Tough Cookies (New Year New Me 1)

“Well, I went to the doctor and found out my iron was dangerously low. I was about .5 away from needing a blood transfusion. I’ve been taking a large amount of iron, vitamin D, and a multivitamin, and going back to the doctor monthly since.”

“Why the hell didn’t you say anything?” Evander barks

“Lower your voice.” I clear my throat and look around nervously. People continue with their conversations and snacking. “I didn’t want to worry you unnecessarily. I needed more information first. Plus, this felt like a sign to slow down. So, I did, and during that time, I thought about what I wanted. I had too many irons in the fire. Neither my body nor my mind can handle that load any longer.”

“You never have to worry alone,” Winston says.

“I know.” I keep the months I avoided the doctor because I was afraid the diagnosis would be far worse from them. Intense exhaustion, restlessness, and body aches are the poster boy for a bunch of illnesses. The word cancer crossed my mind many times. In the end, what frightened me most wasn’t the thought of death itself, but knowing I’d never fully lived.

“We’re only given so much time. It’s imperative to spend it wisely. This situation was a wake-up call for me. “

“And you’re not sick?” Evander asks.

“Only in the head.” I wiggle my eyebrows, and they shove me gently, dispelling the tension. It’s a company tradition to announce the people who are leaving at the end of the year, so everyone can wish them well as they’re sent off with a gift of some sort. I tried to bring up going full time with my baking a dozen times, but they dismissed it as foolish or ignored me. This move made things permanent.

“Now is the time of the party we find bittersweet,” my father states as he moves to the head of the room with a microphone. My mother stands beside him, regal in her floor-length, black dress with a smattering of white snowflakes on it. There are laugh lines around their mouths. Crows’ feet have deepened around their eyes, and the coal-black hair is streaked with gray. They’ve aged gracefull

y, but its clear time has passed. I know them both well enough to recognize the strain in my mother’s smile, and the anger burning in the depths of my father’s dark eyes.

They know, and they’re as displeased as I imagined they’d be.

“Our intern, Janelle, will be leaving us to focus on her final semester in college. We wish her all the luck in the world. We’re hoping a new Mac Air will help with that.”

The curvy brunette with the soft voice covers her mouth as her hazel eyes widen. She lowers her hand. “I can’t thank you enough.” She turns to face the crowd. “All of you. For the experience, guidance, and now the computer.” Walking forward, she hugs my mom and shakes Papa’s hand. Annie, the secretary, walks over with a wrapped box.

My brothers step a little closer, silently giving me their strength and support. I straighten to my full six-foot-one height and hold my head up high. I’m ready.

“Last, we’ll be saying good-bye to a cornerstone of our company. This person has been here since the very beginning, and we’re sad to see him go. Our son, Anders, will be stepping away to focus on his baking career.” Gasps and murmurs sweep through the crowd. “We wish him all the best, and hope our company’s donation to Bake and Partake will help him reach his new goals.” The words are kind and supportive, but I hear the insincerity.

The crowd explodes in applause. People surge toward me, shaking my hand, asking questions, and giving hugs. I let their buzz draw my attention away from my issues with my parents.

As the party ends and the door closes behind the last employee, I turn to face the music.

“This is how you tell us you’re leaving the family business?” Papa’s voice is deep and tinged with fury. Each word he speaks is clipped.

“It guaranteed you would listen,” I speak the truth quietly, keeping my voice calm and neutral. I refuse to let this blow up into a heated argument. What’s done is done.

“I listened before. You are the one who never liked what I had to say. You leave all your clients and creations behind to do what?” He throws his hands up in the air. “Chase a pipe dream? Baking is a hobby, not a career.” The words are tiny rocks flung toward the stained-glass window of my soul. Each hit lands, weakening the shell meant to protect what means the most to me.

“I know you don’t understand my passion, but this is the choice I felt I needed to make. I ask that you respect what I’m doing, even if you disagree.”

“We only want to see you successful and happy, Anders.” Mom moves between us. “To us, this move seems risky. You’re thirty-five. It’s time to settle down and put down deep roots, not swing for fences blindly.”

Their worries are valid. I take her small hands in my own.

“If I never tried, I’d spend my life wondering what if? This is my time. Papa, Van and Win can handle everything without me. I loved working here with everyone. But this time, I’m doing something just for me.”

Sighing, her shoulders slump. “We created this company for you. So you’d never know the hard time we did.”

“And I love you both for that.” I kiss her cheek. “You always taught me to follow my heart, so that’s what I’m doing.”

“Your position will be here when you’re ready to come back to your senses,” Papa says with a huff.

“I’ll see you at Sunday dinner.” I walk away without looking back.

MY MOTHER CURSED ME. She went to a bruja, told her about her unruly child, and made a deal. I plop my head down on my desk to avoid the blank screen mocking me. I’ve only been a YouTuber for a month, and things are headed in the wrong direction. My views are on a downward trend, and my mind is not working correctly. Subscriptions and views are currency. It’s what gets you seen and noticed by others. In a lot of ways, we’re like crabs in a bucket, pulling each other down as we all try to get out.

Sitting up, I stand and walk over to the kitchen. When in doubt, bake it out. I got my love for baking from my Abuelita Maria, my dad’s mom. When I was young, she moved from Mexico when our abuela died. She taught us all to cook and bake, insisting cultural knowledge should be held by all. Her dismissal of gender roles has stuck with all of us. We cook, clean, and launder with the best of them. Mom would say that’s part of what makes us such a catch.