Too bad it’s so early that I don’t even pass anyone on the street to give them the purchasing option. Plus, there’s already a space for sale across the street from us. Pretty sure if someone was in the market, they’d snatch up that little shack in a heartbeat. And I must really be hungover to keep dwelling on this ridiculous hypothetical.
Instead of being relieved of my bakery-owner duties, I’m forced to nurse my head all morning as I’m rolling out dough, resisting the urge to toss up my cookies at the smell of donuts in the fryer.
Sometime around ten o’clock, after the morning rush has faded out and we are nearly sold out of our most popular donuts, I see Stacy enter the bakery. She’s wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap, and her blond ponytail is waving down her back with leftover curls from last night. She looks like a celebrity trying to fly under the radar.
“You’re brave, showing your face around here,” I say as she approaches the counter.
“Ugh. I feel like someone tried to kill me but then decided to keep me alive just enough so they could continue torturing my body slowly and painfully.”
“Really? I feel amazing.”
“You do?!”
I don’t have the luxury of wearing sunglasses to aid my pounding head, so Stacy has a front-row seat to my icy glare. “No! I got two hours of sleep before I had to wake up and open the shop. I swear, I’m never touching alcohol again. It’s prune juice for this grandma from now on.”
Stacy has the audacity to laugh, because apparently, she’s hoping to get punched today. “It’s your own fault. No one forced those last few Jell-O shots down your throat.”
“No, it’s your fault for planning a bachelorette party on a Sunday night!”
Stacy shrugs a shoulder. “Sunday nights are less busy.”
“Yeah, no kidding. No sensible person wants to show up to work hungover the next day.”
“Don’t be mad at me because you lost your cool around Ryan McHotChef.”
I point a finger at her. “First, you can come up with a better nickname. Second, you’re already on thin ice, ma’am. Keep it up and you’ll need to give your heart to Jesus.”
“You sound just like Bonnie.”
“Thank you.”
She chuckles and rounds the donut counter to stand next to me. Brave move. “Okay, time to get your panties out of a wad, because we need to talk.” Something in her voice makes me feel like we are about to break up. And I say so. I’m not encouraged when she sighs and takes off her sunglasses.
“Oh gosh. You are breaking up with me?” My voice is high-pitched and panicky.
She gives me a tense smile that does nothing to ease my anxiety. “No way, you’re stuck with me forever.” She pauses, and I can feel the giant but coming. “But…you’ll just be stuck with me from afar from now on.”
What! She really is breaking up with me! Oh gosh, does this mean I have to box up all the stuff she’s given me (I’ve stolen) and return it? She’ll have to pry that green jumper from my cold dead hands, though.
“Stacy, you’re freaking me out. What’s going on?”
“I’m sorry. I thought about telling you sooner, but I decided that a long, drawn-out goodbye would be too hard. Ripping off the Band-Aid is better for both of us.”
“I will shake you, woman, if you don’t tell me why the hell you’re ripping Band-Aids off me.”
Stacy’s face crumples as she rushes to me and wraps her arms around my shoulders so forcefully that I make an involuntary oof sound. We’re holding on to each other for dear life when the truth spills out of her. It’s all blubbering nonsense, but since we’ve been friends for so long, I understand every word.
“Logan got a job in California. It’s his dream position at a great hospital, working under the best thoracic surgeon in his field. We talked about it for so long, and he told me he didn’t want to take me from my dream job, but then I realized…I don’t think this bakery ever has been my dream. It’s yours, and I love you so much that I’ve just wanted to help you bring it to life. But now that that’s done, you don’t need me here anymore. So I told him to take the job. We’re moving after the wedding.”
“After the wedding!” I say, but it comes out like one long whine. “So soon.”
“I know. I’m so sorry, June. I don’t want to leave you, but it’s going to be really good for Logan and me. Doyouhateme?!” Her words are nearly indiscernible at this point.
Mine are no better. “AreyoukiddingofcourseIcouldneverhateyou!”
I tell her I want the best for her, and we continue to hold on to each other and cry for another few minutes. I’m just grateful that no one has come into the shop during this soap opera. Here, try our newest donut: french vanilla with a hint of “my best friend is leaving forever” tears.
Finally, we peel off each other and wipe our faces with the backs of our hands. Sniffles are our only words for another minute before I ask, “So, what about the shop?” I look around like it’s our child and I’m trying to decide if I want to let Stacy have it every weekend or just on holidays.
When she doesn’t answer right away, I look back up at her. Her face crumples again, but I give her a look that says Keep it together, woman. She takes a deep breath, and when her tears are under control again, she says, “I’m going to sell my half. I’ll be useless trying to help run the company from California, and it’ll be nice to put that money toward buying a house.”
It’s official. This day sucks. First, I wake up swaddled in Mr. Darcy’s suit jacket with the sinking realization that I’ll have to see him all week, and now this? I want to go back to bed so I can wake up again and realize it was all some terrible boozy nightmare.
“But who are you going to sell it to? No one will be as good a partner as you are.”
“Actually…I was thinking you should buy me out.”
“Me?” My eyebrows hit the ceiling.
“Yes—you. No one loves this shop as much as you. You should be full owner.”
“Full owner?” The words settle on my tongue like battery acid. Every decision would fall to me alone. Every failure. Every missed opportunity. Me. All me. Alone. “Nah, too much of a headache. I don’t want to bury myself in the upkeep of this place.” I try to sound nonchalant and even pick at my fingernail while I say it so Stacy isn’t tipped off to the panic welling inside me.
“What are you talking about? You’re practically running it yourself already. You’re the idea woman; I just smile and nod and stand here as eye candy for the clients.”
Not true. I mean, yes, the eye candy part is true, but the rest is false. Whether she knows it or not, Stacy is my rock. She’s the one who keeps me from making terrible decisions, doing too much too soon, and quitting when things get hard.
Because, here’s the thing, I’ve already tried to run a company on my own, and I failed. When Ben and I were still engaged, he helped me start a little flower truck business. It was cute, and I thought it was my dream job. I had visions of hipsters everywhere, lining up in their floppy sun hats and crushed denim jeans to purchase one of my bouquets.
It thrived for about three months. And then Ben cheated on me, and I canceled our wedding, and the entire business fell on my shoulders, and I let it go down the toilet. But no one knows Ben cheated on me. No one knows I found the text evidence of his affair in his phone. And no one will find out, either.
Why should I backtrack now? My life is good. Secure. I’ve even been thriving in the dating scene thanks to my only-one-date rule. Basically—it ensures I keep things fun and light and don’t get too attached to anyone again. If someone asks me out, I go and have an incredible time. But that’s it. No second dates.
And luckily, my family never makes me feel bad for being the only one still single and not having anyone to pose with for Christmas photos. Instead, the conversation goes something like this: We’ll get a family shot of Jake and Evie and the kids, and then June, darlin’, we’ll take your photo over there next to the Christmas tree in your cute sweater. Smile extrabig!
My Christmas cards from the past five years look like I’ve given up on the human race completely and married that Christmas tree, but oh well. Douglas Fir makes a wonderful spouse.
But anyway, I just didn’t have a desire to keep my flower truck going. And sure, maybe the depression played a big part, but what if that wasn’t the reason? There are more situations in my life that point to my “give up when things get tough” personality. I dropped out of college three credits shy of graduating to go to cosmetology school, and then I dropped out of cosmetology school to spend a summer in London “finding myself,” but then I had to come home because I ran out of money and clean underwear.
This donut shop is the longest success I’ve ever had, and I know it’s all because of Stacy. If I didn’t have her…well, I don’t know what would have happened by now. I’m happy in my single life, but owning a business is the one area of my life where I refuse to go it alone again.
Over the next ten minutes, I try convincing Stacy of all the reasons I don’t want to buy her share of the company without actually telling her the real truth. That I’m a liar. Not as tough as I look. That I still feel a little broken from Ben. That I don’t know how to trust myself anymore.
Finally, Stacy relents, and we agree that we’ll put out feelers for any interested parties and interview potential candidates. Then she flattens my already deflated heart to a pancake when she admits that she already has two meetings with potential buyers lined up for Wednesday who she found through friends of a friend. WEDNESDAY! As in, two days from now!
That’s not nearly enough time for me to sabotage Logan’s new annoying job in California while simultaneously finding him an equally prestigious position here that will pay even better than the other. I mean, who even wants to live in California anyway? Blue skies? Psh, hate them! Seventy-degree temperatures year-round? Gross! The potential of seeing a famous actor around any corner? Boooorriinngg.
It’s no use, though; Stacy is set on it. And after listening to her talk about the house they’ve been looking at online, and how they will live closer to Logan’s parents and start trying to have a family since they will have help nearby, and the school systems, and the restaurants, and the ocean, and the other obnoxiously wonderful things that I can’t even argue with, I relent and give her my blessing in the form of another bear hug.
