Hers for the weekend, p.18
Hers for the Weekend, page 18
Holly smiled sadly. “I’m not brave, Sloane. If I were, I would visit my family more, but I’m afraid if I go there and stand still, I’ll somehow get caught in the trap of turning into my mother. And my mom has a really good heart, but it’s not the life I want!”
“You don’t ever have to be like your mother if you don’t want to be like your mother,” Tara told her.
“That’s not the only thing,” Holly argued. “If I were brave, I would have a food truck.”
Tara gasped. “You do want something more permanent!”
If Holly wanted something permanent, maybe she’d want culinary school? A pastry chef and successful small business owner could fly under the radar at social events, so she wouldn’t be eaten alive by the debutante sharks.
“I do, if it was something where I could make my own hours, get to decide where I go, where I park, who I feed, and if I could pick up and leave whenever I want. I want it, but it’s too risky. Most food trucks fail, and I can’t be broke again. I can’t lose my meager savings on a pipe dream.”
Tara began to speak, and Holly stopped her. “Don’t tell me you’d finance it. I can’t handle that. I don’t want your family’s money, and I don’t want our… whatever is between us… to have that kind of debt in the middle.”
She wanted to argue that it wouldn’t be a debt, it would be a gift, or an investment, but she could see that, no matter how she felt, to Holly it would be charity. Besides, she didn’t want to argue and ruin this moment, especially when Holly had just admitted that there was something between them, and it could maybe exist outside of these walls.
“You’re much braver than I am,” Holly told her. “You’re the bravest person I know. You’re bearding the lion in its den; you’ve faced the worst mistake you ever made and decided to make good for it instead of letting yourself off without consequences. You keep loving your friends fiercely even though your brain is convinced they don’t love you back.”
Tara shook her head, then rolled onto her back and covered her eyes, because she couldn’t look at Holly while she talked about this. “I’m not brave at all, either. I do have all these things I’ve always wanted to do, like sing in a band, and volunteer for the Innocence Project, and learn to cook, and all I do is what I’ve always been told, but I tell myself it’s a long con. I’m not even brave enough to fall in love! I put one foot out of line one time, and it exploded, and now… I’m living this life that matters to me, that I fought for, that I chose, yes, but that I don’t think can ever make me actually happy.”
She felt Holly lift her hand from where it was covering her eyes and peer down at her. “I think you’ve been expanding your circle pretty damn well this weekend,” she said, dropping a soft kiss on Tara’s forehead.
“But what happens when I go back to Charleston?” Tara asked. “I’m going to go back to my little bubble. I’m going to be just like my mother.”
“Tara Sloane Chadwick,” Holly said seriously, “you couldn’t be your mother if you tried.”
Chapter 18
Holly
Sometime past midnight, Holly woke up to find herself lying sideways in bed, on top of the comforter, tangled in both it and Tara’s long limbs. When had they fallen asleep? Why was she still wearing her jeans?
She rolled out from under Tara’s arm, having been awakened by something she couldn’t pinpoint. She changed into a pair of Tara’s pajama pants, which were too long on her but were the most delicious raw silk. The fire had gone out, and the room was freezing, so she dragged a hoodie over her head and stepped into the hall.
As she emerged, she realized what it was that had woken her out of a comfortable sleep snuggled up with a beautiful woman. The air smelled like cookies. Not just any cookies, but Rosenstein’s original recipe mandel bread. She would know that smell anywhere. Following it down the stairs led her to the kitchen, where she found Miriam and Levi, in their own pajamas, baking and laughing and drinking coffee.
“Oh my gosh, I didn’t mean to intrude,” she said, turning to leave.
Miriam waved a hand to stop her. “Please, we always welcome guests to our Witching Hour Baking Parties.”
“Do you do this… often?” Holly asked in amusement, slowly moving farther toward the kitchen island.
Levi shrugged. “It’s our thing—well, it’s Miriam’s thing. She keeps collecting people in the kitchen in the middle of the night.”
“It’s not me,” Miriam protested. “It’s Carrigan’s! Well, maybe it’s Kringle, but you know what I mean. It’s the magic!”
Holly scooted up onto a stool, and Levi slid her a cup of coffee. She looked between the two of them. “The magic, huh? I thought Tara was kidding when she said you all believed this place was magic.”
“Oh no”—Levi shook his head—“we absolutely all believe it’s magic, whether we want to or not. If you ask Miri, it’s pure concentrated Cass, baked into the walls. If you ask Hannah, it’s all of the love from the past sixty years.”
“And you?” Holly asked.
“My best guess is a forest spirit manifested by the cat,” he said, handing her a cookie.
She chewed for a minute. “This is wrong. You left out something.” Thinking for a minute, she said, “Almond extract. The original has almond extract.”
“Ha!” Miriam pointed at Levi. “I told you people would notice, but no, fancy chef man said no almond extract.”
“Well, fine. Holly can make the next batch!” he said, handing her a mixing bowl. She was more than happy to do so.
“So what does the magic do, exactly?” she asked, scooting off her stool and moving behind the counter so she could work more easily.
“It brings people here. People call it the island of misfit toys, but it’s not any misfits,” Miriam explained. “It’s people running from home or looking for one. People who have lost their way back home or never had one. If the thing wrong with your life is, at its core, not related to home, I don’t know, I assume you end up at some other magical inn to get fixed.”
Kringle, who had wandered in and settled on the stool Holly had abandoned, chirped at them.
Holly considered this. “So, Tara’s here because she… needs to leave home? Because Cole is her real home?” She checked the recipe, which was, for unknown reasons, written on an airplane napkin.
Levi raised an eyebrow. “The real question is, why are you here?”
Holly was surprised. “Me? I’m just keeping Tara company.”
“Incorrect! No one shows up in this kitchen at three a.m. unless Carrigan’s brought them here. So. Tell us. Why aren’t you home for Christmas? And, second question, equally important: You’re obviously a talented baker—why don’t you work in food?” Levi pointed at her, in mock accusation.
“Miriam’s a very talented baker and she doesn’t work in food!” Holly protested.
“Not everyone is a weirdo who makes their whole life and career revolve around an art they’re passionate about like us, Blue,” Miriam told him. “Maybe Holly is in love with waitressing.”
They looked at her, right as she took a bite of cookie. “Um,” she said, chewing carefully, “it’s more, like, poverty trauma and not wanting to participate in capitalism? Also some wanderlust?”
Miriam and Levi seemed to have a wordless conversation, which ended in them both speaking at once.
“Is waitressing making you enough money to outrun the poverty trauma?” Miriam asked.
While Levi said, “Baking is a pretty primal, pre-capitalist urge. Feeding people, creating bread?”
She answered Miriam first. “I’m broke now, but I’m never stuck without options, and I’m never hungry. It’s not, I’ll admit, a perfect system.”
They both nodded, as if they deeply understood not wanting to be stuck, if not from poverty.
“As for why I’m not baking as a career…” She stirred the cookie dough harder than it needed, trying to be as brave as Tara thought she was and tell the truth. “I guess I started waitressing as a temporary step, something I knew I could always fall back on, and then my plan B became my plan A. Because if I started a business, it could fail and I’d lose everything. Right now I have nothing to lose.”
“That’s depressing,” Levi said.
Miriam threw a ball of dough at him. “Be nice. I spent a lot of time with nothing to lose while I was healing. Holly probably has her reasons for living a life she doesn’t really like.”
What the hell, these people were brutal.
“You’re mean, and I’m taking your cookies,” Holly said, pulling the plate toward her.
“You can’t,” Miriam told her seriously. “They taste wrong, and you need to get this last batch in the oven. While you’re working, tell us your reasons for living a life you don’t really like.”
Ugh, these people were going to make her talk about feelings. “You won’t understand. Everyone here is so kind to each other.”
Levi and Miriam exchanged another wordless conversation. “Us?” Levi asked. “The two of us, specifically, are two of the most self-centered people you’ll ever meet. We just learned how to not give in to our most self-centered impulses so we could be part of our family.”
“Anyway,” Miriam said, “why do you think you’re not kind?”
Holly tried to explain, because something about this blue delft kitchen glowing in the middle of the night felt like a sacred space, where she shouldn’t lie. “When I was younger, I would get scared when anyone started to get close, or relationships started to get hard. I’d lash out with the meanest things I could think to say, and then run while people were bleeding. I don’t like that about myself, so eventually I stopped letting people get close as a way to stop doing it.”
She slid a cookie sheet into the oven and portioned out more dough, not meeting their eyes.
“Soooo…” Levi said, leaning on the counter next to her and crossing his feet, “instead of deciding that you didn’t like the way you interacted with people and changing your response, you decided you were going to just… not have friends? That seems like the hard way around. Even I have friends, and I’m the worst.”
Miriam nodded. “He is the worst. But couldn’t you not have friends, while being a baker? I’m confused about how the one is related to the other.”
“I want to see the world,” Holly said, as if this explained everything.
Levi blinked at her. “Yes. I’m familiar with the concept. I spent four years on a boat, seeing the world. And yet.”
“But when you have close relationships, they tie you to one place. To a suffocating, domestic life,” Holly argued, but saying this out loud, to a man who had a million close connections and, from what she could tell, the least stifling domestic life imaginable (he filmed his show around the world, after all), made it sound ridiculous.
She looked between Miriam and Levi. “It’s possible this is a me problem,” she said eventually.
“My bride-to-be likes to quote Mary Oliver—” Miriam began.
Levi interrupted. “You’re marrying such a nerd!”
She shot him a withering glance. “You wooed your wife with spreadsheets and a PowerPoint.”
He shrugged happily.
“Anyway, as I was saying, it might be time to listen to our great queer poets and ask yourself, Holly, what do I want to do with my one wild and precious life?”
Well. When you put it that way.
“I think I want to bake, and love people, and be kind.”
They nodded. When they moved in unison, it was clear they’d been close all their lives, and it made her aware that she didn’t have that with anyone, except maybe Caitlin.
It felt momentous that they easily folded her in, and she let herself relax, chatting easily until the oven timer dinged.
“Do you want some of this batch to take with you?” Levi asked, pulling out the first tray of correct cookies.
She walked back up the big curved Carrigan’s staircase in a daze, munching on perfect mandel bread and thinking about how she was going to bake for a living, but much more importantly, how she was going to learn to let her walls down, to love people. To be kind.
“Where going?” Tara mumbled as Holly walked into their room.
“Nowhere,” Holly whispered. “I’m coming back to bed with you.”
Yawning, Tara rolled back over. “Mmm-kay.”
God, she was cute. Holly leaned down to brush the hair off her forehead and place a kiss on her widow’s peak before shuffling off to the bathroom.
She kicked off Tara’s pajamas and slid back into bed in her underwear. Holly hissed as her bare legs brushed up against Tara’s, and suddenly, Tara was above her. In the dark, her eyes flashed hot.
“We fell asleep in the middle of a very maudlin conversation,” Tara said, brushing kisses down Holly’s collarbone. “And we never even got naked.”
Holly reached up behind Tara’s neck and brought their lips together. “Well, I’m not asleep now, and we can’t miss an opportunity to take advantage of this beautiful bed.”
Before she got completely carried away by Tara’s lips and hands, it registered that this slow, intense lovemaking in the middle of the night was going to be very hard to let go of once they were back in Charleston. Holly liked waking up in Tara’s bed more than she wanted to.
If only Tara would give up on this idea that she could only do her job the way she wanted to in South Carolina and would look at the broader picture. Thousands of people in the country needed a dedicated, progressive defense attorney who would represent them regardless of their ability to pay. There was no shortage of injustice in the U.S. justice system, and a lot of ways for Tara to show up for the work, without having to live for her family’s whims.
Last night, they’d had this incredible conversation, unlike any Holly had ever had with anyone but Ivy, and Tara had all but admitted that she was unhappy. But even then, she’d only said she wanted to widen her circle, not explode it. How could she get the arsonist inside Tara to burn down her own life, for her own good? And for theirs, if there was ever going to be a Them?
She kissed Tara desperately, hoping that maybe whatever this was between them could convince Tara to walk away from her family, toward something healthier but just as impactful.
When they woke up later that morning, Holly surreptitiously looked up how lawyers got jobs with the Innocence Project while Tara was in the shower. Surely it couldn’t hurt to make them aware of Tara’s amazing work, right? Tara might not be ready to take the leap, but if they presented themselves, she might be able to imagine new possibilities. And she could start out volunteering if that made for a more comfortable transition.
She drafted an email, only to decide that it would be highly unprofessional and pushy to send it. Suddenly there was a frantic knock on their door.
“Holly!” Cole’s voice called. “I need you!”
Cole needed her? What the hell was going on? She opened the door, and Cole’s giant frame and floppy hair fell through.
“Holly,” he moaned, gripping both of her forearms. “The cake.”
“What about the cake?” Holly asked, breathing slowly and deeply to try to get Cole to mirror her.
Cole started to cry. “It melted.”
“Jesus, how?!” Holly gasped. She knew that the giant Rosenstein’s-baked cake had been residing in the walk-in refrigerator, waiting for tomorrow to get its finishing touches.
“We left the door open a sliver by accident, and the fan overheated trying to keep the temp down, and then it exploded, and Blue says it’s going to need to be completely replaced.”
If Levi Matthews thought they needed a new walk-in, they did.
“Fuck, can y’all afford that?” Tara asked, coming out from the bathroom and toweling off her hair.
Cole was breathing hard, trying to get himself under control. “I’m going to pay for it. Sawyer and I… were making out in the walk-in and didn’t shut the door all the way. It’s my fault.”
“Oh, Cole,” Tara breathed. “And now you’re trying to figure out how to fix it.”
“Holly, you can bake. I would never ask you, with all the Rosensteins here—”
Holly interrupted him. “Miri’s family is here to celebrate her marriage. They already baked her a cake once. I’m more than happy to do it.”
“That’s too much work for one person,” Tara objected.
“Oh no, it absolutely is,” Cole agreed. “Esther’s going to help you. She bakes almost as well as her mother, and before Gavi came to work for us, they worked at Rosenstein’s, so they’re both going to pitch in. But will you please please please come lead the effort?”
Holly looked back at Tara, trying to gauge how she felt about this idea. It would put Holly in the kitchen for most of the day, and the reason Holly was here was because Tara didn’t feel like she could face this party by herself. Still, over the past few days, Holly had watched Tara become more and more comfortable being a part of the group.
“You should do it,” Tara said. “If you want to. I should probably try to spend some time with Cole, anyway. He’s getting weird about the distance between us, and who knows how long it will be before I see him again after this.”
“I am not getting weird about it,” Cole argued. “I’ve been weird about it. But I know how long it will be, which is no more than two weeks. Because that’s as much as I can handle.”
If Tara loved her, and she didn’t get to see Tara’s face every day, she would be whiny about it, too. Hell, she was maudlin about the idea of leaving Tara when she inevitably left Charleston soon, and they didn’t love each other.
She couldn’t very well tell Miriam she wouldn’t fix her wedding cake because she didn’t want to lose one of her only days left with Tara, that she was desperate to hold on to every second of their remaining time together, to hoard it like a dragon. As far as Miriam knew, they were going back to South Carolina to continue their love story, likely heading toward moving in together, and then marriage, because that’s where all Tara’s relationships went. They had all their lives ahead of them to spend romantic weekends in the woods together, in their fiction. Besides, Cole was looking at her with desperate puppy-dog eyes. She smiled as warmly as she could and said, “Of course I’ll help!”
