She sniffled again, and I could tell she was struggling with this concept. “You’ll have to teach me how to let you be, because I’m at a loss. I really am. I feel like everything I know is upside down and backward.”
“First things first, you need to know that I’m not coming home. I’m not living at home anymore.” I couldn’t, for so many reasons, not the least of which was my father. I couldn’t look at him let alone share a house with him. I wouldn’t.
My momma was quiet again, and then she cleared her throat. “Now, Jennifer, I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
“Even so, I’m not coming home.”
“But how are you going to support yourself?”
“You’re going to pay me.”
Again, she was silent and I could almost picture the shock painted on her features. But I wasn’t backing down. I worked hard—all the time. There was no reason I shouldn’t be paid for my work.
At length, she sighed, sounding exasperated. “You want me to pay you.”
“The bakery is going to pay me.” I lifted my voice, infusing it with as much conviction as I could. “I work there, and therefore I should earn a salary for the work I do. If you feel differently, I understand. But that means I’ll be working elsewhere.”
“No. No need for that. We’ll . . . work out something.” She sounded distracted.
“Yes. We’ll work something out and it’ll be formalized in a contract.. An employment agreement.”
She sighed again, louder this time. “That’s fine. We can make it formal if you need it to be formal.”
“I do. And another thing—”
“There’s more?”
“Yes. I will go to New York and meet with the talent agent, but I will decide what happens next.”
“Jennifer, this is a big deal.” Her tone held an edge of warning.
“It might be a big deal to you, but it’s not to me. And it won’t make or break the lodge or the bakery.”
“Baby, if you don’t accept the offer it could put me in a really awkward position.” She sounded a little panicked.
I fought against the ingrained instinct to soothe her and resolved to stay firm, but I kept my tone respectful. “Then you should have asked me what I wanted and listened to me when I told you. I want to be helpful to the bakery and the family business, but I truly dislike being the Banana Cake Queen. Therefore, I will continue to help within reason.”
She was quiet for a beat and when she spoke next her voice was strained, frustrated. “Fine. Anything else?”
“Yes. I’m not coming back to work until the employment agreement is finalized.”
“But . . . but Thanksgiving is coming up. We already have seven hundred orders for your banana cake.”
“Then I guess finalizing the employment agreement sooner rather than later is a priority.”
She made a choking sound.
I quickly added, “And I’m in love with Cletus Winston.”
“What? Cletus Winston, the auto mechanic? That simpleton?”
I pressed my lips together so I wouldn’t laugh at her assessment of Cletus, and spoke slowly and clearly. “I’m in love with Cletus Winston and we’re together and I’m very happy.”
“Oh good Lord.”
“He’s what I want.”
“I don’t know if I can accept this, baby. I just . . . I just don’t know.” I could tell she was rubbing her forehead. “You’re going to need to give me some time on this one.”
“That’s fine.” I shrugged, because it was fine. If she never accepted Cletus, that was okay. I’d chosen him for me, not for her.
Yet I felt certain that once they started spending time together and actually knew each other, they would absolutely get along. My mother was single-minded, shrewd and focused, and exceptionally smart. And so was Cletus. The main differences were, my mother didn’t try to hide her intelligence and she cared what other people thought.
Cletus didn’t care at all what other people thought, not unless the person was his family.
Or me.
I grinned.
“Maybe,” my momma said on a sigh, “we all just need a break. Your daddy told me I needed a vacation. He’s trying to get me to go to this spa in Asheville. He wanted to leave this afternoon.”
I tensed at this news. I didn’t know why he wanted her to leave town, but I could guess. “Momma.”
“I thought I raised you and your brother right. But obviously I did something wrong, because Isaac won’t even talk to me and you’re running off in the middle of the night to be with the town oddball because you don’t like yellow dresses anymore.”
I ignored her ludicrous and willful oversimplification of the situation because I had to tell her about my father. About her husband. She deserved to know. And I needed to tell her before he intervened and filled her head with lies. More lies.
“I’m going to tell you something, and you’re not going to believe me. But there’s proof. I’m not lying to you, and it’s really important that you believe me.” I hadn’t seen the proof, but if Cletus said he had proof then I didn’t doubt him.
“Jennifer, you’re scaring me.”