Of Mobsters and Pastries

Valentina

October 1

I am envious of the trees in the Autumn season. They mock me with how easily they can let things go. Their leaves fall to the ground rendering them bare before the world and yet they do it without fuss, without pain, or shame. They simply accept it is time to move on and do it. Can trust the process and are rewarded with beautiful growth afterwards. Trees can follow the natural order of how things should be. But I wasn’t like that.

It had been ten years, and I was still holding on to everything that happened back then. Layered in years of dead leaves I could not shed. Sometimes I hated myself for not being able to follow nature’s example. It was an eternal Autumn inside me. Things stayed still and cold. Never changing. I’d give anything to be able to rid myself of the heavy layers and bask in the warmth of Spring. What would I grow to be if I could simply be more like the trees?

“Are you heading out?” I asked her, coming out of my daze.

“If you don’t mind.” Katie assessed the empty bakery before carefully adding, “I mean it’s kind of slow.”

“Slow” was a gentle way of putting it. It was dead. Not a single customer had come in for the last two hours. Maybe being the only business on the block open until 9 p.m. wasn’t the genius marketing move I thought it was after all. I just figured we would have the monopoly on coffee and killer baked goods after 5 p.m. Katie and I couldn’t be the only two people in the city who injected caffeine into their veins and inhaled chocolate croissants into the night. Could we?

I was sure we just needed to make a name for ourselves. We were still new to the area and had only been in operation for six months. There was still time. Not much of it, but enough for all this to turn around before I lost my dream of this place.

“Go ahead, hun. I can close. Are you meeting up with what’s his name, Jake, tonight?”

Katie scoffed. “No, I dumped his ass. He said he wanted to put his babies in me in the middle of us doing it!” She shivered and mocked throwing up.

I chuckled at her antics. “And I assume you took that as a threat?”

“Of course I did! Ain’t no man putting his tax deductions in me, as you know. So, if that’s what he is looking for then he best be looking somewhere else.” She shrugged off the notion. “So new Tinder guy tonight. Paul or Peter. Something with a P.”

“Something with a P indeed.” I smiled at her knowingly.

Katie took the dish towel in her hand and attempted to swat me with it. I barely dodged out of reach while laughing. “Shut up! God forbid a girl have hobbies! I’m due for a good cracking!” A wicked grin spread on her face.

“Well, think of me during.” I joked.

She responded like the little devil on my shoulder she is. “Or you could go on a date, you know? Knock the cobwebs off.” She took a quick glance at my crotch and smirked while readjusting her black-framed glasses. Somehow, they didn’t look dorky on her. She was the perfect blend of attractive and alternative with cliché short dyed-blue hair, a septum piercing, and porcelain skin covered in ink.

“You get cracked enough for the both of us. Now get out of here! Go enjoy your youth, you hussy.” I slap her on the ass hard as I pass her by.

“Don’t got to tell me twice.” She throws off her apron and puts on her green peacoat and wool gray scarf at lightning speed. “See you tomorrow, boss!”

“If you can still walk-” I mumble to myself. Katie practically sprints out the door leaving me alone in the bakery. My cute little bakery. My dream.

When Abuela passed, I was surprised to find she had left me as sole beneficiary of her will. We hadn’t spoken in person in ten years. Not after I ran away at fifteen. We only kept in touch via email in the last four years. She’d reach out periodically to request updates on my life. I’d indulge her with small details about my studies and work. Nothing too personal.

It was through that same email thread that her lawyer contacted me and had been kind enough to tell me she had passed. I wasn’t expecting anything, let alone the generous inheritance with a simple handwritten note he had mailed to me from her that read, Never Go Back.

She didn’t have to elaborate; I knew what she meant. And even if she hadn’t left me a dime, I never would have gone back. She had to know that. Perhaps she needed peace of mind that she did right by me before meeting her maker. Her intentions didn’t matter in the end. With the funds she left me, I was able to buy this place and open my bakery: Valentina’s.

Maybe the reason we are failing is because the name is misleading. Does it sound more like a fine dining restaurant or a Mexican taco stand more than it does a bakery? I named it after myself because I was proud it was mine. The first thing that ever was. Whatever happened with this place, this dream, at least I’d own it all. I’ll go down with it, like the captain of a sinking ship.

Looking around the lobby, maybe the lack of appeal to the public is that it is too much like me. This place is a physical explosion of my personality. From the small delicate tea sets I served coffee and pastries in, to the bookcases of classic novels tucked in each corner, to the Hobby Lobby cottage core paintings on the wall, and even down to the classical music playing 24/7, customers might find this place too old-fashioned. That is the story of my life. An old-fashioned soul finding herself out of place in a modern time.

You’ll find a sprinkle of Katie here too. In the murder-themed sugar cookies in the baked goods case, for example. She made little knives dripping with blood today. They were dangerously delicious. She was an art studio major and true crime junkie. The least I can do is let her express herself and use her talent here by decorating the pastries.

She had saved my sanity by quitting her job doing tattoos to help me out when Valentina’s finally opened for business. This place wasn’t her passion, but she was here by my side each day regardless. I hadn’t even asked her to come to work for me. She just volunteered because she knew I needed her. Katie had always been more of a sister than a best friend and I knew I was lucky to have her.

No time to get sentimental now. Or to go down an anxiety spiral of what I would do if this place did end up closing. Then what? I instead strolled over to the front door and flipped over the open sign. We were now closed for the night. I made sure to lock the door and check it twice. This isn’t the worst neighborhood, but it isn’t exactly the best.

Cue the cleaning music. 2CELLOS. “Vivaldi Storm” to be exact. Then I began cleaning like my life depended on it. Certainly, my livelihood did. I wiped down the tables, countertops, and display cases. Next, I put up the chairs to sweep the floor and was just about to begin mopping when I heard it.

BANG! BANG! BANG! The noise caught me off guard and I tossed the mop across the room in surprise! Clutching a hand to my chest, I tried to stop myself from having a heart attack! At the front door, I’m shocked to find a petite girl banging on the glass desperately with both forearms. “HELP! HELP ME! PLEASE! Please, let me in!” She sobs.

Her pleading eyes keep darting down the street. Something is after her. Why is she out here alone? What kind of trouble is she in? My mind quickly starts firing out questions as it simultaneously decides it doesn’t matter what the answers are because she is a young girl in trouble. My body remembers what this means and my heart agrees on what must be done.

I instinctively rush to the door and hurry quickly to unlock it. Her loud scream slices through the night when I am too slow. I watch helplessly as a tall male figure tackles her to the ground.