Page 2 of Theirs for the Holidays

“That’s nice of them.”

“Isn’t it? And, Violet, this is a nice dinner.”

I blink, confused. “Okay? Do you want me to bring something?” I glance around the bakery. Most things sold out today, but there are some cookies I could put together into a platter if that’s what she wants.

But she cuts that thought off with a snort. “No. I’m saying that you should dress nicely for tonight. Wear something you wouldn’t usually. We want this to be an elegant affair.”

I hold my breath and count to five. “Right. Okay. I will.”

“Good,” she says again. “Then we’ll see you tonight.”

Before I can say anything, Mom hangs up.

I stand there with my phone in my hand, breathing in slow and deep. The peace that I should have gotten from my evening routine is just a distant wish now, and while I would love to just go home and run a bath or crawl into bed with a book or something, that’s clearly not happening now.

I look around the bakery, glad that at least all the cleaning is done so I can lock up for the night.

I set aside the baked goods that will be picked up in the morning and grab my bag and my keys. I run my hand over the counter on the way out and something settles inside me.

Even if my mom can’t find her way to being proud of me for this—or anything else for that matter—it doesn’t take away the sense of pride I feel when I’m here.

This bakery is everything to me.

My grandmother left the space to me when she died, and I knew immediately what I wanted to do with it. Ever since I was younger, I dreamed of opening my own bakery, and this was the perfect opportunity to do that.

I poured so much time, energy, and money into making it the perfect space, and while it’s small and business has been an uphill climb, it’s everything I wanted it to be.

Living in a small town means business can be slow going sometimes. Especially since I was basically starting from nothing. But I have a set of customers who are very dedicated, and that means the world to me.

I wasn’t just trying to get out of dinner when I told my mom that the holidays are a busy time. I have a list of orders to fill, and people come pouring into the bakery every day to pick up pies and cakes for holiday work parties or cookies and cupcakes for their kids’ schools. Gifts for teachers or neighbors or little treats for delivery people. It goes on and on this time of year, and I spend most of my time thinking about that.

It keeps me busy, and it’s work I genuinely enjoy. It means something to me.

I sigh and let myself out of the bakery, locking up behind me and going to my car. I’ll have to move fast if I want to have time to shower and change before this dinner. The last time I didn’t shower before going over to my parents’ house after leaving the bakery, I spent the whole night hearing about how showing up with flour in my hair was ‘disrespectful.’ I’m not doing that again.

Just like winding down the day at the bakery, a hot shower usually relaxes me. But not tonight. I feel even more keyed up than before as I stand in front of my bedroom mirror, trying to figure out what counts as ‘dressing nicely’ to my mother.

The truth is, most of it isn’t even about my clothes.

Where my sister and mother are thin and beautiful, I’ve always been on the heavier side. I’m plus sized, with curves that aren’t easy to cover or hide. I have plenty of dresses and skirts that make me feel good, but my mother has always been critical about me. Her eyes skate over my body when she sees me, lingering on the places that make me the most self-conscious. If she can see the curve of my stomach or too much of my chest she makes that disapproving little click of her tongue and asks if I couldn’t find something more flattering to wear.

I don’t know what she wants from me, honestly. Should I just wear shapeless sacks of fabric to hide the fact that I’m not skinny?

I pull out a dress in a deep maroon color and put it on. It hugs my midsection a little and then flares out into a full skirt. The neckline is deep cut, plunging to show off a fair amount of cleavage. I make a face and pull it off. I can imagine what my mom would have to say about that.

The next outfit is a dark blue skirt with a white off the shoulder blouse. It’s a cute ensemble that I loved when I bought it, but the skirt is tight on my thighs, and the white blouse doesn’t really hide anything. I also can’t be bothered to wear a strapless bra for this.

I finally settle on a black dress. It’s still cute, but the neckline is higher, with a lace panel that shows off some of my chest but not too much. It hugs my midsection but flares over my hips and is long enough that it won’t ride up if I bend over. I put on some silver earrings and a bracelet and call that good enough.

Examining my reflection critically, I end up rolling my eyes. I don’t really know why I’m bothering in the first place. Mom said this was a ‘nice’ dinner, but it’s just going to be the family and Andrew and his dad. Andrew’s mother passed away three years ago, and while he does have three older brothers, they’ve all left Sweetwater Lake to do other things.

There’s no one worth showing off for, since Andrew won’t give me a second look, and I doubt my sister would care if I showed up in a trash bag for all she notices me.

Whatever. This is just going to have to do.

I grab my purse and get back in the car.

My parents’ house is the same as it always is. Elegantly decorated with a neatly maintained garden. Andrew’s car is already in the driveway, and I sigh as I pull in next to it, getting out and heading for the front door.