Testing Recipes for Disaster (Emberwood #2)

Chapter 40- Jeremy

I ’d slept like shit. It probably wasn’t the best idea for me to operate machinery today, but I was going to have to get it together. I got in the shower, hoping it might wash away everything that happened yesterday. When I got out, my heart leapt into my throat when I saw a notification from Laur.

LAUR: I’m still not ready to talk to you. I’m mad. But I don’t want to do the thing I always do and try to disappear. So, this is me saying I’m still here. Just not ready to talk yet.

JEREMY: Okay, Laur. I’ll be here when you are.

She didn’t write back, but at least I felt like I could take a deep breath for the first time since last night. Everything was fucked, but maybe not irreparably. I had to show her that I was in this with her and not treating her like a damsel or whatever it was that she’d said. So, yeah, I had to work out how to do that along with create the first wedding cake I’d ever made for something that wasn’t a class assignment. Not a stressful time at all. I sighed, shoved my feet into my shoes, and went to work.

The thought of going back to my apartment and either drinking until I fell asleep or staring at the ceiling wishing I had a time machine was unappealing, to say the least. Instead, I drove the forty minutes to the only house that still felt like the type of home people talked about with nostalgia in their voice.

I knocked twice on the screen door, knowing she was there because her car was in the open garage.

“Well, do my eyes deceive me?” she asked when opening the door.

“Hey, Grandma. Sorry for showing up without calling.”

“What an odd thing to apologize for. Come in. I’ve got chicken and noodles on the stove.”

She held her arms out once I crossed the threshold, and I bent down to let her hug me. Her house smelled like it always had—some mixture of melted butter and cinnamon, no matter what she’d been making. I followed her into her tiny 1960s kitchen and pulled out plates and glasses.

“Can I help with anything?”

“I’ve got half a loaf of homemade bread in the freezer. Take that out, and pop it in the oven for a few minutes.”

I shuffled around her in the tight space and got the bread set to defrost.

“So, I’m always happy to see you, Grandson, but even in my old age, I can tell you’re not here just to say ‘hello.’”

“On the contrary, being here in your kitchen solves a lot of my problems.”

I wasn’t lying. As I stood, there was a sense of being a kid and knowing my grandma would take care of anything I needed. It was warm and safe, and that fact alone had some of the ever-present tension leaving my body.

“Hmmmm. I don’t believe you, but okay. Do you want to eat on the TV trays and watch Murder, She Wrote ?”

“That sounds excellent.”

I took the bread out of the oven and marveled at the fact that hers was always better than mine, no matter what I did. If I were a conspiracy theorist, I’d insist that she left something out of her recipe when she gave it to me.

My grandmother’s chicken and noodles had magical properties that I was pretty sure not even Zinnia Crawford could match. The warmth spread from my stomach to the rest of me, and, for the first time in a week, it felt like I could take a break from my brain and watch Angela Lansbury solve a murder.

“How is the wedding cake coming along?” she asked when the episode was over.

“I think it’s going to be good. I hope, anyway.”

“Have you told your mama that you’re using my cake recipe? You know she never could quite get that caramel cake down, don’t ya?” She almost whispered that last part conspiratorially, and I laughed.

“I, ah, I haven’t talked to her in a bit.”

Every time I felt like I made strides with my mom, things seemed to stall on one of our parts, and then we had to start again.

“You know she’s as lost as you when it comes to how to bridge the gap between y’all.”

“It feels more like a canyon than a gap, Grandma. And I don’t know if I know that or not. Having a normal relationship feels like an almost impossibility at this point.” I hadn’t come to talk about my mother. The tightness in my chest was returning with a vengeance.

“Hogwash, Jeremy Ryan Ash.”

“Whoa, middle name.”

“Well, you’re being ornery as all hell, Grandson. Your mama misses you. The two of you need to have it out, that’s what I say. Stop all this tiptoeing around for no reason. And I know your daddy’s another story, but, well, he’s a proud man, and maybe he’ll get over it, and maybe he won’t, but that’s got nothin’ to do with you and your mama. She won’t be around forever, and take it from me; you’ll wish you’da fixed things when you could’ve.”

“Okay, Grandma,” I said, giving in. “I know you’re probably right. It’s just...hard. I worry if I try to ‘have it out’ with her, she’ll let me go for good.”

My voice broke in earnest at admitting that fact. I hated not knowing if my mother would be willing to push through the discomfort of confrontation for me. I hoped she would. When I was young, there was never a question in my mind that she’d do anything for me. It hurt that I’d fucked that up, too.

“Ain’t ever gonna happen, kid,” she said, her voice slightly softened after my confession. I nodded at her and started to clean up our dishes. “And you need to come around more often. I won’t be around forever either, y’know. I might write you outta the will.”

“You wouldn’t dare. I need that cast iron pan.”

She shot me a glare and turned on Jeopardy! while I loaded the dishwasher and put away leftovers. I hadn’t made a lot of right decisions lately, but this was one of them. It might not have made things better in the grand scheme, but it made getting through that night a bit easier.

BY MID-WEEK, I WAS ready to throw rocks at Lauren’s window and play her love songs on a boom box if she would talk to me. She had texted me every morning with essentially the same thing. She wasn’t ghosting me; we would talk soon. That was the only reason I wasn’t already there, rocks in hand.

Within the next couple days, I had to pick up my suit from the tailor, finalize the cake decorations with Sam, and write a toast for the rehearsal dinner. To say that the lack of sleep was catching up with me was a dangerous understatement. My nerves were shot. I laid on top of my bed, fully clothed and desperately in need of a shower after being on the garage floor all day in what was apparently the last throes of summer heat.

Why did you volunteer to make this wedding cake? And cookies for the rehearsal?

Because I wanted to do something for my friends, sure. But really because I wanted to do something else with my life . The more distance that came between me and the end of my program, though, the more ridiculous I felt.

Who leaves a decent job to go bake muffins?

The answer was probably no one. I’d been toying with the idea of trying to finance a little trailer and maybe have a traveling bakery. But I was so fucking exhausted from working my full-time job that I couldn’t wrap my head around the minutia of having my own business. Which was why working for someone else, like Delaney, would have been a great way to test the waters and get some insight into the licensing, budgeting, and overhead costs of running a place. It wasn’t like there were an endless number of higher-end bakeries to apply to within driving distance of Emberwood, and while six months ago, moving was a viable option, now it was not. The thought of leaving and not seeing Lauren put a physical pressure on my chest.

Fuck .

I closed my eyes and tried to remove myself from the whirlpool of disappointment threatening to pull me under. Instead, my throat tightened uncomfortably, and that feeling on my chest got heavier. I sucked in a breath through my teeth, and it wasn’t filling my lungs. Water collected in the corners of my eyes, and I heaved myself off the bed. This was clearly not working, and my body’s reaction was starting to freak me out. I watched the water from the pitcher fill up the glass for too long until it was overflowing onto my counter.

Shit .

I grabbed a towel to wipe it up and tried to force my ribs to expand to let air in. I stretched my arms above my head and pressed my hands against the low ceiling in my kitchen.

You’re fine. Get it together.

I gulped down the water and told myself it helped. I was probably dehydrated from sweating all day. A knock came from my apartment door, shaking me out of my daze.

Who is here at almost ten?

My phone confirmed that I had no notifications. I took the three steps from the kitchen to the door and wrenched it open, prepared to tell whoever it was to leave me to my nervous breakdown. But it was a head of red hair in a messy ponytail and a familiar face looking up at me with something like trepidation.

“Laur,” I rasped, my throat still too tight.

I leaned my forearm on the doorframe and swept her into me with the other arm. I didn’t care that I was sweaty, and I didn’t even stop to think that I shouldn’t. I needed to feel something real that was outside of my head. My body relaxed into hers when she fisted my shirt and hugged me back. Keeping her snug against my body, I walked us backward so I could shut the door. I pressed a kiss to the top of her head, praying to whatever deity would listen that she wasn’t here to break things off officially.

“What’s going on, Jer?” she asked, her voice soft as she pulled back only slightly and met my eyes.

I guessed basically enveloping her on my doorstep and not speaking was an indication that something was wrong.

“Nothing. I’m just so happy to see you.”

Partial lie, but also a lot of truth.

“Jeremy.” She shot me a warning look. “Do not make me regret coming here by doing that . What is going on?”

Fuck .

I was doing the whole thing she was mad at me about.

“I’m sorry. I...” I clung to her for a moment. “This is hard.”

I still couldn’t breathe, and my hands were shaking.

“Well, you look awful. Sit, and I’ll find you something to eat. Have you had water?”

I nodded about the water and let myself fall into my couch. She rummaged around in my pantry before joining me, folding her legs under her to scoot close to me and handing me some crackers.

“I... everything is falling apart around me, and I am making every wrong decision. I feel like an absolute imposter about everything I’m trying to do. From being your boyfriend to thinking I can make this cake, let alone change careers and buy a trailer to figure out how to launch some sort of ice-cream truck for baked goods. It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud, but I can’t fucking breathe .”

I couldn’t meet her eyes as I let the dam break. The words kept coming, and she didn’t interrupt me once. I wiped my eyes with the sleeve of my t-shirt and fisted my hands to keep the shaking from becoming noticeable. Except she opened them and held them tightly, which was decidedly better.

“I think you’re having an anxiety attack,” she said, still quiet, her fingers tracing circles into my palms.

That makes sense. I’ve never been more anxious in my life.

“I’ve read about some things to help if you want to try them? ADHD and anxiety disorders apparently overlap a lot.” She gave me a small smile and shrugged.

“Sure. I don’t think it could get worse.”

She walked me through some questions about things I could see, hear, smell, feel, and taste, and breathed with me. I did feel the weight on my chest lessen somewhat, and getting air was less of a feat.

“Better?”

“Yeah, better. I’m sorry.”

One I’m sorry wasn’t going to cover everything I felt compelled to apologize for, but it’s what I had at the moment.

“For what?”

“Ah, for ambushing you at the door with my meltdown and not even asking why you’re here. Among other things, but that seems most pressing.”

“Did you orchestrate an anxiety attack at the exact moment I got here to prove that you trust me?”

“Huh? No. Is that—”

“That was a joke, babe. Just... that would be the only reason you’d need to apologize for having an anxiety attack.”

I relaxed back into the couch.

“And I’m here because I needed to see you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I was congratulating myself on being such an adult and not disappearing. Except, I was still actively not dealing with anything, which is sort of the bigger issue buried beneath my tendency to go radio silent on people. So, I got in the car, and now I’m here. But we don’t have to deal with us tonight, Jer. I...it’s horrible to say, but knowing you’re a little bit of a wreck makes me feel not as bad about my own chaos.”

I huffed out a laugh. “I’m glad I could be of service. But I am not above begging you to deal with us. Tonight. Now. I can’t sleep, and I am so worried I’m going to pass out while I’m supposed to be giving a toast at the rehearsal.”

“Suit yourself,” she said, eyeing me warily. “I’ve been sitting at home, or really, keeping myself ridiculously busy to try to avoid sitting at home, but whatever. I’ve been feeling like I’ve taken so much more than I’ve given with you. And I hate it. I don’t want you to lose things or give things up because of me. And I don’t want you to want to do that. I don’t know if I’m making sense.”

“You are. For what it’s worth, I’ve never felt like I’ve given anything up for you. I want to be here. With you.” I kept my fingers running lightly over her palms while we talked.

“Let me be here, too. With you. I’m not only super-hot arm candy, Jer. I can help you with things. I just want you to know that.”

“I do know that, baby. You’re... you’re everything. Please let me prove that I can do this.”

“Only if you do the same. Let me in.” She stopped my fingers from tracing lines on her hands and held onto me tightly.

“If only you knew how far in my head you already were. But yes, I will tell you things. I’m all in.”