Page 14 of You Cake My Breath Away

Who am I kidding? I would’ve bought the building beside it so she could have more space. Even though I try to hide it, I hate the chasm that’s opened between us since Jessie died. It's like he was the gravitational pull that held us together when all we wanted to do was push apart. Now that he’s gone, Tilly and I can’t manage to stay in our own orbits, constantly bumping into each other, causing unintentional, and sometimes intentional, damage any time we’re around each other.

I guess that’s just part of my personality. I’m always the one ruining things. Or at least that’s what our parents think. Can you believe during dinner last week Dad told me I’m damaging the family image? Like because I’m not a surgeon I’m sullying the Wilson name. Like always, Mom and Claire didn’t defend me. They sat rigid in their seats, forcing roasted cauliflower into their mouths so they didn’t have to speak up. They’re still just as scared of him as you were, but I’msick of it.

Why’d you have to be an idiot? Why couldn’t you have just told them you were struggling? Why do I have to bear the brunt of the anger that should be directed at you? Fuck, man. Why do I have to be angry at you?

I’m so mad at you for leaving me. For making dumb decisions for people who only wanted to use you. I miss you and our late-night talks. Smoking weed and drinking on the roof when Mom and Dad were on call. I wish we would’ve made better decisions. Maybe I wouldn’t be the fuck up I am now, and you’d be sitting here sharing a beer with me.

If I get this job in Tennessee, I’m leaving this whole city behind. I won’t have to come to dinner and be berated for decisions you made or sit across from Tilly at Nora’s and wonder why you thought I didn’t deserve her. I’ll meet new people, ones who don’t know me as Archibald Wilson or look at me and feel nothing but disdain. Maybe I’ll settle down and have a family. I legit just had a cold chill at the thought. That’d be somethin’ right? Me, a husband? A dad? I don’t deserve any of that if you aren’t here to have it too.

Alright, I’m too drunk to be making any sense, but know I love you and miss you bro. Hope you’re doing some fancy surgery that’ll give you endless praise up in Heaven.

-Arch

Chapter eight

Tilly

Aknocking at the front door grows louder, nearly overpowering the whiny voice of Bella Swan begging Edward Cullen not to leave her in the forest alone. Clad in fluffy dinosaur slippers with a piece of raspberry chocolate truffle cake, I open the door to Shantel standing on my front porch.

“You look a wreck.” She pauses, taking in the state of my messy bun and the Curious George pajamas I haven’t changed out of in two days. “And I mean that in the nicest way possible.”

“Thank you for lavishing such compliments on my attire,” I deadpan and keep the door cracked. If she thinks that about my appearance, she’d pass out if she saw my living room.

Whoever said there’s beauty in the breakdown lied.

Sometimes it takes more effort than I have to even change my shirt, let alone clean the house. I’ve been told it’s normal to fall into these spells, but I thought I was getting better. All it took to set me back was for Archer to show up again and throw a wrench in my plans by telling me about the bakery.

“Come on, Til. Let me in.” Shantel holds up a grocery bag. “I brought Dutch Bros. and frozen pizza.”

Pizza. The secret passcode to enter. Damn she’s good.

“No judging.” I inch the door open.

“Scout’s honor.” She salutes me in a definitenotScout’s honor, and I laugh, ushering her in before Mrs. Jackson across the street senses I’ve opened the doors. I am not ready for her to come pester me again about joining whatever neighborhood club the widows of Alamo Heights have formed.

Her sharp intake of breath shows me just how far down the rabbit hole I’ve fallen. I take in the state of my living room, the stack of cups, the crusted over plates filled with food I couldn’t force myself to eat, the pile of clothes in the corner.

My internal messiness has spilled over to my surroundings.

“Umm,” she starts, opening and closing her mouth like she’s unsure what to say. “How can I help?”

The tension inching my shoulders to my ears releases, and I hang my head and rub away the tears prickling my eyes. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

She points to the couch. “Finish Depressing Moon while I pop this pizza in the oven.”

I fall to the cushions and press play on my comfort movie. She busies herself with cleaning while I struggle to focus on the scene in front of me. My life is a mirror image of the main character sitting on a chair staring out the window as months pass. The hole inside my chest didn’t just tear open when Archer told me Jessie bought my bakery.

It exploded.

Every defense against the sucking tendrils of grief I’ve cultivated disappeared in the snap of a finger, and the remnants of what I had—of what I lost—came barreling in, knocking me back to the moment I woke up with Jessie’s stiff arms around me.

By the time the ding of the oven sounds, my living room is clean, the dishes are done, and the smell of pepperoni, sausage, and Canadian bacon wraps itself around me like a warm blanket.

“Shower, then pizza.” Shantel turns off the TV and hitches her thumb over her shoulder.

Grumbling, I rise and shuffle toward my room.

“You’ll thank me when you smell better,” she yells down the hall.

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