Page 4 of Between Love and Loathing

“You have my number and Evie’s if you need it,” he said softly before I opened the door and got out.

My mother was listening and scoffed as she yanked my elbow to pull me to her side. “She won’t be calling. She’ll be just fine. You can leave.”

After a long look, he did. Rolling up his window, he disappeared down the drive and out the gates.

My mother wrinkled her nose and her hand tightened on my elbow. “Are you trying to leave us? Leave yourmother?”

“No. Of course not. The opportunity was—”

“She’s trying to leave us, Anastasia. I can’t stand even looking at her. She’s a disgrace.”

“Mother, I didn’t even do anything,” I whispered, hating how desperate I sounded.

“Exactly! You don’t ever do anything at all. That’s why Carl didn’t give you shit. I told you to be nice to him, didn’t I? I told you to date his friends, put on a good smile, not act like your ridiculous baking meant something. Look what it got you. A fucking bakery.”

Despite her harsh words, my heart swelled at the idea that the bakery could be my saving grace, that I could move away from her and work on my passion.

“Are you smiling right now?” She threw her glass down onto the cement, and I schooled my face immediately. My mother was the same height and same size as me, just much older. There shouldn’t have been fear there, but when she stepped toward me, I stepped back. “Do you think this is funny, Clara?”

“No. Of course not.”

“Anastasia, is your sister lying to me? Does she think this is funny?”

I glanced at my sister with pleading eyes. She knew I would never laugh at my mother. Anastasia sighed. “Clara, you have to learn. This is for the best.” With that, she looked at my mother and said softly, “She was smiling, Mother. She thinks this is a game.”

With that, my mother warped into a different woman. Gone was her soft tone, gone was her graceful movements, and gone was her will to reason. All that was left was a drunk monster who came at me fast and full of rage.

Maybe I should have fought her off, but this was a woman who had beaten me down for years, carefully crafting my fragile state of mind. As she hit me across the face, I was the one to apologize over and over.

“If you’re so sorry, you’ll go back and beg for more. That bakery isn’t an option. So, don’t even think about it.”

I thought about that bakery as my salvation every single day after that.

And I ended up signing on the dotted line.

* * *

Six months later

Dominic: This design for your bakery won’t work. Is that blown glass in the corner?

Clara: Yes. I can get it imported.

Dominic: Your answer should be no. The resort is based on architecture from the Milwaukee Art Museum. Modern. Sleek. White and black, Clara. Redo it.

Clara: Maybe I can be the splash of vibrancy and energy the resort needs.

Dominic: Maybe? I don’t enjoy splashes of color. This isn’t a kindergarten classroom. It’s a luxury resort.

Clara: Should I fly in and show you how I think it could work?

Dominic: I don’t need thoughts on how it would work. Renovations are going to take another nine months. There’s no point of you flying in now when we’re not working on it. Just seamlessly integrate minimalist aesthetics for a modern sophisticated look. Then, send it to my interior designer, Rita. She’ll be your contact.

Clara: But she’s not getting how to mix our two designs.

Dominic: There’s no mixing. If it’s absolutely necessary, I can have a conversation at eight tonight. I’m in town.

Clara: I have plans this evening, but I could do tomorrow.