Page 7 of Gin and Bear It

The morning after the will reading, I get out of the house as soon as possible before Mom can see me. I’m not sure what Dad told her about the will, but I know my mother. She’ll drill me about every detail and worry even more than she already does.

My younger cousin on my mom’s side, Sarah Jane, opened up a bakery and apparently, Lady is a big fan of her pup cups, from what Mom has told me. I get Lady into the car and drive into town. I haven’t been yet, even though I’ve always gotten along with Sarah Jane.

This side of Jepsen, which sits on the border of the center of town and the historically Black side of Jepsen, has changed a lot since I was in high school. Old spots have either modernized or been replaced by new, trendier businesses. Sarah Jane’s Bakery is where an old restaurant used to be, and is complete with a hand-painted sign above the door.

Lady starts pulling on her leash the moment she sees where we’re going and bursts inside, tail wagging. It’s bigger than I thought it would be from the outside, with a small area for people to line up and a seating area that extends back in an L-shape to the side of the glass pastry displays.

It’s really nice. Sarah Jane has always been one of my “good” cousins—straight A’s, stayed out of trouble (unless I was involved), and all that—but seeing her with a whole business when she’s younger than me still feels surreal. People my age have genuine businesses, not failing bands.

Sarah Jane is behind the counter wearing a pink apron that plays off her strawberry blonde hair. She smiles when she sees Lady, then looks at me in surprise.

“Well, hi.” She rests a hand on the counter. “I heard rumors but turns out you’re really here.”

“Rumors travel way too fast around here,” I say. “I’ve been home for less than a week.”

“It’s a small town.” Sarah Jane shrugs. “Owning this place has me locked into all the town gossip now.”

Lady is about to pull my arm off, so I loosen her leash.

“I know, pretty girl,” Sarah Jane coos, grabbing a big-ass shallow bowl. She covers the surface with a thin layer of whipped cream. “You’ve been so patient.”

“Pup bowl?” I ask. Lady’s going to take off in the air ass first if her tail whips around any harder.

“If I give her a little cup she’ll be so offended.” Sarah Jane offers the bowl to Lady. “The size of the bowl gives her the illusion that she’s getting more. And she deserves more. Don’t you, Lady?”

While Lady scarfs down her pup bowl, I look through the display case. One side has basic stuff, like cookies and coffee cake, and the other has stuff that looks straight out of a French patisserie.

“Everything looks great,” I say.

“Better than those brownies I made you back in high school?” She looks up at me with a smirk.

“Yeah, because I’m guessing these won’t fuck people up.”

I convinced her to make pot brownies when we were teenagers, and it didn’t go well. Not that the brownies tasted bad—they just tasted so good that we got too stoned and got in trouble the next day. Mostly me, though, because I was the bad influence.

“They will, but only because they’re delicious.” She starts to pick the bowl up, but Lady shoves her face farther into it to lick microscopic bits of whipped cream. “Do you want to try something I’ve experimented with? It’s a savory monkey bread. I didn’t put it in the case yet since it’s kind of controversial for the Jepsen crowd.”

“Sure, yeah.” I glance up at the chalkboard menu. “And a cappuccino, I guess.”

“Okay, let me get it!” She perks up. “Here’s a cousin freebie in the meantime.”

She washes her hands, grabs a donut hole with tongs, and puts it on a little plate for me before disappearing into the back.

The bakery is quiet besides some conversation toward the back. Something about one of the voices is familiar, and I can’t help but listen in.

“It’ll be fine!” a voice I don’t recognize says. “You have time.”

“Six months,” the voice I recognize says, sighing. “Six months and the historical society will get the hotel.”

It sounds like Jada, and it has to be her—her family owns The Jepsen.

My neck gets hot even though I don’t get embarrassed easily. But I’ve fucked things up with Jada enough to warrant it. That near-kiss at Wes’s wedding has been haunting me, along with every other time I’ve fucked up with her in the past.

“They’ll maintain it and keep it open.” Her friend is trying her best to not sound pessimistic. “It won’t get torn down.”

“But it won’t have guests. And so many people will be out of jobs—including you.” Jada’s tone tugs at something that I’ve gotten a little too familiar with recently. That feeling like everything is a wreck and there’s no fixing it.

“Unless you find a husband.”