I don’t like what I find.
Chaos.
Destruction.
Unexpected change.
Revelation.
Loss.
The spike of dread inside me worsens. No wonder Ava is freaked out.
I move to another entry.
Same old same old, until—
The tower may seem to be showing impending doom, but this is not always the case. Will there be change? Yes. Will it be difficult? Perhaps. But with change also comes liberation. And with liberation comes awakening.
I exit the page.
The tower.
Damn, Ava.
What the hell are your parents keeping from you?
Chapter Nine
Ava
Pita bread is remarkably simple to make.
Sugar, flour, olive oil, and yes, yeast.
Pita is generally considered a flatbread, but you still need yeast because the dough must rise a bit to create the pocket.
Gentle handling of the dough is imperative while rolling. Otherwise the air bubbles will be deflated. After rolling, the dough has to rest for fifteen minutes to recover so it will puff slightly before it goes into the oven. I used to make pita this way.
I don’t anymore. Instead of rolling it out, I like to form the dough into balls, and then push my knuckles into it until it creates the right-sized disk. This makes those dimples that all pita is supposed to have.
Some bakers use a baking steel for pita, but I prefer a baking stone. It gives the bread a more even bake, and if you preheat the stone, which I do, it quickly transfers heat to the dough, which causes it to spring almost instantly.
I don’t normally sell pita in the bakery, but I imagine after this party, I’ll get requests. Why? Because if I do say so myself, I make a damned good pita.
So simple, and as I form the dough and push my knuckles into its sponginess, I meditate. Allow the Zen to flow through me as I knead, poke, bake.
Soon the wondrous aroma of golden-brown pita fills my bakery.
Once I’m finished, I pull out the Kalamata olive loaves that I started yesterday, and I pack them up to take over to Aunt Marjorie’s, where they will finish their bake as we need them. Dave comes by in one of his trucks, packs a good portion of pita, bread, and baklava, and then salutes as he drives out of town toward the ranch.
I clean up and head up to my apartment, where I shower and dress for the party.
I choose one of my flowing bohemian dresses—this one in brown paisley—and my brown army boots with woolen socks. I pull my pink hair back into a ponytail because I’ll be helping at first and don’t want a pink hair in any of the food. I’ll be comfortable as I help prepare for the party and then comfortable during the party.
I pack up my truck with the rest of the bread, and as I’m doing so, Brendan meets me in the alley.
“Hey,” he says. “How’s my favorite lady today?”
“I’m all right.” I smile. “Something about baking pita bread puts me in a good place. The simplicity of it.”
He inhales. “Smells amazing.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“It totally does. I could smell it all the way over at my place. Mornings are the greatest. I can always smell what you’re baking. It’s great to wake up to.”
“You didn’t wake up to it today. I didn’t start until later.”
“No, I woke up to a phone call.”
“Oh?”
“Your father called me, Ava.”
I widen my eyes. “He did?”
“He did. He wanted to meet with me today at ten, and I forgot. Anyway, I told him. I told him that after the party, you and I were going to tell each other everything.”
I bite my lip, play with my lip ring a little. “How did he react to that?”
“He’s not happy about it.”
My skin tightens, as if someone has wrapped me in plastic wrap. “I’ve got to say, Brendan. I don’t think I understand my mom and dad anymore.”
“I know you don’t, baby. Everything’s going to be all right. That much I can promise you.”
“How can you make such a promise?”
“Easy. I’ll will it to be if I have to.” He trails his finger to my cheek. “Don’t you know that I would do anything for you?”
I can’t help a smile and a soft sigh. “I wish I could tell you how much that means to me.”
“You don’t have to. I can see it in your beautiful blue eyes.” He brushes his lips over mine.
“You want to come with me? Instead of meeting me later?”
“I wish I could, but I have to mind the bar until five. Then I’ll be headed over your way.”
“You realize a lot of your bar patrons will be at our party,” I say.
“I know. But Johnny’s not coming in to take over until five, so I need to be there.”
“Good enough.” I head back into the bakery.
Brendan follows me. “I can, however, help you load up.”
“Thanks. That’s a huge help. Dave already took a bunch, but I still have some more to do. Maya and Luke aren’t coming in today at all, so it’s all on me to take over the rest of it.”
With Brendan helping me, we finish in half the time, and I’m ready to head over to Aunt Jade’s with the rest of my bounty.
Brendan pulls me into an embrace. “I’ll see you soon, baby.”
“Yeah. Soon,” I say into his chest.
Then I step into the truck, start the engine, and begin the half-hour drive to Aunt Jade and Uncle Talon’s.
Aunt Jade and Aunt Marj hired extra help for the party, but there’s still plenty for me to do to get the pita and olive bread ready. I keep busy, and I don’t have a chance to think about things I don’t want to think about. A nice respite, actually.
Aunt Jade’s kitchen is mammoth-size, but with everything the staff is setting up and all the extra help involved, it’s suddenly not large enough. Her granite countertops are crowded with large stainless-steel catering pans, white porcelain plates, and, of course, sterling flatware. She and Aunt Marj have chosen paper over cloth napkins. Perhaps because this will be a plated dinner rather than a buffet. Already it’s more work than usual, so using paper alleviates a little of the fuss.
I take a glance outside to where the staff is setting the tables. Each table is covered in a disposable burgundy-hued cloth and sports a centerpiece of a candle in one of my father’s wine bottles, surrounded by a wreath of grape leaves. Really gorgeous.
No one asks me about how things are going with Brendan because we’re all too busy. I don’t ask anyone about what may be going on with my parents because we’re all too busy. Just as well, as I promised I wouldn’t say anything…until after the party, that is.
Time flies, and at six o’clock sharp, people begin arriving.
Oddly, I haven’t seen my parents.
Aunt Jade, Aunt Marjorie, and I leave the kitchen to the staff then and join the party ourselves. Come as you are is always the dress code for a Steel party. Some, like me, dress more casually. The guys mostly wear jeans, but the women go from super casual to semiformal.
Brendan arrives—jeans that accentuate his gorgeous ass, a light-blue button-down that brings out his gorgeous eyes, and brown leather loafers that pull it all together nicely—and he takes my hand. Together we go out to the backyard, which is kept warm on the brisk November night with large heaters.