It’d been a wonderful experience for the first twelve years, but a big part of her was ready to move on.
Seven
Lauren woke at four, just as she did every morning to be at Mama’s Café by five. She needed to be there early to get her cakes and pies in the oven before the café’s doors opened to the public at six. Mama’s Café had never featured homemade desserts before Lauren started working there, but she couldn’t stand the idea of ordering cakes and pies and serving them as her own, and so within a month of starting at the café, she’d taken over the baking, adding her signature desserts from Summer Bakery, and it’d given her a sense of accomplishment, offering something truly fresh and delicious made with her own recipes, with her own hands.
Today, Lauren worked the morning shift, stayed through lunch, made sure her staff was fine closing, and then packed her favorite knives and cooking utensils into a cardboard box and headed to her car to make the drive home.
Just before pulling away from the restaurant, she sent a group text to her mom and Lisa. Leaving Alameda now.
It was the middle of the week, and there was no traffic. Leaving the city, Lauren rolled down the window, welcoming the fresh air.
The afternoon was sunny and warm, and it felt good to drive with the breeze blowing through the car, catching at her hair. Now and then she reached up to untangle the long brown strands that snagged on her eyelashes or the tip of her ear.
The drive from Oakland wasn’t particularly interesting, not until she’d reached Sonoma County and then cut over to Napa. It was around Sonoma that the land turned into undulating hills with secret valleys, hiding and then revealing farms and ranches, turn-of-the-century farmhouses, and dark green vineyards. Lauren smiled at one of the weathered farmhouses tucked back off the road, shaded by the massive gnarled limbs of a majestic oak tree. As a girl, she’d thought oak trees ugly; now they represented home. For many, Napa was synonymous with wine, but for her it was farmland, cattle, and trees, funny, bumpy, ugly-beautiful oak trees. The cattle would lie beneath them, seeking shelter from the sun, and rub up against them, scratching their backs.
Her parents, Rick and Candy Summer, owned sixty-five acres just outside downtown Napa. Her dad ran cattle on part of the land, and the rest had been turned into fruit and nut orchards. A couple of years ago he had been approached about planting grapes on one hillside. He wasn’t interested. The ranch had been in his wife’s family for two generations, and he thought they already had a good thing going.
They did, Lauren agreed, crossing the big iron cattle guard marking the entrance to their property just as the sun went down behind the hills. It was twilight as she pulled up in front of the house, and the lavender and gray shadows made the old single-story, three-bedroom house look even smaller and plainer than it usually did.
Her parents weren’t fancy people. They didn’t spend money on luxuries. Their biggest splurge in years had been adding some premium movie channels to their cable package.
Dad was on the porch waiting for her. Mom came bustling out when Lauren’s tennis shoes touched the front steps.
“How was the drive?” Dad asked, giving her a quick hug and taking her overnight bag from her.
“Easy. No traffic,” Lauren answered, turning to kiss her mom. “How are things here?”
“Good. I’ve a roast in the oven. Dinner’s almost ready.” Mom opened the screen door leading back into the house. “Lisa and Matthieu were going to join us, but Matthieu called a little bit ago saying Lisa wasn’t feeling so good and has gone to bed.”
“Is she okay?” Lauren asked, following her mom into the kitchen, where she appeared to be in the middle of mashing potatoes.
“Just overtired,” her mom answered, adding some more melted butter to the potatoes and turning the mixer back on.
“Two people didn’t show up for work today,” her dad added, entering the kitchen behind them. “So Lisa had to cover.”
Lauren peeked into the oven, spotted the garlic-studded roast, admiring its rich brown color. Mom was a great cook. She’d taught Lauren almost everything she knew about food and flavor. “I wish she would have called me. I would have come up earlier.”
“She didn’t want you worrying,” Mom said, adding a good shake of salt and pepper to the bowl. She looked up at Lauren. “The salad’s in the refrigerator, honey. Would you mind putting it on the table?”
“It’s time she cut back,” her dad said. “It’s not good for her, or the baby, to have that kind of stress.”
Her dad wasn’t looking at her, but Lauren knew the comment was directed at her. Meant for her. He was not happy she’d moved to Alameda last September, and even unhappier that she’d stayed. No one could believe she’d just up and left Napa. She had so much history here, as well as a thriving business. But she did go, and it felt good to go, and honestly, Lauren didn’t know if and when she’d ever come back.