Night Shift 2(30)

I do the only thing I can and emit a long, guttural laugh. One tinged with what sounds even to me like a hint of hysteria bubbling up with it. I’ve kept everything in—the hurt, the uncertainty, the loneliness over a life I know I didn’t want but still miss the everyday comfort of nonetheless—for so long, that the laugh turns into a gulp of a sob.

“Say.” There’s nothing but empathy in his voice when he says my name, and yet I can’t look at him. Can’t lose it when I’ve been trying so hard to keep everything together to prove to everyone, including my brother, that I made the best decision.

“No. I’m okay.” I clear my throat. Focus on scrubbing the colored icing from the surface of the countertop until the tears welling in my eyes abate. Wait for him to say more. Know he wants to. And yet when only silence weighs down the air around us, I’m forced to look up.

Ryder’s head is angled to the side as he stares at me with compassion in his gaze when he normally panics at the first sign of tears.

“You didn’t make a mistake. Not that I can see.” I appreciate the show of solidarity. His belief in my decision. But he’s my brother. He has to say it.

“Thank you. Just forget about it, okay? Filling out the RSVP card was a moment of stupidity on my part. What I really need to do is get back to work. The clock is ticking, and these cupcakes need frosting.” I pick up the piping tube without looking at him, survey the hundred cupcakes left to ice, and appreciate the need to focus on getting them done and delivered rather than Mitch and his copycat wedding.

My wedding.

Thankfully Ryder leaves me be and returns to the little alcove off from where I’m working in the kitchen. A heavy sigh of discord still comes every couple minutes when he finds something else I must have done wrong on the little spreadsheet he made me. But there is definitely a reason he’s the numbers guy between the two of us and I bake for a living.

I decorate to the beat of the music. A little Maroon 5 to lighten my mood as I add designs to cupcake after cupcake, stopping after every ten or so to flex my hands and stretch my fingers when they cramp. My mind veers to Mitch. I can’t help it. It’s almost as if it would be easier for people to understand if there was some huge smoking gun that ended our relationship, but there wasn’t.

He was perfect in every way. Polite. Successful. Kind. You name every characteristic of who you’d want to marry, and his country club mug shot would be posted right beside it.

But too much perfection is sometimes a bad thing. Especially when I’m far from perfect. How did I ever think I could marry him and live up to his and his family’s ridiculous societal standards and ideals of what is expected of a wife?

We were the classic case of it’s not you, it’s me. And I wear the big shiny badge taking the blame on that like there is no tomorrow.

But as perfect as he was, there had been a lack of passion. And not just the kind that happens when you’ve been with someone for years, but rather the kind that never was there to begin with. The kind I overlooked from day one because if a guy treats you as well as Mitch treated me, and is as good of a catch as our friends with wide-eyes full of jealousy kept telling me he was, then you’re supposed to overlook that, right?

But there was more than that. He never understood why I’d prefer to be up to my elbows in a vat of cake batter with pink frosting smeared in my hair, rather than with the Junior League celebrating the coming of spring at some kind of social event that was more of an excuse to buy a fancy new dress and red-soled shoes. Tea with his mother—where she talked endlessly about superficial topics—was enough to bore me to sleep, but spending a few hours volunteering at the local ASPCA, cleaning dog kennels and giving extra attention to the lonely fur-babies, was an afternoon well spent.

Because God forbid we had a dog of our own. To Mitch, dogs meant fur, and fur meant mess, and I was already messy enough with my frosting and sprinkles for him.

It wasn’t the difference in our upbringings, because opposites often attract, but rather it was so much more of day-to-day wants and needs.

His want for me to stay at home rather than work, versus my need to go out and create something for my own self-satisfaction. Our weekly bout of scheduled sex got the job done but never fulfilled that need within me to have the earth-shattering orgasm some of my girlfriends had bragged about. That want within me to smile automatically when I received a midday text from him rather than cringe wondering what I had done wrong this time.

I shake my head and recall the day the realization hit me out of nowhere. I was spending so much time obsessing about every single detail of our wedding, trying to make everything perfect, because if the wedding was perfect then the marriage was going to be too, right?

However, I wasn’t blind to my own bullshit. I had been so focused on wedding favors and lace and veil length that when I had a day to sit and do nothing while Mitch was off on one of his boys’ country club weekends, it hit me like a ton of bricks.

“A part of me—one I’m really hating right now—thinks you’re brilliant.”

Ryder’s words pull me from the same thoughts that have run a marathon in my head over the past six months. I stand tall and arch my back to stretch out the tight muscles caused by leaning over cupcakes and look toward him. My smile comes easily for the first time in the past hour. “It took you, what? Almost twenty-eight years to figure out what I’ve known all along—that I’m the smarter one?”

“Dream on.” He rolls his eyes.

“Then what are you talking about?”

“For the record, I still think your idea is horrible, but at the same time I think you’re onto something.”

Impatient for him to explain—since he always seems to take the meandering route to his point—I bite back my request for him to clarify. “About?”

“You’ve had the business for what? Ten months now?”

“Since it’s officially been up and running here at the store, more like eight. Why? What am I missing?” I set the piping bag down and lean back against the counter behind me.

“During that time, has it ever crossed your mind that the machine that is the Layton family may be influencing your sales?” I chortle out a laugh, immediately discrediting him. “No. I’m serious, Say. I know this is a big town and it’s just one family, but they are well known around here. Mitch’s uncle is a congressman and his father owns half the town. I think it makes more sense than not that they—”

“I doubt the Laytons are making a point of their busy lives to sabotage Sweet Cheeks. They’ve got small countries to run or something.”

“That’s not what I’m implying.”

“Get to the point then.” Patience. Gone.

“All I’m saying is when there’s a break-up, people back away from the person they think is to blame, right? They typically side with the one they feel has been wronged.”

I eye him suspiciously. “Should I assume you’re referring to me as being the one to blame?” Crossing my arms, I hate that his comment miffs me.

“Yes. And no.” He takes a step closer and dips a finger in one of my empty frosting tubs and licks the dab. “Mitch’s friends have already proven to be shallow and judgmental. Proof being the way they basically cut you out of their lives after you broke it off. So . . . what if we turn the tide?”

“Dude. I love you. I’m sure you have a point to make. But, seriously? I’m not following your reasoning and have what feels like a million cupcakes left to frost, so can you please get to whatever you’re getting to so I can finish them?”

“It’s all about perception.”

I snort and roll my eyes at him. “And how is whatever brilliant thing I said going to make my business suddenly successful by changing the perception of my ex-friends? After how they’ve treated me, I never really want to be friends with them again anyway.”

“Just hear me out.” He holds his hands up in front of him. His chill out, Saylor look is on his face. “Let’s say you do show up at the wedding with someone who is better looking, more influential, more something in their eyes than their precious friend Mitch. There’s no doubt in my mind that they’d look at you in a different light.”

“That’s ridiculous.” I sputter the words out and immediately chastise myself for automatically defending the very people who hurt me.

“To us it is, yes. We were taught not to pledge allegiance to the friend with the most money but after how they’ve acted, it seems they do.”

“Fine. Sure. If that’s the case, then it’s a good thing I no longer associate with them.” I turn my attention back to the cupcakes, not wanting to waste another thought on them.

“You’re completely missing what I’m saying.”

“Then just say it.”

“I think you should go to the wedding.” He smacks his hands on the butcher block for emphasis. “Walk in there with your head held high and act like leaving Mitch was the best damn decision you’ve ever made, even if seeing him feels like you’ve been punched in the gut. The fact that you’ve traveled thousands of miles and have enough balls to be there should make a huge statement in itself without you ever having said a word.”