DAMON
“Man, you don’t sell chocolate chip cookies in here? The hell kinda bakery…” my brother Dorian started before being cut off by his wife, Reema.
“You just can’t act right, huh? Not even on baby bro’s big day,” Reema said, as she crossed the threshold of the shop holding their three-year-old son, Dorian Junior who we all called DJ.
“You know that husband of yours doesn’t have the sense God gave a fly,” I said, embracing her quickly and plucking DJ from her arms. I put him down so he could walk and held his hand as I brought him behind the counter with me.
The big day I’d been planning for the past six months had finally arrived, the grand opening of my baby, Sweet Thang Patisserie. After my mama passed a couple years back, I took a leave of absence from work for a few months to do an intensive program at a Parisian culinary school. In just six short months I’d become a master chef pâtissier, perfecting such delicacies as macarons, petit fours and all manners of tart. Falling in love with France, I decided to stay in Paris for a bit after finishing up my studies. Most of the time was productive as I studied under and worked for some master pâtissier, but I had also managed to get embroiled in a situation with an older, married French woman that ultimately ended me in licking my wounds and traveling back home to try to open up my shop here. It took a while for me to find the perfect space, but I’d finally lucked up on a spot.
It wasn’t in the best area of town—the person who had owned the space prior to me was selling due to not being able to justify keeping his business open with little to no clientele. I wasn’t too worried about that though because there were two things I knew for certain. The positioning of this area and its relation to the city meant that it would soon be on the list for gentrification and secondly, people traveled for good food. No matter what the surroundings looked like, if a place had a seal of approval from the right folks, I’d be sure to not have anything to worry about. This is why I planned a soft open for VIP—a few restaurateurs that I wanted to partner with who didn’t have very many dessert options, local food critics and bloggers, and of course my friends and family.
My family was being given a super early sneak peek at my new spot before everyone else. I’d actually told them to arrive a couple of hours before the rest of the crowd was due to arrive because I knew that would get them there about thirty minutes earlier than the official launch. One thing the Patterson clan was not known for was timeliness. My mother often joked that my dad’s entire side of the family would be late to their own funerals. My siblings and I inherited this awful trait honestly; no matter how hard we tried to be on time.
Dorian and Reema were the first to arrive, as usual.
“Where’s everybody, man?” Dorian asked as he walked around peering at the display cases, grimacing at the assortment of desserts. Dor was the eldest of us all. And the simplest. He hated when I started making desserts for the family because he was a plain vanilla ice cream and chocolate cake kinda dude, while I was making lavender honey ice cream paired with a pear tart.
“You know your family, bro. I’ll be surprised if they all show up before I shut things down at eight. I just got a text from Danny saying they’d be pulling up in about twenty.”
My initial plan was a family preview from four to five and then open to the rest of the VIP at five-thirty, wrapping things up at eight. I felt that would give people enough time to stop in, mix and mingle, try the desserts, and rap with me if they chose to. I told my family to show up at two and so far, at five, there was only me, Dorian, Reema and The Deej. Daniel and his clan weren’t far, as he’d texted me that they had just left the house. I hadn’t heard from Dominick, but that was typical. Mr. Sports Superstar often ran on his own schedule since retiring from the league. I expected these fools to be late, but not this damn late. I wanted them to arrive before the rest of the crowd because I made a family only dessert that wouldn’t be one of the offerings for the tasting. My mother’s absolute favorite thing to make was a lemon chiffon cake, so I made one for my brothers and I to share as a tribute to Mama. Guess that wouldn’t be happening tonight. Ah well.
“Famalam, what’s good?”
“Oh my God is that three time All Star MVP Dominick Patterson? Can I have your autograph?!” Dorian joked in a high-pitched squeal, going over to give Dominick a quick dap.
Dorian never failed to give our superstar brother shit about his level of fame. Despite having been out of the league for a few years, TMZ still managed to find him wherever he was at when he was in town.
“Chill out with all that, bruh,” Dominick said as he walked over to me, clapping me on the shoulder, “So you finally did it, huh? Sweet Thang? Beulah’s was too on the nose for you?”
I quickly slid from next to him, holding my hands up and turning my eyes heavenward, “I ain’t say it, Mama. Your name was and always will be Denise.”
My brothers and Reema all busted into laughter at my antics. I remember finding out our mother changed her name from Beulah to Denise when she moved up here from her small Georgia hometown and being shocked. Granny Ernestine let it slip after a few too many sips of her special moonshine she always managed to pack in her bag for her train rides up to visit. For days while my granny visited, my brothers taunted Ma, imitating that teacher from Ferris Buehler’s Day Off…’Anyone? Anyone? Beulah? Beulah?’ Mama was less than amused…and so were my brothers when she placed them on punishment for several weeks as soon as Granny E was on her midnight train back to Georgia.
Soon Daniel, Leila, and their tribe arrived. Now the gang was all here. What was once a peacefully quiet space had turned into a hubbub of activity as my nieces and nephews ranging from age three to twelve moved through the space—laughing, playing, and making a helluva lot of noise.
“Aight now that everybody is here, I got a lil something exclusive just for the Patterson clan,” I said, while walking to the back to retrieve the lemon chiffon cake that I’d made.
When I walked back into the room, Dorian yelled out, “Is that mama’s cake? Nigga you shoulda led with that instead all this other frou frou mess you tryna serve us!”
“Bruh, shut up and let the man cut the cake so we can get down,” Daniel interrupted.
“Before I cut the cake I just wanna say something…”
“Awww shit…here we go!” Dominick said.
“I’ll be brief so you can have your cake Hungry Man, damn! But for real I just wanted to thank all of y’all for having my back through this. I know y’all thought I was crazy moving to Paris on a whim, but y’all knew how important it was for me to honor mama’s legacy in this way. So…I…” I trailed off, feeling myself getting a little choked up.
I looked around to see my brothers and all their wives getting a little misty eyed, but the pride in sharing in my achievement was evident in their faces.
“Thank y’all…for real. I’m glad that I’m able to finally say I’ve done something to make mama proud. Aight…enough of the sappy shit, pass me a knife so we can grub!”
Instead of passing the knife to me, Reema quickly cut and passed out slices of cake to everybody. I held my breath as they dug in, waiting for their responses. I knew I could hold my own in the kitchen, but this damn cake had eluded me for years. I could never get it to be as moist, yet light as she did. I thought I had finally figured out the secret and having these fools taste it would be the true test of whether or not I’d really done it. I watched as Dorian put a forkful in his mouth, chewing slowly before taking off at a clip toward the back of the shop. Everyone else looked puzzled and I wondered if I’d done something wrong and the cake tasted terrible.
“Dor, where you going?” Daniel called out.
Just ask quickly as he disappeared, Dorian reappeared in the main area of the shop, casually finishing up his cake.
“What the hell was that, babe?” Reema asked.
“Man, I had to run to the back to make sure this fool hadn’t reanimated mama’s corpse because this tastes just like her cake,” Dorian replied.
I rubbed the back of my head, trying to suppress the grin that I felt growing across my face. If Dorian was impressed, that meant I really did something because his finicky ass always had something to complain about. Everyone else’s mouths were too full with cake to verbally confirm that they enjoyed it, but their nods of agreement and smacks of contentment let me know that it was a hit.
***
Soon the press and other VIPs that I’d extended invitations to had arrived and the place was a buzzing with activity. The two pastry school students I’d hired for the night were doing double duty as they manned the counter and display cases. I’d been busy all night—talking about my confections, my inspiration for opening the bakery, and culinary background. About an hour into the party, I was talking to a reporter from a small local paper when I saw one of the finest women I’d seen in a while walk through the doors. She was dressed down—in leggings and a flowy tank top that definitely emphasized her expansive curves. She came in with a kid who immediately made his way over to Dominick, dapping him up. Dominick’s face lit up in recognition as he greeted the kid and his mom. Interesting—big bro didn’t mention bringing a plus anything with him. I quickly wrapped up my conversation with the reporter and made my way over to where Dominick was still talking to the woman.
As I walked up I could hear Dominick saying, “Here’s the man of the hour now. Let me introduce you.”
The way that they were standing had her back to me and when she turned around she was even more stunning up close. Pretty peanut butter toned skin; big doe eyes, a pert, slightly upturned nose and a plush pair of lips that had a slight natural pout that made them look hella kissable. I was staring and it was obvious as both Nico and the woman looked at me expectantly. I shook off my stupor and extended a hand.
“Damon Patterson, owner and operator of Sweet Thang Patisserie.”
“Patricia Payne, nice to meet you,” she replied, placing her hand within mine.
That quick connection sent a spark that I knew she felt as well due to her quick recoil.
“Likewise. Any friend of Nico’s is a friend to us all,” I said.
“Oh I don’t know that I would call us friends. My son,” she said, gesturing across the room to the kid I’d seen her walk in with, “plays in quite a few leagues at Indoor Sports. So we’re in there quite often.”
“Oh…well in that case…let me show you around; tell you about the place and my treats.”
“Actually we were just on our way out. Dominick let me know that you guys weren’t really opened for business quite yet and that we were crashing the party. I just saw the crowd and assumed. I’ve been low key stalking this place since the coming soon signs went up. I don’t want to impose though, so we’ll just come back when the official opening happens.”
“Oh it’s no imposition at all, sweetheart. Stay. Enjoy the treats. And hopefully, this won’t be your last time in here.”
She smiled, inclining her head in acknowledgement as she walked away. My eyes tracked her every step as she moved across the room where her son was engaged in conversation with my nephew JR. She spoke to and soon struck up a conversation with my brother Daniel’s wife Leila, but suddenly as if she still felt my eyes on her, she looked over her shoulder. We made eye contact, my gaze direct with interest. She just gave me another brief smile that almost looked like a smirk and resumed her conversation. Dominick had long left me and was now conversing with Daniel. I walked over to where they were standing.
“Yo, what’s good with ol’ girl? That you?” I asked Dominick.
“Oh now you wanna ask after you were macking the hell outta her,” Dominick said, lowering the pitch of his voice, “Damon Patterson, owner and operator of Sweet Thang Patisserie. Danny, he put the voice on. You know which one I’m talking about, too. That one he used to put on when he was tryna mack Pastor Wiley’s daughter Fredericka. You remember that shit?”
The two of them immediately burst into laughter as they recalled my thirsty ass childhood wannabe mack days.
“You big mad or nah? I was trying to be considerate because I’d really hate to be Mister Steal Ya Girl to my own flesh and blood, but that woman is going to be my wife. Mark my words.”
“Damn bruh, it’s like that?” Daniel asked.
“Already,” I replied.
***
The night had come to a close and the patisserie was empty and silent. The soft opening had been a success and I was riding high off the good vibes that had been coursing through the place all evening. After years of floundering and trying to find my place in the world, it seemed like everything was finally clicking into place. I wiped down the front counters, secured the deadbolt on the front door, and headed back to the kitchen to make sure everything was straight in there. A lone slice of mama’s lemon chiffon cake was on the counter, half eaten with a fork resting atop it. I swiped a finger through the icing, tasting it and sighing when it still tasted good.
I couldn’t believe I’d finally done it. Not just mastered this cake but pulled off finally opening the bakery. I needed to take a minute and breathe it all in. Everything I’d dreamed about for so long—while getting cussed out in French by an old dude with lopsided mustache who also made the lightest, most scrumptious puff pastry I’d ever tasted—was on the cusp of happening. It only took an existential crisis and slight mental breakdown at twenty-six to propel it all into happening. Now, at twenty-nine, with all of the bullshit behind me I was looking forward to this new adventure.