Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 407(@200wpm)___ 326(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
My mom rushes out from the back and charges me, hugging me so tightly that I nearly get winded. I hug her with just as much force, though, backpack and all. There’s laughter, tears, and a whole lot of, “Oh my baby, I’m so glad you’re back. I missed you so much!” It all goes down.
My dad hugs me with just as much feeling when my mom steps back to allow him access. She takes my backpack the same way she used to when I was a kid getting home from school. There were a few years of my life when my parents kind of embarrassed me with how much they loved me, but I got over that fast. I’m their only child. They should be allowed to express their love. I know a lot of people in the world who would do anything for their parents to hug them or tell them that they’re loved, just once. I know how blessed I am.
I can feel the awkwardness dial up as my parents turn to Luca. We’re out on the freaking sidewalk having a family reunion, and he’s just standing there.
Dad doesn’t allow the silence to linger. He doesn’t throw himself at Luca in a big hug like he did with me, but he does open his arms and step over to him before grasping his shoulders in his big palms. “Luca.” It’s the way Dad says his name that undoes me and brings on a fresh wave of tears.
I’m all raccoon streaks of eyeliner and mascara again. I should have known not to put any on this morning. Waterproof, my ass. I can see the black smears in my reflection glimmering on the bakery’s window.
“We’re so glad you’re both here,” Mom says through tears that she quickly swipes away. “Come in. We have everything set up in the back.”
Luca’s eyes flick to my face, not entirely in alarm. I smile and nod, trying to telegraph to him that this will be okay. I can feel it. There’s a sense of peace and contentment wrapping around all four of us that I’ve rarely experienced before. My dad won plenty of prizes and blue ribbons for his pies in the past, and he held the Pie Master title for a long time, but in comparison, even those moments of joy don’t come close to this.
Dad steps back and clutches his hands in front of his white apron like he needs to physically restrain himself from reaching out to touch Luca again to ensure he’s real. Unshed tears glisten in his eyes. My dad is an emotionally available man, but there have been very few times I’ve seen him cry before.
“Let’s bake a pie, yes?” Dad asks in a voice made rough with emotion.
Luca sighs, releasing a breath that spools out and out. “Here, when you said you had everything ready in the back, I was thinking imprisonment and torture.” His lips pull back in that lopsided grin that melts my insides and my heart.
“Just fruit, flour, sugar… the good stuff,” Dad assures him.
It would be too much to touch Luca in any way. I might be a terrible actress, but I can get through the pie. I need to get through the pie. This is for my dad and Luca. Anything I might want comes after this. The reconciliation between these two, between all of us, is so much more important.
I take Mom’s hand instead and start telling her all about the tree that fell on my rental car, the party bus, and the emergency stop at the laundromat because I’d gone through all my clean clothes. All the stuff I didn’t tell her over text because I knew she’d worry. She’s still worried, but at least it’s all in the past now. I can tell the story with humor and laugh about it in hindsight.
Dad and Luca follow us back.
None of us misses the harsh rasp of indrawn breath as Luca crosses the threshold. Some of the equipment has been updated over the years, but like the exterior, the interior hasn’t fundamentally changed.
He stops, reaching out a hand to the brick wall right by the doorway. I can practically see the film reel of memories that play behind his eyes.
“Just like old times,” Dad says, clapping him on the back. “You’re welcome here, Luca. You always were. The past is the past. Today, we just make a pie. Just for the sheer love of it. I haven’t done that in a very long time.”
Luca swallows audibly. His face twists no matter how hard he tries to keep his emotions from showing. His eyes darken to the same rain-washed green of the trees that surrounded the cottage where I stayed.
Mom pulls out one of the three wooden chairs we keep back here. Baking is hard work. You’re on your feet a lot, but these are for those few rare, precious moments of sitting and catching your breath.