How to Bake a Perfect Life Page 27

  “I used to imagine a little more than that.”

  I take off his shirt and lean in to kiss the hair across his chest, inhaling the scent of him, so concentrated here. His skin is warm. His hands skim down my hair. His mouth presses into my temple, and it feels holy and quiet and perfect. He pushes down my panties until I can kick them off. Last is my bra, and he’s slow with it, his hands grazing my breasts, but then it, too, is gone, and I’m standing naked before him, clad only in my hair.

  His eyes glitter as he pulls it around, great swaths of hair that fall over my shoulders and arms, breasts peeking out. “You look like a painting, a pre-Raphaelite woman.”

  And in that moment I see myself through his eyes, and it’s much sweeter than the reality. I hold out an arm. “Come to me, Jonah,” I say, and he comes, tumbling me backward to the bed, where we start to laugh and kiss and kiss and laugh, tangling limbs, naked chests pressed together. I wrap my legs around his jeaned hips and push him up to look in his eyes. “There’s something wrong with this picture.”

  He goes to his knees and gestures. “A little help, maybe?”

  Laughing, I reach for the buttons and skim him out of his jeans and underwear, inclining my head as his flesh leaps out. “Nice,” I say, and circle it with one hand. He allows it briefly, then he’s covering me with his long elegant body and our mouths join, and the mood shifts. I feel it, as if there is light edging around the bed, soaking into us, almost a sound. He touches my face, whispers my name, kisses my neck, and I kiss his chin and his neck, thinking of the self I was at fifteen, wanting him so much it practically flattened me every time I saw him.

  And it has not changed. I’m breathless with wanting him, craving the union that comes at last when he pulls me closer and touches me with his fingers to smooth the way. Then he bends over me, bracing himself on his elbows so I can look up at him.

  Jonah.

  “Keep your eyes open,” he says, and slides into me. It’s the most intense moment of connection I have ever had with another person. It feels as if our bodies blur, that I am him and he is me, and our skin is melting into each other’s. Still I keep my gaze on his deep-gold eyes, until he leans down and kisses me and seals us together, moving us so tightly into a unit that I know it cannot ever come apart. “Jonah!” I cry, and then I’m tumbling into the union, and from here it feels we are eternal, that we have been together in some way for all of time, traveling as a pair.

  When we are finished, I keep my arms tight around his neck, panting. Our skin is slick with sweat and I can feel his heart pounding against me, mine practically shattering my ribs. Suddenly I’m shaking head to toe, and he simply gathers me up, enfolds us within the blanket, and caresses my back. “Shh. Shhh. Shhh.”

  Finally my body seems to absorb the shock of it. “Jonah! Oh, my God!” I put my hands in his hair, on his face. “I can’t believe it.”

  He smooths hair away from my face. “I know.”

  I lift up on one elbow, touch his mouth, his chin, his throat. His eyes are calm and deep. Tender. “That was so much … it was …” I shake my head. “Maybe it was just me,” I finally manage. “But I’ve never felt anything even remotely like that in my life.”

  “It wasn’t just you. I’ve been waiting for that for a very, very long time.”

  I fall against his chest, nestling my head into the hollow of his shoulder. “Me, too.” I close my eyes, breathe in. “Me, too.”

  Katie

  Katie awakens in the dark with a deep, throbbing pain in her low abdomen. It’s just her period, she knows that—she’s heard her mom complain about cramps often enough—and she takes it as a badge of honor.

  But she didn’t expect them to be like this, as if there is a fist with giant knuckles in her belly, twisting and turning very slowly, each knuckle rubbing along some sore place. She pulls her knees up to her chest and tells herself to go back to sleep. It’s no big deal. Only cramps.

  Maybe she should go down and ask Ramona for some help. Katie’s embarrassed, but it was okay this afternoon, and Ramona was really nice, showing her all about the whole business.

  It is still hard to get used to, though, the feeling of something between her legs like that. Tears well up in her eyes, and she dashes them angrily away. All these emotions are so stupid! She feels like they’re something outside her, demons taking over her mind and body. She got so mad at Lily over dinner and she tried to hide it, the red tide rising through her so she was like a cartoon character with steam coming out of her ears.

  It isn’t fair, though. Lily knew how much Katie was looking forward to the flower show, and it won’t be the same with Ramona, who doesn’t even like flowers that much! The loss of it makes more hot tears stream out of her eyes.

  A wave of knuckles rolls through her belly, and she makes a noise and flings back the covers. Merlin trots over and they pad downstairs, but before she gets to the bottom, she hears voices. Ramona.

  And a man.

  In Ramona’s room.

  Wrapping her arms around her middle, Katie turns and goes back upstairs and climbs into bed. She wishes for her mother.

  Merlin appears at the side of her bed and woofs softly for permission to come up. Ryan told her never to let him on the bed, but sometimes he feels like her only friend. Tonight she’s so miserable she just doesn’t care about any stupid dog-training rules. She pats the bed beside her and says, “Come on, baby.”

  Even though he jumped a fence, he always does a funny thing with his chin to jump up onto something like this. He does it on the couch, too—a tap with his chin to the surface of the bed, and then again, and then he readies himself and leaps. It’s so cute it makes her laugh even now. He turns in a circle on the bed, putting his spine to her and his head down on her pillow so she can put her arms around him. He’s warm and soft and smells of starlight. Katie presses her tummy into his back and strokes one velvety ear, trying not to think about her cramps.

  When they got back from dinner, Katie had gone upstairs, feeling a tangle of completely unfamiliar and unpleasant emotions. Lily had just blown her off, and it stung, and although she got it—she wasn’t stupid!—she felt as if nobody ever put her first. Her dad always had the Army. Her mom always wanted her drugs. Ramona and Lily have Sofia and the new baby to worry about.

  Hugging her dog, crying like a little kid, Katie wonders if anyone will ever put her first.

  Ramona

  Jonah and I lie entangled, talking, for hours. Few things in my life have ever been what I imagined, but this comes close. We talk, and talk, and talk. He tells me about his years of restless travel, through South America and the East, and the woman he thought he would marry in Argentina. He speaks fluent Spanish, and to my delight he murmurs it against my ear, whispering in that beautiful tongue. I tell him about running restaurants and the pleasure I find in bread, the earthy depth of it. Few things make me feel as joyful as the sight of a loaf of golden bread coming out of the oven, the smell filling the air with a peace unlike any other.

  We also talk about little things. Like movies and how airplanes stay in the sky and whether toenails should be painted. After a while we make love again, moving more slowly this time, examining each other more closely. Just before we fall asleep in each other’s arms, he says, “This is serious, Ramona. You know that, don’t you?”

  I think of us as old people on a porch. I reach for his hand, place it over my heart. “This makes me so happy it scares me to death.”

  He kisses my forehead fiercely. “Maybe we could just be happy. Things are not always doomed, you know.”

  I laugh softly. “I forget that sometimes.”

  Nestling closer, I will myself to accept happiness. No drama, no disaster, no big fights, simply fitting together, like puzzle pieces.

  I don’t know what time it is when the ringing of the phone jolts me from sleep. Bolting upright, I grab it off the nightstand and croak, “Hello?”

  “Were you sleeping, Mom? I’m so sorry. Usually you’re up
by now.”

  “It’s a long story. Let me grab my robe and I can talk.” I mouth “Sofia” to Jonah and wave him down to sleep. Feeling slightly self-conscious—but not as much as I might have imagined—I pad across the room and grab my robe, then slip out of the room and into the kitchen. “Sorry, honey.” My voice is craggy, but there’s nothing I can do about it. “I’m so happy to hear your voice.”

  “You were whispering. Do you have someone there? Is it the sweater guy?”

  “Sofia! No!” Then I realize it’s silly to lie. “Um. Yes.”

  “Mom!” Her voice is genuinely excited. “You’re so cute! You have to tell me all about him.”

  “I promise I will. But not, uh, right now.”

  “Why aren’t you baking yet? It’s four.”

  “Had to close for a couple days,” I say as lightly as I can. “Hot-water issues. That’s enough about me. Tell me how you are, what’s going on. How’s Oscar? How are the Braxton Hicks?”

  “Oh, Mom,” she says, letting go. “This is so hard.” And then I do the part of mom work that is easy: I listen while she pours out her story. She’s terrified and lost and hopeful and in love with her broken husband. She’s worried about her baby and about Katie and about being alone during the birth.

  At least I can offer some good news. “I know you didn’t want Poppy and Nancy, but what about having Gram come to stay with you? She really wants to be there, hold your hand.”

  “I wish it could be you.”

  “You have no idea how many times I’ve tried to work that out, but it just isn’t possible. Not if I’m going to have a livelihood.”

  “I know. I do know, honestly. And it would be great to have Gram. I need somebody. I’m really lonely.”

  “I’m so sorry. I wish I could spare you all of this.”

  She takes a breath and I can see her in my mind’s eye, squaring her shoulders. “How’s Katie? She sounds so happy! I’ve never known her to be this way. You’re such a good mother.”

  “Oh, it’s not me she loves. It’s your grandmother. They have this whole flower thing going. To tell you the truth, she’s pretty sad about Lily leaving to be with you.”

  “Then have her stay with Katie. I’m a grown-up. I’ll be okay.”

  “Even adults need help, sweetie. I’m here for Katie. She’ll be fine.” I lower my voice. “We actually celebrated her first period today. How exciting is that?”

  Sofia bursts into tears.

  “Honey! What’s wrong?”

  “I’m just so glad she’s with you. Imagine, Mom, how that would have been in that crack house she was living in. I’m so grateful. Thank you.”

  “She’s wonderful, Sofia, and she’s been a big help to me.” Merlin has come into the kitchen and sits down in front of me, one paw on my foot. “I think her dog needs to go outside, as a matter of fact. He’s sitting here staring at me.”

  “I should let you go, anyway. I have to go sleep for a while. I’m a basket case, as you can tell.”

  I chuckle. “Sleep will help. And this is a very emotional period anyway, even if you didn’t have all this stuff going on.”

  “Have Gram give me a call when she knows when she’s getting in. I’ll make arrangements for her. And tell her that I am so grateful that she’s coming.”

  “I will.” We hang up and I sit for a minute in the quiet kitchen, worrying about my baby, so many miles away, alone and lonely, wanting her mother with her. Is there any way to make that happen? Could someone fill in for me?

  But even if I could get coverage for the bakery, it feels wrong to create any more upheaval for Katie. She might be irritated at Lily, but the simple cornerstones of normality are so important for her healing—the flowers, regular mealtimes, her dog, her bedroom. She is thriving, like a plant in the right soil, and it feels like my job to be a fence around her.

  Merlin lifts his foot and taps my toes lightly. “Sorry,” I say with a chuckle. “You need to go outside. I forgot.”

  But when I stand up, he jumps up and heads for the attic, not the stairs to go to the yard. It sparks fear in me. “Is there something wrong?”

  He woofs and jerks his head, as if to say, Come on. Following him, I wonder traitorously if a cat would ever do this. He leads me into the attic room, where Katie is curled up in a ball under her covers. “Are you all right, Katie?”

  “No,” she says. “I have really, really bad cramps and I don’t know what to do.”

  I stroke her forehead. “Aw, I’m so sorry. It won’t always be like this, but when it is, what you need is ibuprofen and a good hot bath.”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah. It’ll help.”

  “I’m not going down there. You have a man in your room.”

  That throws me, and for a minute I have to think about all the ramifications. “Yes, I do. I’m sorry if that upsets you. I thought you were asleep.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “It’s only Jonah, and he’s asleep and the door is closed. A bath will make you feel better. I’ll make sure he doesn’t come out.”

  “No. It’s embarrassing.”

  I wonder if I should kick him out, but that feels wrong, too.

  “Well, I can’t force you, though it would really help. Hold on and I’ll get you some Advil.”

  Sullenly, she flings back the covers. “I’ll take a bath,” she growls, as if she’s doing me a favor. “I feel gross anyway.”

  “Good choice.” I scrub Merlin’s head. He licks my wrist. “Give your dog some extra love. He came to get me.”

  When I get back to my room, an exhausted Katie sleeping upstairs, the sun is beginning to come up over the horizon. In my bed, Jonah is asleep, naked, his white shoulders flung out of the sheets, one foot sticking out at the end of the bed. Milo is asleep at the small of Jonah’s back, and when I come into the room, he stretches out one black paw and begins to purr audibly.

  At the side of the bed, I pause, looking down at my sleeping lover in the soft gray light. His grizzled jaw, his tousled dark hair, his beautiful mouth. I want to bake bread to commemorate this emotion, create something beautiful just for him. Whispers of what it will be waft over me as I admire him—almonds, perhaps. Walnuts. Honey to make the crust the color of his hair.

  My entire being is alive with a thrumming. With sunlight.

  I press my fingers to my mouth. I am so in love. And like every woman in love through all of time, I crawl in beside him, quietly, so that I can watch him sleep. I look at his ear and the white skin on his shoulders. He has not even one freckle.

  His eye is open, looking at me. At this angle I can see the crow’s feet around his eyes. There is silver in his morning beard. He blinks, closes his eye, and lets go of a breath. Blindly, he reaches for my hand, draws it across the covers to his mouth, and kisses my fingers—one, two, three—then tucks it under his chin as if it is his own hand. We both doze for a while, but it’s no good. I’m awake. I poke him. “I want to go eat breakfast.”

  “Do you get up this early every day?”

  “Yes! I run a bakery. The bread doesn’t bake itself.”

  He sighs. “Okay, I thought you might be my soul mate, but that would mean I could sleep in.”

  A zing of disappointment touches me. “Really? How late do you want to sleep?”

  “Six?”

  “It’s five after six.”

  “Ah, good, then.” He moves over, tucks me into his body, and makes love to me one more time.

  We shower together afterward, and I realize as I’m soaping his body that I am happy. “This might be one of the better moments of my life thus far.”

  “Yeah? Like top five? Top ten?”

  I make swirls of soap in his chest hair. “Hmmm. At the least the top twenty.”

  He laughs.

  I leave a note for Katie on the table, though I doubt very much she’ll be awake before we return. In the cool, bright freshness of seven a.m., we head out for Gertrude’s, an upscale breakfast spot on West Col
orado Avenue. I don’t usually go there, but Jonah loves it. We have to wait just inside the door while they make a table ready, and he holds my hand. A spritely little rose he plucked from my garden is sticking out of his shirt pocket, and there is that luminosity of sex all over his skin, shining out of his eyes. I see women eyeing him, and it makes me proud and possessive.

  And suddenly I am completely aware of this exact moment—the smell of potatoes browning on a grill, the clatter of someone putting dishes away, the low murmur of polite patrons—because, as I look up at Jonah, I realize that I have fallen over into another state of being and there is no returning from it. Whatever happens, I can’t un-fall in love with him. Whatever thing was born so long ago, that summer when I was pregnant with Sofia, has now sprouted, coming to vigorous life.

  The protective person in me, the one who has made so many mistakes, wearily warns against it, but even she knows this is already in motion. She says there could be things lurking, says that we don’t really know each other.

  It doesn’t matter. Now, in this very moment, when I am forty years and eleven months into my life, I am in love with Jonah.

  He catches my gaze and lifts my hand to his lips. “It was that expression that used to haunt me when we were young. No one, ever, has looked at me like that.” Tenderly, he rubs his thumb over the palm of my hand. “Am I giving it back to you the way I hope I am? I had to hide it then.”

  “You are not hiding it now.”

  An older woman, tucking her hair under a sun hat, gives us a look. “You two must be newlyweds,” she says.

  He tucks my hand close to his ribs. “Something like that.”

  RAMONA’S BOOK OF BREADS

  SUNSHINE FRUIT AND HONEY BREAD

  Sometimes a recipe is born from a moment, and this is the recipe that I came up with after my first night with Jonah. Filled with light and juice and tenderness, it is one of my favorite things. Try it with a cup of sweet chai.

  2 cups all-purpose flour

  1 tsp baking powder