Page 37 of You Cake My Breath Away

Anyway, I meant to write this to let you know how my recent interview went. I’m supposed to meet with the producers in Knoxville in the middle of next month. There was another guy and a couple there to interview before me, but they were more focused on flipping houses instead of carpentry work. We still haven’t been told what the show will be about exactly, but I have an inkling it’ll be a competition-based show, or maybe we’ll be consulting on big projects like Ty from Extreme Home Makeover.

The next meeting isn’t until mid-November, so I just have to make it through a few more Sunday dinners before I leave for good, whether or not I get the job. Nora asks me weekly if I’ve heard anything, and each time it breaks my heart. I know they’ll come visit, but I’ll miss having the access to them that I do now. I haven’t told Mom or Dad yet, but I doubt they’ll care. Claire is the only one who shows a modicum of attention to me, and even that is behind Dad’s back.

One of these days he’ll realize I’m not a fuck-up. That my work is just as important and worthy of praise as their craft. It probably won’t be any time soon, but it’ll happen. And I know you’ll be smiling up in Heaven when I tell him to shove it. Miss you man.

-Arch

Chapter twenty

Tilly

The brisk November air stuns me the minute I step outside of the house, and immediately I go back inside to change. In Texas during fall, the weather changes at the drop of a dime. The chilly mornings turn sweltering by mid-afternoon, leaving you sweating in a long sleeve t-shirt. Today’s attire, a lime green flannel shirt with vertical pink stripes and denim jeans, will suit me just fine if I wear a tank top beneath it.

Shuffling the box of treats for my parents’ restaurant to the side, I wave hello to my elderly neighbor, the one who is thankfully okay now and sitting on her front porch. I was grateful for the interruption to the awkward conversation Shantel and Nora started in the kitchen, but my blood pressure took entirely too long to even out after that.

Any sirens bring back memories of the day Jessie died.

Like an ad popping up in my mind, the memory of that morning assaults me as I walk down the stairs. The ambulance and fire engines came blaring in, worried because I kept screaming at the 911 operator on the phone to help me save Jessie.

November isn’t just a month on a calendar to me anymore.

It’s the month we were supposed to be celebrating two years of marriage, the month my life irrevocably changed. If I didn’t have things to do at the bakery, I’m sure I’d be looking for something to keep my mind busy. Instead, I get on the road to my parents’ restaurant with my eyes stinging and an ache behind my ribcage.

“Morning, Til,” one of the cooks says when I arrive at the back door of the restaurant.

“Morning,” I reply.

Dad isn’t in the office when I peek my head in, and immediately I’m on edge. That’s his nest, the place he goes to hide from the customers and eat a Snickers. I go on a search mission and find him standing in front of the dessert case with an older woman in a flowing dress. Her hand is on his forearm and they’re laughing like they’ve known each other all their lives. An odd feeling thumps inside my chest before it thuds to the pit of my stomach.

“You’re here early.”

I hear Dad’s voice, but my mind is far away. The box is removed from my hands, and I snap back into focus. Dad’s mouth is pinched tight, his expression one of uneasy tension. I clear my throat and answer.

“I couldn’t find you in the back, so I came to put the desserts away.”

“I’m glad you’re here.” He motions to the woman standing off to the side. “This is Gloria.”

Gloria sticks out her hand but then yanks it back, her cheeks taking on a pink hue. “Oops, I’m sorry. Your dad told me you don’t like to be touched.”

He told her that? When? Just this morning when she came into the restaurant? That uneasy feeling swirling around my stomach gathers into a storm.

“Nice to meet you,” she says, smiling like my world isn’t tilting.

The way my dad looks at her, the slight spark in his eye, makes me wonder if I’m missing something. This woman couldn’t be…no, she isn’t. I’m misreading the situation.

“This is my girlfriend.”

His voice sounds far away due to the pounding in my ears and the loud ripping sound that is my paper heart. His girlfriend? But he’s…married.

“Tilda,” Dad says. “Did you hear me?”

I nod, blinking rapidly like I have the power to rewind time and stay in that sweet moment before he uttered those words. All of the times he’s rushed me out of the restaurant, the distance he’s created between us comes into focus. He had a secret girlfriend. “Yeah.”

“It’s nice to finally meet you, Tilda,” Gloria says.

“Tilly,” I say. “It’s Tilly.”

Only my parents call me Tilda, and one surly carpenter when he’s angry, but this woman? This interloper? She doesn’t get that right.

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