Page 1 of Theirs for the Holidays

1

VIOLET

The endof the business day always follows the same sort of rhythm. Counting and cashing out the register. Packing up any leftovers from the day’s baked goods to sort in the morning. Whatever is still good put on a discount and anything else donated to people who will appreciate the treats, even if they are a day or so old. Sweeping the floors, wiping down the surfaces, making sure everything is locked up.

It’s usually soothing, a kind of meditative thing, even if it is work. There’s something about a routine and doing it in the quiet of my bakery that always makes me feel at peace, no matter how hectic the day has been.

Of course, that usually requires there to be some peace to be found, and talking with my mother has a way of sucking the peace right out of any situation.

I balance the phone between my ear and shoulder, sorting scones into two separate bags while I listen to her go on.

“It’s one dinner, Violet,” she says, and the disappointment and exasperation are already heavy in her voice. “It would mean a lot to your sister for you to be here.”

I suppress a snort at that—barely. Isabelle won’t care if I’m not there. It’ll just mean more snide comments behind my back instead of to my face.

“Mom, I don’t know,” I hedge. “It’s the holidays, and you know that’s a busy time for me. I have to be up early in the morning to get a head start on baking. I’ve been nearly selling out every day this week, so I want to make some extras?—”

Mom cuts me off with a scoffing noise. “Your desserts can wait for one night, Violet. Just sell whatever you have left over from today and come be with your family. Or is this little business of yours more important than family at the holidays?”

I roll my eyes so hard it almost hurts. It’s funny how family is always weaponized when it comes to getting me to do something I don’t really want to do, but never when it comes to supporting me. My mom and sister have barely ever set foot into my bakery, and I know they both think it’s just a silly little business that I’m running. They don’t understand the work it takes or the late nights and early mornings.

Every time Mom calls it my ‘little business’ it makes me cringe, but no matter how often I try to tell her how much it means to me, she just doesn’t seem to get it. Probably because she doesn’t care and never will.

Why would she, when she can focus on the wedding of the daughter she actually likes?

“It’s still my job, Mom. Whether it’s as important as family or not, I have bills to pay, and I can’t just slack off. This is an important time for me.”

Not that that matters to her.

“It’s also an important time for your sister,” she fires back. “And frankly, Violet, she could use your support. She’s been so stressed out with the wedding planning and everything. Planning a wedding is a big deal, you know? She needs her sister.”

“She has Andrew,” I say, trying not to let the bitterness of that curdle the words in my mouth.

“Oh, honey,” Mom says. “He doesn’t know what your sister needs the way her family does.”

Then why is she marrying him?I think, but I don’t say it out loud.

Still, the thought is there. Andrew was mine first, technically. And now he’s marrying my sister. Anyone with any empathy would understand why I don’t want to be overly involved in this wedding, but empathy and my mother have probably never been formally introduced.

At least when it comes to me.

It’s just… exhausting. No one gave half a crap when my twin sister started dating my ex-boyfriend just a few months after our breakup. We were together for over two years. I thought we were getting serious, but right when I thought he was getting ready to propose, he broke things off with me instead.

I was devastated, and you’d think people would remember that.

“I really just don’t know what I could do to help,” I tell her. “And I’m really tired.”

“Violet,” my mother snaps, finally showing her true irritation. “Just be here for your sister. You’re a member of this family, and it will be nice for her to have everyone here. Is that too much to ask? Do you care so little for her—for us—that it’s too much trouble for you to come to one dinner?”

I sigh because now I’m caught. If I say I can’t come, I’ll be the bad guy. They’ll spend the whole dinner talking about what a horrible, bitter sister I am to not show up for my sister in her time of need or whatever. It’ll make everything harder than it needs to be, and things are already hard enough.

“Alright. I’ll be there,” I murmur, feeling the exhaustion weighing down on me heavily.

“Good,” Mom says, her tone immediately brightening. Nothing makes her happier than getting what she wants, after all. “We’ll all be together then.”

“Like the whole family, or?”

“Us and Andrew’s family,” she says. “They’re coming to show their support for Andrew.”