Copyright © 2017 by Cameron Collins; All Rights Reserved.
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Chapter One: Zara
The reading of the will was yesterday, but it didn’t say anything that I didn’t already know. It was more of a ceremonial thing because I was the only one there. My Mom has left me the bakery – Baker’s Corner – and whatever else she had, which wasn’t much. We weren’t poor, but it was a bit of a struggle getting by. I’d always known one day the bakery would be mine, but I never suspected that that day would come so soon. Since I can remember, it had been the two of us – my Dad died not too long after I was born. Our life together was a happy one, though. I knew that she held on to the sadness of my Dad’s death because she never got serious with anyone else, but we had each other and we had the bakery. Mom practically raised me in the kitchen. We spent so much of our time baking together, coming up with recipes to impress all our patrons with, decorating cake, indulging in too many sweets… It was a good life.
Lately however, things haven’t been going so great. When Mom got sick, we had to take our time away from Baker’s Corner and we let some of the finer details slip – or to get more to the point, it’s kind of run down now. The light that used to fill it – the light that used to be Amber Coleman – wasn’t there anymore. Things hadn’t been going well for a while before then, but her departure accelerated the shop falling apart. I want to have that vivacious spirit she did, but I’m a different person. I’m a little more subdued. I hadn’t even begun to think about how I would do any of this without her and now I’m worried I’ll just mess it all up.
Today is the first time I’ve been inside the bakery since my Mom passed away. I’ve barely made it inside, everything looked too sad. I just stare at the shop from the doorway, wondering how it all slipped through my fingers. Maybe I sound dramatic, but it really feels like a large part of my world has crumbled. And to top of the sadness, I can’t even turn the lights on because the electricity bill hasn’t been paid this month… or last month. That’s how strapped for cash we’ve been. I have no idea how my Mom did it all these years. She kept the books hidden from me and now that I have full access, the money pit that we somehow dug for ourselves in very apparent to me. Getting out of it is going to take a lot of work.
There are so many things that got us to this point. We were already suffering before Mom got sick. All these trendy coffee houses and modern diners were coming to town and they catch the eye more than our simple bakery. There was never enough money for an upgrade and everything snowballed until we got to this very point. I’ve been trying to find ways to get the bakery back on its feet, but the funds just aren’t there. No bank is going to lend me the money and there is no one for me to turn to. There’s just me…
I go upstairs to the apartment above the shop. Collapsing on my bed, I throw my hand over my eyes and go into deep thought. I’m running through my options and there isn’t much I can do here. My sleepy little town is nice, but if I want to get my Mom’s bakery back on its feet, I’m going to have to do something bold. Something that I wouldn’t do under normal circumstances. What I need is money and quite a bit of it. My main skill is baking and I’ve heard that there are always people looking for good bakers in New York. The city is known for having an array of food options, why couldn’t I be one of those options? It’s a long shot, I know, but it could work. I know it could. I have enough money to get me through a month or so in the city. I can just get a cheap place and start looking for jobs, immediately. I’m an amazing baker – someone is bound to hire me…
I sigh deeply and really consider what I’m saying. It’s borderline insanity. New York City isn’t an easy place to be. There are millions of horror stories about the trials and tribulations of people trying to catch their big break in the city. But there are also those few tales of those who made it to the top. If I work hard, I could be one of those success stories. If I work hard, I can save the bakery. There are a few things I’m going to need to square away here before making the move, but I can get it all done within a week. I just need to stick with this goal and stay on track. There can be no distractions. I fall asleep thinking about my plans, too tired to bother with dinner tonight.
The next morning, I start packing for the move. As I put my clothes into suitcases, all the possibilities before me start to turn the wheels of excitement. I’ve never been too far away from home. Even my college years were spent an hour’s drive away from my Mom. Going to the city is a huge step, but I’m ready. I believe in myself and that’s enough to get my feet moving.
The week goes by quickly, my preparations taking even less time than I originally thought. I don’t have to worry about rent or anything because we – or I own the bakery and the apartment above it. I asked our next-door neighbor to look after the store, making sure nothing goes wrong. Finding an apartment was surprisingly easy. I got lucky and found a relatively cheap studio in Brooklyn. It feels like a good omen that the preparations for the move went by so easily.
I pack everything into my car and drive down to New York. It takes a few hours and I have to make a couple stops along the way, but it’s a pretty calming drive – at least before getting into New York. I think about everything I’m going to do once I have the money. Some fresh paint and new furniture will really liven the place up. I’ll keep the basic design scheme my Mom had, but make it a little more modern. Maybe I can even come up with a few new recipes to entice people. Our regulars would always get especially excited when we had a new menu item. Crafting different baked goods was my specialty. I just had a mind for it. My Mom would always come up with the names though. But, I guess it’s all on me – at least for now. Maybe I’ll be able to hire a second person once business is booming. It’s all getting me so… delighted! But that’s for another time. First, I need to get the shop up and running again.
Driving in the city, though – that was hella stressful. Everyone seems to be in such a hurry – even the pedestrians. They got so close to my car, I was worried I was going to hit someone. By the time I got to my new apartment, my heart was pounding. And – to my dismay – I live on the top floor of a building with no elevator… Maybe that’s why it wasn’t too expensive. I take a deep breath and lug my suitcases upstairs. Some movers got here before me and brought up all heavy furniture. I feel a little bad because I didn’t give them any exceptional tip. I hope they weren’t too tuckered out by the stairs… I mean, there wasn’t too much for them to deliver. I only had the necessities brought from my apartment back upstate. I didn’t want to disturb the living space that my Mom and I had built over the years. It’s a bit… obsessive, I guess, but I’m not quite at a point to change too many things – at least what I’m able to keep preserved and for now that’s our apartment. But the lack of furniture I had moved doesn’t do much to make me feel better about making the movers climb so many flights.
Thankfully, for myself, one of my new neighbors helps me out with some of my heavier bags. I tell her to come over anytime for some thank you treats and then I unpack everything. And I mean everything. I want to get it out of the way as soon as possible. I don’t want to be living out of bags and boxes for my entire stay here. Plus, I don’t have too much stuff which ends up being perfect because the apartment is a lot smaller than I expected. Maybe I should have researched the listing a little more thoroughly. It’s only me though, so I don’t have to worry too much about the lack of space. While it’s not the worst thing, my first day in New York is a little trying. I’m so tired, my bones are aching. After getting everything put away, I fall on to my bed. I’m so tired and sweaty, I just want someone to throw ice all over my body. But if this is the work I have to put in to get Baker’s Corner back on the map, I can suck it up.
After some time with zero movement, I get up and pour myself a glass of water. Tomorrow, I’ll have to start going around to the different cafés in the city. This means I’ll need to have cake samples. I get all the ingredients I need and get to baking. It’s close to midnight by the time I finish, but the samples are perfect. Plus, it feels good to be baking seriously again. It sounds a little weird, ‘baking seriously,’ but it is my passion, so it’s what I want to be doing with my days. It’s an old recipe that my Mom and I used to make – it’s actually the first cake we baked together. It’s light and fluffy, a nice treat to go with an afternoon coffee or tea. I store the cake in the fridge and start cleaning up. There’s some leftover frosting that I take with me to the couch. I turn the T.V. on and flip to a random channel. Some old movie is playing, but I’m not paying too much attention. I didn’t even get a spoon to eat this frosting with. Just some old-fashioned licking it off my finger. It’s probably super gross, but I barely care. I’ve been on a rollercoaster of emotions and right now I’m in a dip of sadness. All the baking made me happy in the moment, but now I’m alone in my apartment. I’d wager a guess that this current sadness has to do with being so far away from my home. But the frosting is helping. I should probably not be eating all this unhealthy food. It’s not like my body needs the extra sugar… Not that that is really going to stop me.
Before I know it, I’ve fallen asleep, the T.V. quietly buzzing in the background and my finger resting in the frosting bowl.