Whole, p.2
Whole, page 2
Today we’re running south through the Little Villa neighborhood and across one of the many university campuses. The air is calm and the sun is shining; an unremarkable day. As we run past, I watch the students scramble to get to their classes on time and think at least I’m not doing that. I went to school for finance, at my mother’s insistence, and did so well that I graduated a year early, but I quit my first job at a well-known financial services company after just one month to make cakes full time.
“You don’t want to end up like us,” my mother had said. “Do something that will make you a lot of money.”
My father had passed away when I was ten—hit by a car on his way to the subway—and left my mother, Ellie, and me to fend for ourselves. My mother was a hairdresser, and though she worked at a fancy salon downtown, without my father’s paycheck every two weeks we were barely scraping by. She was right. I didn’t want being poor to be both my past and my future. My finance classes were incredibly boring, though, and I couldn’t bear the thought of putting on a pantsuit to go sit in a cubicle every day for the rest of my life. “I’m going to open my own bakery,” I told my boss when I handed in my resignation letter, and he laughed me out of his office.
That was all before I met Jake and it felt now like a lifetime ago. Everything before him felt like a different world, like I was living someone else’s life instead of my own. Two years later and I was finally feeling comfortable with where my life was headed. I opened the bakery a year ago after securing enough regular customers to move my operations out of our kitchen and into a dedicated space. It was tiny and scrappy, but it was mine and that’s all that mattered. Jake had helped me clean up the facade of the building and hang a sign that said “Mara’s” in big block lettering over the door. Ellie occasionally pitched in to assist with deliveries, and Kaitlin even helped with the down payment on the building. I could never have done it without her, actually. Her father had told her it was never too early to start investing in the things you believe in, and I was shocked to find out she believed in me. She also lent me an old metal table and chair set, the kind you would see in a French cafe with ornate, curvy details, that I used to do cake tastings with brides-to-be. Her mother had decided it looked “gaudy” and no longer fit the aesthetic of her sunroom, so she was planning to toss it in the trash, Kaitlin said.
“I saved it for you! ‘Why throw it away when there are lesser people in the world who could really use a hand-out?’ I told her. I immediately thought of you”
“Um...thanks?” I said, taken aback. I was a bit offended by this story, but I knew she meant well, and I did need a table, so I was happy to take her up on the offer.
The first year at the bakery had been easier than I expected—crazy busy, but that’s a good thing when you’re just starting out. I looked forward to going to work every day, and I had a strict no pantsuit rule at the office. I enjoyed it so much, I often found myself daydreaming about cake designs while out on a run, the same way Jake would write songs in his head. This is what I’m doing when I run smack into him, head-first. We’re back outside of our house and I didn’t even notice that he stopped.
“Woah, where’d you go?” Jake asks as he catches my body against his chest.
“Ha, I don’t know,” I say, rubbing my injured nose to ease the sting of the collision. “I guess I was lost in thought.”
“The sign of a real runner,” he says, patting me on the back.
Back at home, I take a quick shower, Jake coaxing me in with him with his shy smile. I was never much of an intimate person before I met Jake, having slept with just one other boy before him, but Jake has an effect on me that I have no control over, an irresistible attraction to which I can’t say no. I sometimes wonder if it’s the same for him with me, or if he’s the only one with such a strong pull. The glass door grows steamy as we explore each other’s bodies under the hot water, and by the time we’re done, I’m already late. I dress hurriedly and Jake pulls me in and kisses me hard on the mouth as I run out the front door.
The bakery isn’t too far away, in the same neighborhood as our house, but the location requires getting on two buses, with a transfer in between. I have chased enough Chicago city buses to know that they will wait for no one, and I look down at my phone to check the bus tracker app as I quicken my pace. Sure enough, there is the number 66 bus pulling away from the stop just as I run up to catch it. Ugh, not again, I think as I sit down on the bench to consider my options. There is no point in waiting for another bus now, I can walk there faster. I could hail an Uber, but I hate paying more than absolutely necessary to get from point A to point B. On the other hand, this is a bit of an emergency, since I still have some work to do on the cakes before my first delivery at 11 a.m.
As I sit and weigh these options, a small child begins to speak from his spot on the bench next to me. I could have sworn I was alone when I first sat down, but maybe I just hadn’t noticed him. He looks to be alone, no parents in sight, and can’t be more than six years old, I guess. He’s dressed smartly for a little kid, in a blue button-down and tie, the shirt tucked into his chino pants which are rolled up at the ankles, like a grown man would do. He’s swinging his legs back and forth under the bench while staring at his shoes—black Converse Chuck Taylor All Stars, the same as mine. I smile when I see them, but then he begins to talk, and my smile is quickly replaced with a look of puzzlement.
“You need to come with me. Time is ticking, you know. November 11 is the reckoning,” he says, almost like a demand. “Join us. Our fate depends on you.”
“Excuse me?” I say, unsure if he’s talking to me or an imaginary friend. “Are you lost?”
“Only as lost as you are,” he says, affronted, eyes still fixed on his shoes.
“Um, can I help you find your parents?” I continue.
Suddenly his legs stop swinging, and he looks up at me impatiently. We lock eyes and he grabs hold of my arm, the one closest to his side of the bench.
“Join us,” he says again, digging his fingers into my arm and trying to pull me from my seat. “Our fate depends on you.”
Chapter 3
I jump up from my seat and the child’s hand falls away from my arm. Something about his eyes, bright blue and piercing, gave me an ominous feeling deep in my gut. My instinct is to run when someone grabs me at the bus stop, but I remember that he’s just a little kid and I turn back, ready to stay with him until I can figure out what to do. When I turn back around, however, he’s gone. I stick my head around the glass walls of the bus stop and look down the street both ways, but he’s nowhere in sight. Could he have run away that quickly? I think to myself. He must have, there’s no other explanation, my brain answers back. A little shaken, I try to remember what I was doing before the kid showed up. Work. The bakery. Right. I need to get to work. Given the additional time I’ve now lost, I decide to suck it up and pay for an Uber.
Once at the bakery, I get in my zone, donning my grey and white striped apron and matching grey bandana to cover my hair. I turn the small radio I keep in the kitchen to the indie rock station and listen as a soft, mellow tune fills the space, my preference while I’m working. I pull the first cakes out of the large, commercial refrigerator and get to work, stacking them one on top of the other and adding decorations and finishing touches. The first cake is for a small wedding—a Friday luncheon to keep the costs low—and it’s covered in delicate sugar flowers that took me the better part of the week to construct. The second is for the birthday of a woman who’s arguably a little too obsessed with her dog—she came to me herself to request a life-size cake of her Shih Tzu donning kissy lips. I just need to finish painting Fluffy’s face and adding some details to his fur before loading both cakes into Jake’s beater van to drop them off. Hopefully I’ll have a real delivery van someday, one that doesn’t break down regularly and has my logo painted across the side, but for now I’ll take what I can get.
Once I’m finished with my paying jobs, I spend some time working on a personal project—a cake I’m constructing as part of an entry to a competition. First prize is a month-long, all expenses paid trip to a small town in the French countryside to learn from Jacques Fournier, a celebrity in the pastry scene. I could never afford that kind of one-on-one training from someone so prominent in my field, and I want so badly to win this. I need to submit an original recipe as well as professional photos of my finished piece by the end of the month to make the deadline. I think I have the recipe down: a light and airy lemon-almond cake with a raspberry-lemon curd filling and a lavender-white chocolate buttercream. But the presentation needs some work. I’m trying out a new textured painting technique using colored buttercream as a medium, but so far I haven’t gotten it just right. Everything I paint looks like a sloppy mess, and it needs to look polished before I’ll be able to photograph it. After a few more failed attempts, I call it a day and put the cake back into the fridge before locking up on my way out.
After work I drop off the van back at home then head over to the Eastside neighborhood to meet up with Ellie. I walk down the main drag, peering into shop windows, not wanting to go inside if she’s not already in there. When I don’t see her in any of the shops, I take out my phone to text her:
Where are you? I’m sitting outside, I text.
I’m in the dressing room at The Madison, just come in here! she responds.
I stare at the text for a second then sigh as I put my phone back in my pocket and walk back down the block to The Madison boutique. I hate going into these places alone. I don’t know which clothes are the right clothes, and the salespeople coming over to help just makes me even more uncomfortable. Reluctantly, I open the door to the shop and head in, the little bell making a loud chime behind me.
“Good afternoon!” says the salesgirl, cheerily. “Let me know what I can help you with today!”
“I’m good, thanks,” I mumble as I make a beeline for the clothing racks and start flipping through them idly. I stop on a bright blue bodycon dress - not something I would ever in a million years wear, but the color reminds me of the little kid at the bus stop and his piercing blue eyes. I play back the events in my head one more time as I run the fabric between my fingers, lost in thought. That did actually happen, didn’t it? Suddenly Ellie appears beside me and snaps me out of my daze.
“You are the worst,” she says. “You don’t have to wait outside for me to go shopping. You’re fully capable of entering a store on your own.”
“You know I hate doing that though,” I retort. “You could have just waited for me.”
“Whatever,” she says, and then, after noticing the dress I still have clutched in my hand, “That’s actually cute.”
“Is it?” I say as I drop the dress and continue flipping through the items on the rack.
“Anyways,” says Ellie, “how was work?”
“It started off a little rough,” I say, thinking back. “I had to take an Uber.”
“You took an Uber?” she says, mouth agape in feigned shock. “It must have been a real dire situation.”
I launch into an explanation, recounting my encounter with the little boy and trying not to leave out any details. When I’m finished, Ellie just stares back at me, wide-eyed.
“Mar,” she says, slowly, after a long silence. “November 11? That’s your birthday.”
November 11. That is my birthday. In the commotion of the event, I hadn’t really processed what the child was saying. How could I have missed this? In any case, it must be a coincidence.
“Come on,” I say, “you don’t actually think that kid knew me, do you?”
“No. I don’t know how he could have,” says Ellie, letting out a nervous laugh. “But it sure sounds like he expects you to save the world or something.”
“Ha-ha,” I reply. “Well if that’s the case, he chose the wrong girl. I can’t even go shopping by myself.”
Ellie and I agree that what the kid said was weird, but there’s no way it could mean anything. What would it mean, anyway? We chat about her day as we continue flipping through clothing racks, and Ellie ends up walking out with two bags stuffed full of new items. I, on the other hand, don’t see one thing that I think would look good on me, but as we’re about to leave I decide to turn back and grab the bright blue dress off its hanger. I may not be saving the world material just yet, but I may as well start somewhere.
Back at home, I decide not to tell Jake about my run-in with the kid at the bus stop. The more I think about it, the less sure I am about what actually took place, and I don’t want to risk looking like a crazy person. He’s still at band practice, so I decide to take advantage of the alone time and try on my new dress. I go into our room and take the dress out of the bag, running the fabric between my fingers once again. It feels comfortable at least, I tell myself. Ready to take the plunge, I slip out of the band t-shirt and jeans I’m currently wearing, grab the dress and pull it on over my head. It’s tight—tighter than anything I’ve ever worn before save for my bathing suit. I stretch it down over my body until it hits its intended length, just below the curve of my backside, and look at myself in the full-length mirror. I tilt my head to the side, trying to decide if I like what I see. I definitely don’t feel comfortable, despite the soft fabric, but I have to admit it doesn’t look bad.
“Wow,” Jake says, as I whip my head around to find him standing in the doorway. “You look...hot.”
“I didn’t hear you come in,” I say, grabbing my robe and wrapping it around myself to cover the dress.
“Have you owned that this whole time and you’ve just been holding out on me?” he jokes while stepping into the room.
“Very funny,” I say, giving him a look that says I’m not amused. “I got it today when I was with Ellie.”
“Well,” he says slowly, a shy smile forming on his face as he crosses the room and puts his hands on my hips, “you look amazing.”
“Don’t joke,” I say. I can feel my heart rate quickening as he slips his hands under my robe. A familiar tingling is forming in the pit of my stomach, and I know there’s no use resisting. My body has already given up control.
“I’m not joking,” he says, looking into my eyes so I know he’s serious. “I love you.”
“Same,” I manage to say, breathless now, as my robe falls to the floor and Jake pulls my body against his, planting a deep kiss on my lips. He lays me down onto the bed and the dress hikes up to my stomach as I lay back and let the warmth of his body overwhelm my senses.
Later that night we take Rufio out for a walk, Jake’s arm slung across my shoulders as we stroll through the busy streets. It’s Friday night, and groups of people amble past us, heading to a late dinner or out for the night. I tilt my head to the side to rest it on Jake’s shoulder, wrapping my arm around his waist. I could stay like this forever, I think to myself, my heart full with love for our home and the little family we’ve created. To an outsider our life might seem boring, mundane even, but not to me. Ever since my father died, I’ve preferred a quiet life, because quiet keeps you safe. I don’t ride rollercoasters or speed while driving or do drugs. Excitement can lead to loss, and I’ve had enough of that already.
As we’re getting ready for bed a few hours later, Jake casually chats me up, wanting to know about my day. I try to keep it top level, avoiding telling him about my run-in with the kid at the bus stop, and I go into the bathroom to wash my face while he talks.
“How did the cakes go?” he asks. “I know you put a lot of work into that ridiculous dog. I’ve hardly seen you all week.”
“It was fine,” I say from the other room, lathering up the soap on my hands. “I was a little late to work this morning, but I made up the time.”
“Late?” he says, peering around the corner and into the bathroom. “I hope it wasn’t my fault.”
“No, no,” I say, remembering the little boy and the almost desperate look in his eyes. “I just... missed the bus.”
“I hope you didn’t walk,” he says. “You know we can afford an occasional cab.”
“You sound like Ellie,” I say, walking back into the bedroom. I pull back the covers and hop into bed.
“Well, we are your only friends,” he says, jokingly, getting in after me. “We have to look out for you.”
I shoot him a look and he smiles back at me, his head on the pillow.
“Hey,” he says. “Tomorrow is Saturday. Let’s go for a longer run?”
“Sure,” I say, too tired to object, and happy for the routine anyway. He kisses me on the forehead and turns out the light as my eyelids grow heavy and I drift off to sleep.
Chapter 4
In the morning I wake up and roll over to see that I’m alone. I lay there for a moment, staring at the indent in the bed next to me that Jake left behind. Summer sun is already beginning to pour in through the open window, a slight breeze tickling my face. I reach for my phone to check the time—7 a.m. It’s too early for this, I groan, while throwing back the covers and letting my feet dangle over the edge of the bed, trying to will myself to get up. After a few stretches and yawns, I finally manage to set my feet on the ground and head downstairs to get my running clothes out of the dryer. On the way there, I pass Jake in the kitchen, standing at the bay window sipping on a cup of coffee. He’s already dressed and ready to go.
