Page 19 of Crash

“This seems very familiar,” Steve says.

“What?” I ask.

“Never mind, man.” The door opens and a group of older women walk in. Steve busies himself with them, leaving me standing in the middle of the bakery. With the diaper bag still slung over my shoulder, I walk to the back of the bakery to find my nephew.

I’m led to him by loud squeals of laughter. I walk into one of the cake-tasting rooms to find Vivienne, Travis, and her aunt. Travis is on his feet, while Gabrielle claps and sings a song in her native tongue. Travis claps along while he dances and squeals.

When the song ends, he runs and hugs Vivi’s legs, and she picks him up.

“Little trouble,” Gabrielle says, noticing me for the first time. “You here for cake?”

“I brought Travis for cookies, but I wouldn’t mind some cake.” She looks from me to Vivi and nods her head.

“I don’t think that’s why you here, but I get you and Travis real food. You eat cake after,” she says, her Haitian accent thicker than normal. She scoops Travis from Vivi, orders me to sit down, and orders Vivi to follow her.

I sit at one of the tables in the small room. It’s sparsely decorated, with cream-colored walls. There are photos of various cakes along the wall and a small floral arrangement on the table. Despite the smell of sugar and baked goods, I can smell her musky fragrance in the room.

She comes back a few minutes later, her lips pursed, and brows furrowed, clearly irritated. She’s carrying a huge tray, and I automatically stand up to take it out of her hands, laying it on the table.

“I was perfectly capable of doing that. I carried it all the way down the hall. I don’t need a big barbarian oaf to help me.” The words are clipped, and her tone cold enough to chill this room.

“My apologies for having manners.” I take my seat.

“My aunt asked me to bring you this food.” She leans closer and whispers in my ear. “Choke on it.” The words don’t bother me, but I will my body to calm down at her closeness. I ignore her words at the sight and smell before me. Vivi’s aunt is the best cook I’ve ever met, and I’ve had this before. I take every opportunity to tag along with Jake and Sandy whenever they go to her house for any reason.

I forget my manners as I grab the fork and fill my mouth with red beans, rice, and stewed chicken. She pulls something out of her apron and slams it down on the table next to me. I groan in delight when I see the cola champagne on the table. I open it and take a large gulp, already telling myself I’ll have to work out extra hard in the morning to make up for this decadent meal.

She leans against the door and watches me eat, her arms crossed, hiding her breasts from my eyes.

“Why are you here?” she asks, her voice just as hostile as it was when I first got here.

“I brought Travis here for cookies. He loves them.” I shove more food in my mouth, my manners out the window.

“And someone actually let you take him?”

Offended by her question, I look up at her, and her eyes shoot fire.

“What is that supposed to mean. I watch him and his siblings all the time. I’m his godfather,” I say proudly. They finally baptized Tristan the same day they baptized Travis, both Jake and I serving as godfather. “Your aunt was there. She even made a cake for the occasion.” I finish the last of my meal, washing it down with the rest of my soda. “Where is Travis, by the way?” I ask as I look around.

She has the nerve to scoff at me.

“Such a good babysitter, aren’t you? My aunt is feeding him. I still don’t believe he’s your nephew. He’s too cute and sweet to be related to you. You’re an ogre.”

“Whatever. He looks like his dad, who happens to look like me.” I lean back in my seat and rub my full belly, happy I made the trip despite her bad attitude.

She mutters something that sounds like don’t you wish and waves her hand at me.

“And you’re gross. You eat like a barbarian after a day of pillaging and killing.”

“I think you’re thinking about the Vikings. By the way,” I say, rising from my seat, “how was your date with the gay guy the other week?” Something flashes in her eyes, but it’s gone before I can read it.

“None of your business,” she says, her tone flat.

“Must not have been that good since I heard you ask your cousin to hang out tonight.” I take a step closer to her. There’s nowhere for her to go because her dainty little back is already against the wall.

“He’s not gay. I can guarantee you that, and I happen to be liked by my cousin. I guess you wouldn’t know what it’s like to have family like you.” A smirk follows that smartass comment. “By the way, you can take your dirty dishes to the kitchen. I’m not one of the many servants who work in your mansion, rich boy.”

“Don’t say that to me,” I warn her as I turn my back and walk back to the table. She’s not the first person to judge me because of my family, but it’s not those words that have angered me. It’s the bullshit she says about Blake that fuels my anger. She knows Blake is not gay. How? I shake my head and cringe, unwilling to entertain how she would know. I don’t even want to consider why that’s so upsetting to me.

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