A Long Time Coming
: Chapter 7

Lia: You never told me where you’re headed tonight. Care to share with a soon-to-be-married old hag?

Breaker: You know, with that ratty old robe you like to wear still, you do resemble the true definition of an old married hag.

Lia: I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.

Breaker: You need to up your standards.

Lia: So where are you going?

Breaker: I don’t want to tell you.

Lia: Why not . . . wait, is it embarrassing?

Breaker: No, but you’re going to give me shit for it, and I don’t want to hear it, so I’d rather pretend I didn’t tell you and move on.

Lia: Breaker Pickle Cane, you tell me what you’re doing with Birdy this very instant. I demand it.

Breaker: Oh, you demand it?

Lia: Yes, on the fake breasts of Mrs. Doubtfire, if you don’t tell me, I’m going to do something to your apartment when you’re gone, and you’ll have no idea what it is because it will be so subtle that you wouldn’t even notice.

Breaker: Firstly, we NEVER swear on Mrs. Doubtfire’s breasts, that’s . . . that’s just criminal. Secondly, DON’T YOU DARE touch a thing.

Lia: Do you really think your capital letters will deter me?

Breaker: They should. There’s venom behind them.

Lia: I’m unfazed.

Breaker: You’re a tyrant. These demands are impossible to live with.

Lia: Just tell me. Pleeeeeeeeeease.

Breaker: You’re annoying.

Lia: I know, now stop avoiding the topic and just tell me what you’re doing tonight.

Breaker: Fine. We’re going to some cupcake class that her friend is teaching. Her friend wanted to fill the classroom to show her boss she’s valuable, so Birdy recruited me.

Lia: A cupcake class? But . . . you hate baking.

Breaker: I’m well aware.

Lia: Like you hate baking so much, you refused to put icing on your toaster strudel. Your exact words were “I want nothing to do with the process. Just put it in my mouth.”

Breaker: See, this is why I didn’t want to tell you.

Lia: I’m just stunned is all. I didn’t know Birdy mattered that much to you.

Breaker: She sounded desperate. She pleaded to the nice guy. What was I going to say? I don’t bake?

Lia: That’s what you would have told me.

Breaker: You’re different.

Lia: If that’s the case. Can we take a baking class to learn how to make a wedding cake?

Breaker: That would be a hard no.

Lia: You don’t love me!

Breaker: Shut up. You know I love you more than anything.

Lia: More than your Star Wars stamp collection?

Breaker: Of course. I stuck that in storage. Clearly, it doesn’t mean that much to me.

Lia: More than your Jack Skellington mug?

Breaker: Naturally. I love the mug, but I don’t see it every day like I see you.

Lia: Okay . . . do you love me more than your signed Lord of the Rings poster?

Breaker: Oooo, now you’re testing me. How about this, you come in a close second.

Lia: Oddly, I accept this.

Breaker: LOL. Okay, Birdy’s here. Have to go.

Lia: Have fun! Send me pictures.

“I KNOW this was kind of out of the blue, but thank you for agreeing to come with me,” Birdy says as she ties on her apron.

Mine is already on, and I desperately want to strip it off me.

I hate aprons.

I hate flour and sugar.

I hate spatulas.

I hate oven mitts.

I hate everything on the table in front of me.

Nothing about baking is magical to me. Not a single thing. The only great thing about the act of baking is the result, but I would rather purchase the result than make it myself. There are too many risk factors making it terrible that I’m not willing to take a chance on.

Just buy . . . always buy.

“Not a problem,” I say with a smile, even though I know the smile is fake.

“Baking is not really my thing,” Birdy says as she adjusts the apron at her neck. “But Callie just got this job, and she really wants to impress her boss.”

“I would be the same way.” I offer a nice smile. I pick up the cat-themed spatula and say, “At least the theme is pretty cool.”

Birdy tilts her head to the side. “Is that sarcasm?”

I shake my head as I take in the pink space. Walls covered in pink murals, aqua and seafoam-green utensils, as well as appliances with cats everywhere you look, Pussycat Cupcakes really went all out. “I like cats. I had one growing up named Jiggles. He was my best bud.”

“Really?” she asks. “You’re being serious?”

“Yeah.” I chuckle. “I guess it would be hard to believe, but yeah, Jiggles and I were quite the pair. He would follow me around outside while I flew my model airplanes, and at night, he would cuddle on my pillow.”

“Aw, that’s so sweet. What happened to him?”

“Feline cancer. But he lived until he was eighteen, so he had a nice, full life.”

“Okay, so maybe I don’t feel that bad about taking you to a cat-themed cupcake place then.”

“Oh no, you should still feel bad.” I wink at her just as her friend starts the class.

I’m surprised that the cupcakes are already made. For some reason, I thought we would be baking from scratch, but what I come to replace is this is a decorating class, so we learn to make the frosting and how to pipe it onto the already cooled cupcakes.

After a tutorial on how to make the frosting, I dip my finger along the side of the mixing bowl and take a taste of the buttercream.

“Not bad.”

Birdy does the same, and I watch as she slips her finger past her lips and lightly sucks on it.

Nothing about it is sexual, nothing at all, but for some odd reason—maybe because it’s been some time for me, or because she is really fucking pretty—watching her suck the frosting off her finger makes the back of my neck sweat.

“Ooo, that’s good.” She wipes her finger on a towel. “What color should we do?”

Gathering myself, I say, “Well, we could go with the proposed color, pink. Or we can be rebels and pick something else.”

“A pink pussy . . . cat seems too generic.” Her pause makes me laugh. “But blue . . . that’s clearly not an option.”

“No one likes a blue pussy . . . cat,” I say, causing her to laugh this time.

“Green makes me think ill. And a sick pussy is not something I want to eat.”

“Or lick,” I add.

“Exactly.” She taps her chin, a smile playing on her lips. “What about red . . . uh, wait, I take that back.” I laugh out loud, grabbing the attention of the other bakers. She rests her hand on my arm and says, “Shhh, you’re gathering attention. If we’re straying from the pink pussy, we need to be stealthy about it.”

“Sorry, but definitely not red.”

“That was a terrible suggestion. How about orange or yellow? Those feel right.”

“How about both?” I ask.

“Now, I think you’re onto something.” She hands me a bowl and says, “I think if we split the icing in half, color one orange and one yellow, and then put them in the frosting tube at the same time, then we will get some sort of tie-dye effect.”

I blink a few times at her and say, “Uh, I thought you weren’t into baking.”

“I’m not, but I do aimlessly scroll on Tik Tok. The algorithm has decided I like to watch baking videos. And secretly . . . I do.”

“It probably decided that because you watch the video in its entirety instead of swiping up. This knowledge is on you.”

She cutely raises her hand. “Guilty. But I don’t watch for the education. I watch because I have a problem.”

“I can see that. You know, this makes me think of you differently.” I joke around as I stir in the yellow dye while she does the orange.

“I completely understand. If you want to leave, I won’t stop you.”

“You know, leaving would be the right thing to do in order to teach you a lesson, but I think I’ll be the bigger man and stay.”

She smirks. “Don’t act like you’re staying for me. You’re just staying for the pussy cakes.”

I laugh out loud again. This time, it disrupts the class enough for me to have to apologize and then turn back to Birdy, my cheeks flushed.

“THANK YOU FOR COMING TONIGHT, it meant a lot to Callie,” Birdy says as we reach her white SUV.

“You know, I think I will say this once and only once because I don’t want to give off the wrong impression about my likes and dislikes for baking, but I had fun.”

She clutches her chest as she leans against her car. “Please, spare my feelings from the lies.”

“I did,” I say, moving in closer. “I had a lot of fun hanging out with you. Wasn’t as awkward as the double date.”

She reaches out and plays with the hem of my shirt. “Yeah, double dates are always a treat, especially when one half of it is a blind date.”

I set the box of extra cupcakes on top of her car and move in closer so she has to tilt her head back to look up at me. “So are we still on for a hike and birdwatching? I didn’t deter you with the way I took down three cupcakes in one sitting?”

Her lips tilt up. “No, watching you munch on those pussies actually made me want to hang out even more.”

I chuckle. “You know, you could have shown this sense of humor on the double date.”

“Oh my God, I would not be caught dead saying anything like that in front of Brian. He’s so . . . stuck up, and my brother is just the same. Whenever I’m around Brian, I know I have to keep it together. Act posh.”

“Why would you want to act like someone else, not be your true you?”

“Easier that way. I’d rather spend a few hours with my pinky up, acting fancy, than answering to my brother why I said pussy in front of Brian.”

I push a strand of hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I can see not wanting to get into it with your brother. I often have that thought cross my mind. But even with a filter, my brothers and I seem to get into it somehow.”

“Same.” She sighs. “But to answer your question, yes, I still want to go hiking with you. And maybe, you know, if you have availability for dinner or something this week, I could be free.” She winces and says, “That sounds so pathetic like I don’t have a life, but who am I kidding? I don’t do much other than work out and go to work, so . . . if you are free, I’m pretty sure I would be too.”

“Not pathetic,” I say as I stare down at her lips, this overwhelming urge pulsing through me to kiss her. “Honest, and I like that.” I lift my finger under her chin and hold my breath as I wait for her to signal that this is okay. That I can kiss her. She wets her lips and tugs on my shirt, indicating she wants this just as much as I do.

I lean down, bring my nose close to hers, and pause for a moment, giving her a second to be ready before I press my lips lightly against hers. It’s a feather of a kiss, nothing too intense, nothing open-mouthed. Just sweet.

Just enough to curb that urge.

Just enough to get a taste of her.

When I pull away, she smiles up at me, her eyes glimmering under the city lamps.

“I’ll call you,” I say as I pull away and grab the cupcake box. I stick one hand in my pocket and watch as she opens her car door.

“I’m holding you to that.” She steps into her car and then shuts the door. I take another step back, and while I watch her drive away, I let out a deep breath as I replay the kiss in my head.

It was good.

Sweet.

Yet, why didn’t I feel anything?

LIA RUNS her fingers along a bouquet of hydrangeas while The Beave corners the florist about arrangement options. “So are you going to just ignore the fact that you went on a baking date and not tell me anything about it?”

I shrug as I pick up a pink hydrangea and put it up against Lia’s perfectly freckled face. “Nothing to really say. It wasn’t really baking, as it was frosting cupcakes.”

“And . . .” Lia asks, trying to get me to talk, but . . . I don’t know. I don’t really want to talk about it.

“And I brought cupcakes home,” I answer and put the flower back in its pot.

“Uh-huh, so you’re telling me that’s all that happened? Nothing else?”

“I mean, we talked and laughed, and she was pretty fucking funny. But yeah, that was it.”

“Did you kiss her good night?” Lia asks, her voice dropping an octave.

I pause because this feels weird. I don’t know why this feels weird. Things with Lia never feel weird, but talking about Birdy does.

“Um, from your pause, I’m going to assume that’s a yes.” She lightly pushes at my shoulder. “Breaker, why aren’t you telling me what happened?”

“Because,” I say, turning away from her.

“Because why?” she asks.

“Just because.”

She moves around me so I’m forced to look in her eyes. “That’s not an answer. You tell me everything, so why are you being weird about this?”

“I don’t know,” I say while exhaling and pushing my hand through my hair. “Probably because it feels weird. Okay? This whole dating thing feels weird. And I don’t know how to handle it.”

“Well, not talking to me doesn’t help. We tell each other everything.”

“I know.” I dip my head back and look at the sky for a moment. “Fuck, Lia, I kissed her last night because I really wanted to.” I look her in the eyes now. “All night, she made me laugh, and she’s beautiful, and at one point, she sucked on her finger, and it made me fucking sweat.” Lia smirks. “So when it came to saying good night, I wanted to kiss her, and I did.” I tug on my hair. “And it was good. Sweet. Not too intense, just perfect. But I . . . I felt nothing.”

“Nothing?” she asks.

I shake my head. “No, there was no spark, no desire to push her up against the SUV and further the kiss. It was just sweet.” I shake my head again. “I think there’s something wrong with me. This is why I don’t date because I never feel anything for anyone. Never. It’s always just . . . average. And Birdy is not the type of girl I take home for the night and not see again. She’s the dating type.”

“Are you two done conversing over there?” The Beave calls out while snapping her fingers. “I have important things to discuss.”

Lia turns toward me and says, “This conversation isn’t over. You hear me?”

“Yeah, didn’t think it would be,” I say as we head on over to the florist.

“Ophelia, please don’t drag your feet. It’s unbecoming.” Lia clamps her lips together, probably to keep her from snapping back. The Beave’s mood has carried over from yesterday, and it has been fucking unpleasant. “Now, I just spoke with the florist and she said she can accommodate our order of red roses, but we need to act quickly.”

“Red roses?” Lia sneers. “Those are so formal.” She hates red roses. Thinks they’re so cliché. Can’t say I disagree.

“Exactly, this is a formal wedding, Ophelia. What do you expect to have at the wedding? Daisies?” The Beave snorts as if that’s the most preposterous thing she’s ever heard.

“As a matter of fact,” Lia says, “I was thinking daisies would be perfect. They were my mom’s favorite flower.”

The Beave pauses and then clasps her hands together. “Ophelia, I appreciate your dedication to your mother’s favorite flower. Very admirable, but this is a wedding, not a memorial. This is a celebration.”

Oh fuck.

Lia gasps. It’s under her breath—subtle—that you almost don’t hear it, but it’s just enough for me to notice.

Just enough for me to know what’s going to happen next if I don’t interject.

“Mrs. Beaver,” I say, stepping in before Lia loses it. “I don’t want to step on any toes here, but I believe it would be a kind and serving thing to honor Lia’s late mother by including daisies. It would be a way to include her mother since she can’t be here.”

“But roses and daisies don’t go well together.”

“I can include daisies in the bride’s bouquet,” the florist says.

“I don’t need a bouquet,” Lia says, causing The Beave to snap her head in her direction.

“What do you mean you don’t need a bouquet? What on earth would you possibly walk down the aisle with?”

“I made a bunch of knitted flowers with my mom and grandma. I’ve saved them so I could make a bouquet out of them one day.”

The Beave is silent, and then slowly, she starts to chuckle.

The chuckle grows.

And grows.

It’s probably the most offensive thing I’ve seen. This woman thinks she has class, but she actually has none.

“Knitted flowers? For a wedding? You can’t be serious.” The Beave waves her hand in front of her, dismissing the whole notion.

“I’m pretty sure she’s serious, or else she wouldn’t bring it up,” I say, losing my cool.

Lia gently places her hand on my arm, letting me know she has this. “Mrs. Beaver, I appreciate your need to make this a beautiful wedding, but you need to remember that you’re around to see your son get married, and my parents aren’t, so incorporating them into the ceremony and reception is important to me.”

“And it should be important to you as well,” I say, backing her up.

Sensing the tone, The Beave straightens. Her expression morphs into one of understanding, and she quickly slips back into the prim and proper woman she attempts to portray herself as. She turns to the florist and says, “Well, if we could replace a suitable way to incorporate daisies without looking tacky, we would appreciate it.”

The florist glances between us, looking entirely too frightened. “I believe we can.”

“What a nice compromise,” I say as a bee buzzes near my head. I swat it away. “I think daisies and roses will go well together.”

“Especially white roses,” Lia says.

“Oh, come now, you can’t be serious,” The Beave says. “White roses? You might not be getting married in a church, but for heaven’s sake, white roses? We’re not lying to our guests.” I watch a bee float around The Beave’s head, but either she doesn’t care or has no sense for nature because she doesn’t move.

“Why would we be lying to the guests?” Lia asks.

The Beave folds her hands together and says, “Ophelia, I have turned a blind eye to your nighttime activities with my son, but not everyone is as forgiving. White roses symbolize purity, and I’m afraid you’re anything but pure.”

I watch as Lia’s cheeks grow red with embarrassment. “I don’t think that matters.”

“Oh, it matters,” The Beave says.

“Okay, then maybe pink,” Lia suggests. “Doesn’t that have to do with grace or something?”

“Grace and sweetness,” the florist adds.

“That would be good then,” Lia says just as the bee flies near her head, and I wince, knowing she’s going to freak out. “Oh my God,” she squeals as she shifts up against me, ducking.

“What on earth are you doing?” The Beave asks.

“It was a bee.” It buzzes near her head again, and Lia squeals once again while jumping toward the left. “Don’t sting me,” she calls out.

“For heaven’s sake, it’s just a bee. If you can’t handle that, how are you going to get married in the gardens at the club?”

“As long as they don’t—booooother-her-her me,” Lia says, hopping around again when the bee goes for her ear. “It’s dive-bombing me. It knows I’m weak.”

“Ophelia, you’re making a fool of yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” she says as she straightens up, just in time for the bee to hit her in the ear. “Mother of God!” Lia screams as she flails her arm out to the side, unfortunately striking The Beave right in the boob.

Plop.

And together, we all watch in horror as the fragile woman flails her arms up in the air, a croak falling off the tip of her tongue as she teeters backward.

There’s no stopping the inevitable.

We all see it happening.

She’s headed right for the stacks of hydrangeas.

And with a crash, a groan, and a tumble, the nursery falls silent as The Beave sinks into the table of flowers.

Buckets of water fall everywhere.

Hydrangea branches snap.

And a wince felt around the world appears on all of our faces.

“Get me out of here at once,” The Beave says. I rush to her side and help her out, only to quickly go to Lia’s side for protection because the inner depths of hell are about to part, and I’m pretty sure if I don’t hold on tight enough, Lia is going to be sucked in.

“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Lia starts, but The Beave holds her hand up to stop her.

Straightening her jacket and wiping the water from her face, she looks up at Lia and says in a voice I think was only intended for nightmares, “There will be red roses at the wedding with very minimal daisies. End of discussion.” And then she takes off, her assistant at her side.

We stand there, a touch stunned as the florist leaves as well. After a few seconds, Lia says, “That, uh . . . that wasn’t ideal.”

I can’t help it. I let out a low chuckle and say, “Who knew you would get to second base with your mother-in-law today? What did it feel like? In my head, they’re just sacs of dust.”

She coughs a few times. “Is that what I’m tasting? Boob dust?”

I let out a wallop of a laugh as I drape my arm over her and guide her toward the exit. “Just be glad your arm didn’t fly low, or else you would have a mouthful of vagina dust.”

“Vagina dust . . . isn’t that just Old Bay seasoning?” she asks, causing me to snort.

“Oh fuck . . . I love you.”

“YOU KNOW, I’ve never seen someone’s blood boil in real life. You always hear the idiom, but you never actually see it.” Lia takes a bite of her burrito as we sit outside Alberto’s, one of our favorite places to go when we’re downtown. “But wow, we witnessed The Beave’s blood rippling through her ghastly veins today. It was something else.”

“If looks could kill, we’d both be dead.”

“Dead on the spot. Did you catch the look the florist gave us? I’m pretty sure she wanted to shrivel up and disappear.”

“I think that’s how everyone feels when The Beave is around.”

Lia takes a sip from the large lemonade we decided to share. “Thanks for sticking up for me. I appreciate it.”

“You don’t need to say thank you. That’s what a Pickle of Honor does.”

Lia chuckles but then grows quiet. “Do you think it’s stupid to do the knitted flower thing?”

I shake my head. “Makes me like you that much more.” Her eyes lift to mine. “I think it’s really sweet, and if I were in your shoes, I would want to do the same thing. This is an important day in a person’s life, and it’s only right to honor those who can’t be there. I think your mom would love it if you walked down the aisle with something you made together.”

“Agreed.” She sets her burrito down. “I keep thinking about the walk down the aisle and how my dad would have held me tightly, told me how much he loves me, how proud he is, and how he always dreamed of that day. The day he could give me away. And now . . . now I won’t have that. I’ll have to make the walk alone, and that’s daunting.”

“I’ll walk you down the aisle,” I say. “You won’t be alone. You’ll have me.”

“The Beave would never go for that, as you’re supposed to go ahead of me since you’re the Pickle of Honor.”

“By the way, if Pickle of Honor isn’t on the programs, I’m going to rage.” She smirks. “But I don’t care what The Beave wants. I want you to be happy, to feel like you’re surrounded by the people who love you, and if that means I’m double downing on responsibilities, then who fucking cares?”

“Thank you. Ugh, I hate that this has all been so morose. I feel like when you get married, it should be this big celebration. So far, it’s felt like a version of hell. The only reason I’ve made it through these past two days is because of you. I’m pretty sure I would have folded after the guest list number.”

“It will get better. Once all this planning is out of the way, it will be smooth sailing.”

“I hope so.” She lifts her burrito and takes another bite. “So you going to finish that conversation about Birdy?”

“What else is there to say?” I ask with a shrug. “I think I’m going to give it another chance, just because she’s cool and I had a good time with her. Maybe it was all the sugar I ate, but I told her I would take her hiking, so I’m going to do that, and we’ll see where it goes from there.”

“Why are you pushing it? If you don’t like her, you don’t like her.”

“It’s not that I don’t like her,” I say. “I actually do. I just didn’t feel anything when I kissed her, and I expected more, you know? Maybe I was nervous. She was tugging at my shirt, and that was hot, so maybe I got in my head.”

“She was tugging on your shirt?” Lia asks, her burrito halfway to her mouth. “Like to take it off?”

“No, like to keep me in place. I liked it. And her lips were super soft. I wonder if I open-mouth kissed her if that would have been better?”

“You didn’t open-mouth kiss her?” Lia asks. “So it was just tight-lipped?”

“Yeah, like a peck.”

“Well, that’s probably why you didn’t feel anything. A peck doesn’t give you much room to interpret attraction.”

“Huh.” I scratch the side of my jaw and grab our lemonade. “You know, you might be right.”

“I know I am.”

“Don’t be humble or anything.”

“When have we ever been humble around each other?”

“Never,” I answer. I lean back in my chair. “What are you doing tonight?”

“Headed over to Brian’s. Things have been a little sticky lately between us, and he’s feeling it, so he asked me over. He’s making dinner.”

“Did you talk to him about the glasses?”

She wipes her mouth with a napkin and nods. “Yeah, he admitted to saying that to his mom.” Fury boils in my stomach. The man is still such a douche, and I can’t ever see myself liking him. “But apologized. I don’t know. I feel like this is when all the rotten things come out in a relationship. It’s best it comes out now, right? So you know you can work through all of it.”

“Yeah, probably.” Just then, my phone beeps with a text. I glance down and see that it’s from Huxley. “One second.” I hold up my finger and then read the text.

Huxley: Can you come over to my place tomorrow? We have some updates I would like to go over.

I text him back quickly.

Breaker: Sure. What time?

Huxley: Nine. See you then.

I glance up at Lia. “Looks like Huxley has some updates.”

“Oooo, Shoemacher is going down.”