment looks the same as always: tiny, sunlit, a little cluttered, but completely mine. My suitcase sits open on the couch, half full of folded clothes I’m already second-guessing.
As soon as I drop my keys, a familiar knock rattles the door. I crack it open and Mom’s standing there, beaming. She breezes in, a grocery bag hooked around her wrist.
“Hi, sweet pea. I figured you might forget to eat in all the excitement.” Her bright, singsong voice bounces around the room.
“I ate!” I protest without thinking, then pause. Did I actually eat anything of substance today? I narrow my eyes as I mull that over.
Mom raises an eyebrow in question, but her warm brown eyes sparkle with amusement as she watches me try to sort it out.
“Okay, okay.” I relent, hands raised. “I drank coffee, nibbled on a leftover practice cookie from last week, and called it lunch.”
“That sounds about right.” She kisses my cheek, then continues straight to the kitchen in that purposeful, unquestionable way only moms possess. “You look like you’re vibrating. Is that caffeine, nerves, or happiness?”
“All three. Definitely all three!” I fold my arms and lean against the counter, watching her pull out fruit, a box of granola bars, and what looks suspiciously like a premade sandwich, cut into fours.
“Mom…you didn’t have to—”
“Hush. Yes, I did.” She straightens, eyes turning glassy. “It’s not every day your baby girl sets off on a once-in-a-lifetime adventure like this.”
Warmth spreads through me so fast it makes me dizzy. Tears prick my eyes, but I blink them away before she notices. Knowing Mom, if she sees me get emotional, she’ll get even more emotional, and we’ll both end up a puddle on the tile floor.
She spins around, eyes sweeping the apartment like a general surveying a battlefield. “Okay, suitcase first. Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”
I gesture toward the couch. Mom marches over, plants her hands on her hips, and lets out a slow breath as she picks up whatever’s on top of the pile next to my suitcase.
“Honey, these are pajamas.”
“Not just any pajamas, Mom.” I defend with a half-smile. “They’recutepajamas.”
“They have a cartoon avocado riding a skateboard, Taylor. You can’t wear that on TV!”
“Why not? They’re playful and show everyone that I don’t take myself too seriously. They make meapproachable.”
“You’re not going to a sleepover at Kara’s,” she says lovingly, balling them up and tossing them onto the armchair.
