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“So there is something you’re not telling me?” she probes.
I shake my head emphatically. “No, I’m just making a point.”
Mom grunts thoughtfully, lost in contemplation once more. “I was supposed to be the comic relief, but it seems I’ve become the voice of reason instead,” she remarks with a laugh tinged with irony. “But you’re right, Love Bug. I’ll speak up from now on.”
“Great,” I say, feeling a wave of relief wash over me, knowing that sooner rather than later, I’ll likely find myself on the chopping block of the lunching empty nesters.
Chapter 16
Calypso Collapse
Gina
It’s Monday morning, and the line at the Calypso is out the door. Customers are clamoring for my rosemary and blackberry scones filled with creamy ricotta. I came in at 3 a.m. to start baking, just after Pete leaves and a full two hours before Kai arrives, to ensure everything is ready. Planning for high demand, I made five hundred scones, setting a limit of three per customer at $8.99 each, hoping to accommodate everyone. Yet they sell out within an hour.
Having purchased all the ingredients myself, I retain 75 percent of the profits, which means I’ve made $3,371.25 this morning alone. It’s a little less after deducting the cost of ingredients. Ever since the podcast took off, Mondays have become incredibly profitable.
“You made a lot of money this morning,” Sarah comments, clearly happy about my earnings.
“I know,” I reply with a happy yawn, struggling to keep standing after waking up at 2:30 a.m. I really should get some rest because I have to be back again at 1 p.m. to get ready for the dinner shift.
“I’ll input your sales into the system and get you paid before…” Sarah’s voice trails off as her attention snaps to something—or someone—who is just walking into the café.
It’s Steve, who usually doesn’t come in this early. He’s scowling as usual. His clothes are crumpled, face unshaven, and eyes are blood red. Basically, he looks as if he hasn’t showered in weeks.
“What is he doing here?” I murmur, barely moving my lips.
“Oh my God, he’s a train wreck,” Sarah whispers back.
It hardly matters if he notices us staring and whispering about him because Steve’s attention is riveted on the sizable crowd who has lingered for breakfast and coffee after missing out on the scones.
“He’s probably seeing headcount as dollar signs,” Sarah mutters under her breath.
Steve’s glassy eyes skip right past me and zero in on Sarah. “Sarah, I need to speak with you in my office,” he says and continues on his way.
Watching him, Sarah’s expression turns grim, as if she’s witnessing a disaster unfold. She squeezes my arm tightly. “Damn it. I’ll make sure you get paid for your podcast pastries this morning,” she assures me.
I manage a small nod, concealing my surprise. I had believed that the days when Steve nearly ran this place into the ground were behind us, especially with Jeremy stepping in as his reliable caretaker. It seems, however, that I might have assumed too much.
I can’t have any delay in the funds owed to me. I desperately need the money I made this morning. On Saturday, I went hunting for a new place to live and found a charming cottage with a sprawling, grassy backyard right by a lake. I planned to use today’s earnings as a security deposit.
Too exhausted to linger long enough to learn the outcome of Sarah’s meeting with Steve, I have no choice but to leave. On my way home, I feel a wave of relief wash over me as an electronic notification from my bank pings on my phone—the funds have been deposited. Now I can rest easy.
When I get home, I head straight to bed. Upon waking, life resumes its familiar pace. As the days unfold, my pregnancy sometimes feels almost imperceptible, likely because I stay diligently hydrated. Determined not to stress my body unnecessarily, I have also begun reading books on maintaining a healthy and happy pregnancy. I’m grateful that Dr. Haskell encouraged me to start yoga; the combination of breath and movement has significantly improved my mental health.
These days, thoughts of Randy rarely cross my mind, even when Pete comes into the bakery full of enthusiasm, often boasting about Randy’s latest dominating performance on the show. “He’s going to win it all. He’s unbeatable,” Pete declares now and then.
I find it easier to listen to Pete’s updates because he never mentions Deanna. For that, I am grateful.
On Thursday afternoon, after wrapping up my segment on the podcast, I find myself with a few hours to spare before I need to hit the road for Naomi’s law school graduation. It’s a bittersweet moment because I know it could have been both of us celebrating if I hadn’t dropped out. I can’t help but wonder: What if I had persevered? I remember slogging through legal briefs, so disinterested that the words seemed to blur into one another. If I had pushed through, would I have crossed paths with Randy? As I sit at my desk, looking down at my still-flat belly, where our child is growing, I ponder these what-ifs.
And yet amidst these reflections, I realize I haven’t even told my parents about my pregnancy. Today’s podcast episode was a tumultuous one too. Poor Javier was in the hot seat as Linda, his mother, publicly announced his looming divorce, declaring to everyone that he and his wife, Jessie, had married too young and that Jessie needed time to “figure herself out.” Then, turning the spotlight on me unexpectedly, she asked, “Are you single, Gina?” That question, so pointed, still hangs in the air.
I wish I could have pretended not to hear her, but they’ve caught on to that trick by now. Instead of giving a direct answer, I met her inquiry with a stern glare, silently urging her to move on from that subject. No such luck.
“Are you?” she persisted.
Annoyed, I responded sharply, “Am I what, Linda?” I was exasperated by her insistence.
