Sweet Forty-Two(49)

I pulled my eyebrows together. “This is why you were so ... touchy a couple of weeks ago?”

“Yeah, why?”

Nope, not mentioning the pregnancy scare.

“Regan...” she prodded.

I shook my head and shrugged, trying for the standard non-committal response.

“What’d Bo tell you?”

Damn, she’s good.

“He said you had a pregnancy scare, and not to mention it to you.”

She threw her head back in full laughter. “That shit.”

“It worked, didn’t it? No one’s asked you about your mood.”

She yawned again. “God, I need to sleep. So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

It only took me a second to rethink the earlier decision I’d made to not mention Rae’s mail to Ember. She was under enough stress, and I couldn’t ask her to keep a secret from Bo. I wasn’t ready to tell him, because I didn’t know if I decided to read the letter if I’d want him to know what was in it.

“Nothing,” I lied effortlessly. “I just wanted to sneak a few minutes of alone time with you. Good thing I did, or else I wouldn’t have known what was going on with you. Talk to me, Ember. Any time, okay?”

I pulled into her driveway and put the car in park.

Ember leaned over and kissed my cheek. “I will. Promise. Don’t say anything to anyone about this.”

“You know I wouldn’t.”

“I know. See you the day after tomorrow. Hooray for a day off, huh?”

I agreed. The schedule had been taxing on all of us, it seemed.

I barely remember the drive back to my place, because I was so focused on just keeping my eyes opened. I needed sleep. Badly. Also, I needed some time to think about what to do about that letter.

When I pulled into the driveway at my place, it was a little after five in the morning, and I saw a light on in the bakery kitchen. The door was locked, of course, but I could see Georgia dancing along to music coming from her earbuds.

Her hair was tied up in the same bright red bandana that she’d worn the day we first met. She had on black yoga pants, an item I became familiar with during my time with people who actually practiced yoga, and a black and white plaid shirt, sleeves rolled to the elbows.

She looked happy. I couldn’t see her face, but the airy movements of her hands as she poured ingredients into the large stand mixer suggested peace over angst. And, since I was doused in personal torment, I decided to leave her alone. She didn’t use the bakery that much, for reasons that were still unclear, but what was clear was that it seemed to be a happy place for her. An escape. From what, I had no idea. Maybe from her dead parents? I knew her dad died recently, but had no idea what happened to her mom. The only time I tried to bring it up, her muscles froze before she told me she was just ... gone.

My eyes lingered on the slow motion of her hips for a few minutes more, until I felt my eyelids getting heavy. I wanted to knock on the door until she heard me, to wrap my arms around her body and, moreover, have her wrap hers around mine.

I needed to be hugged. Held. Told it was all going to be okay.

I needed to be loved again.

Sew yourself up if it’s gone, Regan. That’s the only way you’ll move on. If you want to move on.

Georgia’s words from the week before echoed in through my ears as I trudged up the stairs and heaved myself onto my bed.

I wanted to move on, but was unsure if I’d be able to do that without reading that card. I fell slowly asleep, dreaming of Rae’s laughter, Georgia’s eyes, and the smell of cupcakes.





I slept through sunrise, my eyes peeling open around ten. In my sleep, it seemed I’d decided I’d get Rae’s card back from Georgia, because the second my feet hit the floor, I slogged through my apartment, destined for hers.

I had to move on. It turned out that saying goodbye to Rae wasn’t reserved for just the funeral. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye then. But, I was getting there now.

Opening my door, I was startled by a petite woman with shoulder length brown hair who was knocking on Georgia’s door. She turned around when she heard me, and the startle didn’t stop there. She had a smile so similar to Georgia’s, it made me almost uncomfortable to stare at it. I looked around, feeling out of sorts.

“Do you live here?” she asked in a soft voice.

I nodded.

“Do you know where Georgia is, by any chance?”

I took a deep breath, not sure how to answer that since I never knew where she was unless she was at E’s. As I inhaled, though, I smelled freshly baked goodness. I was briefly concerned, adding up that she’d been in the kitchen for more than six hours.

“Smells like she’s in the bakery.” I smiled, and the woman’s eyes widened as she smiled even bigger. I continued, “I can take you down there. She usually locks the door. But ... can I ask who you are?”

The smile left her face as she looked to the ground, almost confused. When she looked back up, there was a vacant sadness in her eyes.

“I’m her mother.”

So, there I stood. Six inches away from Georgia’s dead mother.





Georgia

Six hours later, and surrounded by more gluten-free muffins, brownies, and cupcakes than I knew what to rationally do with, I finally felt tired. Twice in a week being in this kitchen was a lot lately, and I loved how good I felt after several hours of work.