Peace of pie, p.18
Peace of Pie, page 18
Bryony nodded.
“I guess another is when people I should be able to trust lie by omission. Leslie betrayed me when she didn’t tell me about her plans. I was totally blindsided. My buy-in was assumed, an afterthought, if thought of at all. I don’t have room in my life for one-sided relationships anymore.” Cal glanced at his watch.
“Do you need to go?” Bryony asked.
“No, no.” Bailey could wait a bit longer. “So, now you know the bizarre reason for my beach question, a kind of preemptive strike at the possibility of another nutcase like Leslie.” He winced. “Oh, that sounded terrible.” He put his hands over hers. “I promise you, you don’t strike me as someone who would turn out like Leslie.”
Bryony smiled. “I understand.” She didn’t move her hands, which Cal took as a sign that they were past this latest glitch. “I guess I should explain my strong reaction.”
“I’d like to hear.” He smiled encouragement.
“The guy,” Bryony said.
“The guy who dumped you at the beach.”
“Yeah.” She laughed. “It sounds kind of pathetic now, but we were together for a long time, and then he left me for a young gorgeous snorkeling instructor—who, by the way, bore a strong resemblance to the waitress last night, at least in low lights—while we were on vacation in Florida.”
“No!” Cal said, overstating his disgust, making her laugh, mentally noting again the need to address Marabelle’s behavior.
“Yes!” she said. “He did.” She withdrew her hands to comb stray hairs from her face. “And the thing is, now I’m glad he did because he’d talked me out of baking. He said I was making him gain weight.”
“How could he blame you for that?” Cal asked. “Were you force feeding him while he slept?”
“No.” Bryony laughed again. “But seriously”—she sobered her face—“he reminded me a lot of my dad and Mitch. I guess I’m used to the men in my life telling me to stop doing what I love.”
“Wow,” Cal said. “Talk about family dynamics.”
“Cal.” Bryony looked directly into his eyes. “Only teachers and counselors talk about family dynamics.”
“And yet we are all affected.” Cal wanted to reach out again, but moved his hands to his thighs, forcing them to stay put by drumming his fingers.
“I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about Mitch,” she said. “He’s a good man, but I feel like I don’t exist when I’m around him. Like there’s only enough air for him. Like I’m suffocating.”
“Don’t let him smother you, Bryony. There’s room for both of you in the world.”
She sighed. “He’ll try to discourage me if I decide to do something daring, like start a pie business. He’s so negative about me taking risks, doing what makes me happy.”
“Being negative about pies is like being negative about puppies,” Cal said. “You should never listen to people who aren’t mad for puppies and pies.” His hands started to rise, but he pushed them down again. “Listen, don’t let Mitch or anybody else smash your dreams. Let the world hear from you, Bryony. You’ll never know where the pies will take you until you bring them to fruition.”
Bryony shook her head. “Worst pun ever, Mister Forster.”
“I am so happy you noticed. Your ability to catch on quickly encourages me to continue to ask you out. So, what do you say? Try again?” he asked.
“I’d like to,” Bryony answered.
Lillian appeared at the side of the table, sliding Cal’s credit card in front of him. “You two okay now?”
“Yes, Lillian,” Bryony said.
“Thanks,” Cal said as he palmed the card.
“My pleasure,” Lillian said before walking away.
Cal knew she was not talking about the card.
When he reached his car, his phone rang, and he checked caller ID before answering. Charity’s friend, Susie. He should answer, at least to apologize for not responding to her last three voicemails. But what would he say? Sorry, Susie. Starting a new relationship, and it’s been a little rocky. Don’t have the bandwidth to add your charming presence to the mix? He’d think of something more proper later.
Right now, he wanted to bask in the warmth of Bryony’s willingness to keep going, even when she was confused and unsure.
His own family dynamics notwithstanding, he had to admit his sister had been right when she said it would happen to him someday. And though he might not tell her any time soon, he had to acknowledge, at least to himself, he was smitten.
BRYONY’S PAST IS NOT HER FUTURE
Ending a brief phone chat with Cal, Bryony smiled and went back to work cleaning the service counter.
She was in love like never before, and she knew it.
Since their mutual confessions about past failed relationships, Bryony now thought of her life in terms of BC and AC, Before Cal and After Cal. Before Cal, she had more time to herself. After Cal, she had more fun, even when she was alone. Before Cal, she had worried about Mitch’s worries. After Cal, she rarely had time to worry.
Between dates, dog-walking, and phone calls three or four times a day, joy filled her life, maybe for the first time ever. He had asked if she would accompany him to Cleveland for a Halloween party with his family. She declined, of course. They had only been seeing each other officially for a few weeks. But she wondered if she should have accepted the invitation.
Having Cal in her life felt more natural than breathing. With one foot in reviewing their most recent interaction, the other in the BeanHereNow moment, any urge to wonder, Is it real? Can it last? fluttered away, no match for the swirling upward trend of energy Cal brought to her life.
Without telling anyone about Charity’s offer, not even Lillian, Bryony had declined. That phone call had garnered more self empowerment than any of the self-help books or videos Bryony had devoured during the transition to her new, improved life.
Another customer approached the counter and said, in an artificially deep voice, “Bryony Green! I haven’t seen you in years.”
The woman’s face appeared as if she had just come from makeup for the next scene in her starring role. Bryony looked beyond the age-defying foundation, concealer, blush, eye liner, mascara, and bold red lipstick. “Susie?” Surely there were some well-hidden scars. Nobody her age could look that young.
“You didn’t recognize me right away, did you? I’m thrilled.” Susie leaned forward and whispered behind her hand. “I put a lot of my ex’s money into this face.”
“Susie Quatman.” Bryony breathed out slowly. “It’s been a few years. What would you like?”
Lacquered fingernails tapping the counter, Susie deliberated while Charity Henderson stepped through the door and walked to the counter.
“Hi, Bryony. I’d like a chai tea.”
Bryony nodded and moved to fill a mug.
Susie had been Charity’s number one henchwoman in high school, putting into play any number of ploys designed to degrade the less popular students. Bryony had been on the receiving end more than once.
“Five dollars, please,” Bryony said.
Charity started to open her purse, but Susie interrupted with a throaty command. “Let me pay!”
Mr. Parker looked up from his crossword puzzle, seemed to assess the situation, and returned his eyes to the paper beneath his pencil.
While Susie ordered her drink, Etta arrived for the day. She sat down at her usual table, pulled out her laptop, and opened it.
Having completed her order, Susie swung away from the counter and called over to Etta. “Excuse me. We were going to sit there.”
Etta cocked her head to the side, the overhead lights glinting off her nose ring, her black hair moussed and standing on end.
“Yes, you.” Susie pointed first at Etta, and then away from Etta’s table. “Please move your computer elsewhere.”
She turned back to the counter. “Will you please clean off that table, Bryony? Charity and I called that spot.”
Astonished by Susie’s use of a phrase which should have been held back in high school, Bryony found herself lost in the memory of how the popular kids had “called” the picnic table in the shade, the first row in the auditorium, the corner booth at the downtown diner.
Forcing herself back into the present, she managed to say, “There are plenty of open tables.”
“But we want that one.” Susie turned again to Etta. “Please move your stuff so Bryony can clean the table for us. We’re ready to sit down.”
“How can this be your table?” Etta asked, “When my butt’s in the seat and yours is not?” Henry Winkler could not have done a better impression of Fonzie.
Mr. Parker and Abby looked up, silent witnesses. A flashback cry of girl fight rang out in Bryony’s head.
Susie sneered and began to huff a reply, but Charity touched her arm. “Plenty of tables over there.”
After Bryony served her coffee, Susie threw a toxic glance at Etta and followed Charity to another table as far from Etta as possible.
Some might have called Etta’s behavior rude, but Bryony liked to think of it as evidence of a hidden superpower, one for which Bryony yearned.
In high school, nobody crossed Susie or Charity. Bryony’s adolescent self fist-pumped power to the little people as she gathered a gift to pay homage. She carried it through the opening in the counter with both hands and placed it gently before her new hero.
Etta looked down at the plated bagel. “I didn’t order anything.”
“It’s a gift,” Bryony said.
“What for?”
“For being a valued customer,” Bryony answered. “Cinnamon raisin.”
“My favorite.” Etta looked up and smiled.
The past scariness disappeared. Underneath the piercings and tattoos lived someone who could be counted on, the expression on her face pleasant, knowing, kind.
Bryony returned to her post.
All customers served and satisfied at present, Bryony moved to the back of the workspace and slipped on disposable plastic gloves to shift warm bagels to the baskets lining the wooden shelves. A wave of confidence started to take hold inside her, something akin to what she had read about in those self-help books. With this newfound sensation, images of what she wanted to do with the rest of her life burst forth, a full blown vision.
Lillian returned from an errand. “Did you see Charity and Susie out there?” she asked, and answered herself right away. “Of course you did. You waited on them.” She washed her hands at the small white ceramic sink beside the door to her office.
Bryony had lost interest in Charity and Susie the second her future life materialized in her mind.
“I do want to make pies,” she said.
“I love your pies. “ Lillian rubbed her hands dry on a white towel. “Bring one in tomorrow.”
“You don’t understand. I want to make pies every day.”
“Like a business?” Lillian asked.
“Yes, like a business.” Like the business of how she would spend the rest of her life.
“All of a sudden you’re sure?” Lillian asked. “Where did this decision come from?”
“Pies,” Bryony repeated. They didn’t always come out perfect—crust baked a little too long, or filling a tad too sweet—but one could always adjust the amount of sugar or the temperature of the oven for the next batch. Unlike most of life, pies were within her control. She could do this.
Lillian looked at Bryony, one eyebrow arched, and asked, “What happened?”
“I’m serious, Lil. I want to make pies. Let’s talk.” Bryony grabbed two mugs and headed for the coffee pot.
When presented with the steaming coffee, Lillian took the mug, and with a deadpan delivery said, “Okay, if any other customers come in, I’ll have Mister Parker tell them to serve themselves and leave the money on the counter.”
Bryony rolled her eyes. “The morning rush is over. Let’s split a bagel. I’ll bring a few chairs behind the counter.” She was already moving toward an unoccupied table to collect the chairs.
“I’ll butter the bagel,” Lillian said, the concern on her face shifting to an expression of humoring one who may have gone bonkers.
Unconcerned about whether or not Lillian thought she was bananas, Bryony situated the chairs far enough away from the customers to allow for privacy, but close enough to tend to anyone who approached the counter. She settled onto one chair and patted the other. “C’mon, Lillian. Sit. Let’s talk.”
“What’s gotten into you?”
“I want to start my own business.” She remembered the strength behind Etta claiming her space. Bryony wanted her own space, too. She wanted to delight in the messy reality of what it would take to visualize and create a business doing what kept her centered in her own superpower. She wanted to bake pies.
Lillian sat against the chair back, her spine straight, hands clasped in her lap. “When did you decide this?”
“I have realized”—Bryony lowered her voice further—“that I am going to die an utter failure if I don’t do something meaningful, memorable, fun, starting now.”
“Excuse me.” Susie leaned over the counter as if searching for someone back there to help, though Bryony and Lillian sat in plain sight. “I’d like a refill. Can I get service here?”
Lillian started to rise, but Bryony rose quicker. “You sit. I’ll do it.” She took Susie’s cup, refilled it, and passed it back across the counter.
“Thank you, Bry,” Susie said. “Love your outfit. You always did know how to make classic seem a little less dull.”
All through high school, Susie had made fun of Bryony’s clothing. Was she still mocking her? Without thinking, Bryony quoted Coco Chanel. “‘Fashion has two purposes—comfort and love.’”
Susie looked up and paused, her fingers a few inches from the mug handle.
Bryony followed up with, “I go for both, and if it looks good, that’s a bonus. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“My, oh, my,” Lillian said when Susie was out of earshot, and Bryony again sat opposite. “What’s gotten into you? You’re on fire.”
“I’m tired of not being heard, of not making my mark in the world.”
“I think you can do anything you want,” Lillian said. “And if pie is your thing, then I’ll back you up in any way I can. I’ve been running this shop for ten years, and no one thought I’d make it.”
“No one?” Bryony asked. “Not even Rick?”
“He thought it would sink us both, but he loves me, so he took the risk.”
Bryony thought of Cal. He’d been the first to articulate the idea of selling pies, but she realized now the notion had been brewing in her since she started making the pie list so many years ago. Would he be as encouraging if he would be impacted by the outcome?
“Excuse me.” Susie leaned over the counter again. “Can I buy some bagels to go?”
Again Lillian started to rise, but Bryony moved faster.
“Sure, Susie. What kind would you like?” Bryony snapped open a paper bag and positioned herself in front of the bagel bins.
“Which are the freshest?” Susie asked.
“All made fresh today.”
“You make them here?” Susie asked.
“We have them shipped raw from a shop in Columbus, and we bake them here.”
Susie deliberated, one finger lodged in her right dimple.
Seconds passed. Bryony counted. By ten, her irritation decreased. By twenty-five, she wondered if Susie tested her. By forty, she knew Susie played some kind of game. By sixty, Bryony knew who was winning. She stopped counting and smiled. “Take your time, Susie. I’ve got all day.”
Susie flipped her hand away from her face and said, “Oh, it doesn’t matter. Put a variety in a bag. I’ll take a dozen.”
Bryony filled the bag and rolled the top to close it. Triumphant, she handed it to Susie and ran her card.
Before leaving the counter, Susie said, “I’m hosting a gathering at my parents’ house this Saturday night. A few of the girls from high school will be there. Would you like to come?”
In any other circumstance, Bryony might have pointed out the “girls” were in their mid-to-late fifties, but she stood on the polite side of the counter. “What a nice invitation,” she said. “I’m busy, but I appreciate your thoughtfulness.”
“Come on over if you change your mind,” Susie said. “You know the house, right? The party starts at eight.” She started to leave, but stopped, throwing a final jab. “Oh, and leave your husband at home. You are married, aren’t you?”
Bryony took a breath and held her ground. “No, not married. Hope you have a great time.”
Susie smiled and walked to the door to join Charity, who waved at Bryony before departing. Bryony lifted her hand, then returned to her seat facing Lillian.
“Where do I start?” she asked. “With a business?”
“CAL COME HOME”
After school, Cal stopped by BeanHereNow as he did every day. The pumpkin Bryony and he had carved sat among other Jack-o’-lanterns. Garlands of orange, red, and yellow leaves, gourds, black cats, and full moons decorated the front of the shop,
Unusually affectionate, Bryony’s fingertips feathered across his hand before clasping his credit card. She told him she had big news. He invited her again to come to Cleveland for the party on Saturday. She declined again, saying it was too soon.
She asked if he needed any help while he was gone. Would he like her to bring in his mail?
He liked her asking, but said his Saturday mail would be there when he returned Sunday night. He did not need help with his dog. He would take Bailey with him.
They spoke on the phone later in the evening about highlights of the day, and Bryony’s big news. She told him she was serious about starting a pie business, though she had no idea how her plan would evolve over time. Maybe she could start at home, make them in her kitchen, sell locally to people she knew.
He encouraged her, made her promise to let him taste test every experiment, and vowed to not blame her for extra pounds around his middle. She laughed.
