Page 9 of Always the Baker

“Nah.” Ember waved dismissively. “Go big or go home, right? I really want you to do everything you can.”

The longer I stared at the list, the more possible it seemed to make this work. She was right. I could sleep when I got home. I could also start saving again. But for the full weekend, I was determined to spend as much time enjoying the city as I could.

The Next Morning

I dragged myself into work,still riding the high of last night’s planning session. But as soon as I pushed open the door toHopkins Design, reality came crashing down. Before I could even make myself a cup of coffee, Daddy was warning me about the workload we had for the day.

“Thank goodness you’re here, Billie,” Mom said, not even bothering to look up from her computer. “We just got three rush orders.”

I forced a smile as guilt gnawed at my insides. We were already behind on the sale orders, which was why we had to work this weekend. Now we had three rush orders? How were they going to get this shit out in a timely manner without me?

“No problem. I’m on it. What do you need?”

As I fired up my computer, she went over the details and said she’d forward the forms to me. I scanned the orders and groaned before going to make my coffee. When I made it back to my desk, my phone lit up with a text from Ember.

Em: Two more days until this small town girl takes the big city! You ready best friend?

I glanced at the pile of work on my desk, then back at the message. My mouth and stomach twisted. Sighing, I massagedmy temple as my head began to throb. It felt like second nature to cancel the trip. To stay home and prioritize the business. But I couldn’t. Now more than ever, I had to do what was best for me. Because regardless of how Ian’s words hurt me, some of them were true.

When we first met, I was full of hope and desire to pave my own way in life. Mom had created a map that she wanted me to follow, but Ian made me believe I could have my cake and eat it too. He made me believe I could live for myself and still make my parents proud. Somewhere along the line, I got too content with where I was and used Mom’s desires for me as an excuse for why I didn’t go after more. Truth was… I was nervous I’d fail if I tried to bake full time. I was nervous people wouldn’t think I was as good of an artist as Mom and compare me to her. I was nervous my art wouldn’t sell, and she’d think I failed. That I wasn’t worth her giving up her dream. In my mind I knew that wasn’t possible, but overthinking was a motherfucker, and I needed this trip to cut those thoughts off.

Me: Yeah. Can’t wait.

That was what I said, but as I busied myself with designing logos and business cards, my mind kept drifting to my ambitious list of city plans. The cursor blinked on my screen, waiting for inspiration that wouldn’t come.

“You okay, honey?” Daddy asked, passing by with an armful of T-shirt samples. “You seem distracted.”

I plastered on another smile.

“Just thinking about a new design concept. Or, at least trying to.”

With Daddy, I could be more honest. He didn’t have as high or as unrealistic expectations on my creativity as Mom did. Plus, with him, I didn’t feel as much pressure to deliver.

“I’m sure what you’re going to come up with is going to be great.”

“I hope so. Do you need help with the samples? Maybe I need to focus on something else.”

He gave me a warm smile as he set the samples on his desk. “Sure, honey. You can help me decide what three to send to Darryl for his bowling team.”

“Agh!”

At the sound of Mom’s scream, Daddy and I rushed to the supply closet.

“What’s wrong?” Daddy asked, gripping her arms.

“These shirts!” she whined, shoving the shirts in his face and reminding me of where I got the lack of concern for personal space thing from.

“What’s wrong with them?” Daddy asked, taking a few from her hand.

“All the collars are crooked. I can’t print on these. They look cheap.”

Sighing, Daddy scratched his head as it shook. “We’ll have to send these back to the distributor.”

“We can’t, Harold. They were on sale. I have to buy new ones.”

“Shit,” Daddy mumbled, tossing the shirts into the box.

“I feel like they did this on purpose,” Mom said with watery eyes.

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