One More Macaroon

The four ceiling lights singled out the podium. The black squiggly mic sat squarely underneath a woman’s red lipstick. She adjusts her translucent lavender glasses as she clears her throat. 

“My father was the baker in the Ruloe family. He wore oven mitts as much as he wore our love. It was his dedication to baking that has birthed this tradition. The Ruloe family that hosts this holiday festival every year, gives a grant award to the bakery winner. A grant of $50,000. The 10th anniversary of the Meyers Township Bakery contestants are as follows….” Mrs. Ruloe. reads off of the list.

Aida watches Mrs. Rule as she talks. She looked unphased for someone who lost their husband a few years ago. That set up their son to take over the Ruloe company. Aida sits on a black metal chair closer to the back. She hears the same speech every year but she likes to hear her name and her bakery being called. It’s a reminder of her work, her dedication, and her mother. 15 years to the day. She had a macaroon that she kept in her napkin. She carefully slid it into her mouth. 

She takes a deep breath as she chews and turns to observe the crowd. Their heads faced forward, hypnotized. Mrs. Ruloe’s voice falling like a backdrop sound, she notices Bastille standing by the door.

That’s the Ruloe’s family’s son.

He was wearing a bright gold rolex watch laced with a ribbed black sweater and a nicely tailored blazer.

Aida quickly turned back to the front rolling her eyes.

Couldn’t sit with the rest of us. huh.

“Let’s give a round of applause to this year’s competition.” Mrs. Ruloe cheered.

The crowd roared and Aida turned back around only to see Bastille gone. 

***

Aida left the town auditorium, walking towards her bakery.  Standing outside, she pulled out a cigarette to smoke. Through the spark of her lighter, she saw Bastille standing on the bench across from her also smoking..

She clenched her cardigan jamming each side to wrap around her body. So she shrug off seeing him. She knew taking her anger out this way wasn’t healthy but she couldn't do it.

He was still smoking but it didn’t seem like he saw her. She fished in her cardigan pocket to find the keys to let her inside.

She takes another drag and then walks up the stair without glancing for Bastille.

She remembers what they have done. 

Then there was a knock. Aida jumped, only to see Bastille at the glass window.

 What the fuck is he doing here?

She walks up to him and sees his smug smile. She opens stands at the glass door and shouts, “

What are you doing here?” Aida shouts.

Bastille points to the doorknob.

Aida shakes her head but quickly looks up and stares at him for a moment.

Aida opens the door and he walks in.

“Aida Johnson!” Bastille comes in.

“Bastille.” Aida says dryly. She lit her cigarette.

“Can I bum one?”  He looked at her again smugly.

Aida looks up from  locking the doorknob. “You don’t need another one.”

“ I didn’t realize you were authoritarian on my smoking habits.”

“Whaddya want, Bastille? To buy the competition out like your father or what?” Aida took the cigarette from her mouth. Bastille turned and shot a glance.

“Excuse me?” Bastille looked stunned.

“ I know that your father wanted to buy this place back when my mother was sick. So you here to do some snooping and check out your next real estate investment? Cause it aint going to happen.”

There was a silence that fell on both of them. Bastille’s face hardened. Aida didn’t lift her smug but she felt for a split second unsure what his face might’ve meant.

“I came...to give you the forms for the contest rules.” he pulled out an envelope from the pocket of his blazer.

“Oh please, you know, I don’t need this. I enter every year. Nice cover.” Aida walked over and snatched them from Bastille’s hands.

“And you haven’t won in the last three years.” Bastille said.

“You and your father’s company would keep count, wouldn’t you?” Aida retorts.

“ My father is dead. I don’t know what he would’ve wanted. The only reason I’m here, Aida, is to give you the forms to every competitor like I always do every year. And your shotty intimidation tactics need work..” Bastille retorts.

“Oh why don’t you go buy some for me, then?” Aida snaps.

“I take cash only.” Bastille smirked. Aida charged towards the door and opened it to gesture him out.

“Go.”

“Alright.” Bastille. 

***

Three days afterwards Aida had been developing her macaroon recipe. She was trying to find the one from her mother’s bakery recipe book but she couldn’t remember where she placed it after the funeral. It seems so long ago but also not. The greift rolling around like a ball in her body hurting when it hit the walls. Some years the ball was big. Sometimes the ball gets smaller and hits less.

“Aida!” Sasha shouted.

Aida jumped. 

“Yes, Sasha.” Aida didn’t realize that she was sitting in her sister’s living room. Sasha comes around from her modern kitchen with a tray of glasses and a charcuterie board. She leans towards Aida, looking her sternly in the eyes.

“You sleepin’?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know if you’re sleeping?” Aida…” Sasha purses her lips, “You need sleep babe.”

“Oh we don’t just run on batteries, Elon Musk needs to get on that.” Aida sank back into her chair.

“Ha!” Sasha laughed, “So what did Bastille want?”

“Nothing. He is just being a fascist, like always.” Aida torted.

“Damn a fascist, Aida?” Sasha smirked.

“ Yeah, he was all like, here’s the contest rules. Like he doesn’t know me or my mom or anything like that. He’s just acting all civil because his father’s company wanted to buy out our mother’s bakery, Sasha!” You can’t forget that. “

“You’re right but also, I heard he’s not going to take it over.” Sasha replied

“Why wouldn’t he?” Aida sat up and reached for a cracker covered in prosciutto and sharp cheddar.

“Just focus on your bakery dish. What are you gonna make anyway?”

“Macaroons. I’m trying to find the recipe mom had, you know where it is?”

Sasha shook her head no

“Aright, I’m gonna go up to the office and go search.” Aida placed down her half- eaten cracker.

“Aida.” Sasha called out after her sister.

Yeah! Aida stopped in her tracks to turn to her sister.

“Mom would’ve been proud of you and you should remind yourself of that every now and again.” Sasha said.

“Thanks Aida.”

Sasha stood up and walked closer to her sister. She held her face. Aida groaned.

“And if you ever had to sell the bakery, you wouldn’t lose mom.”

Aida shrugged her sister off. 

Bastille unbuttoned the top button of his jacket as he pushed the elevator button. He was going to see his mother. Cold woman.

He arrives on the floor and steps into the office and sees his mother sit turned towards the window glass. Staring out the window.

“Did you convince the woman or not?” Mrs. Ruloe stated.

“How ya doing, mom?” Bastille  grunted,  as he poured out some vodka. 

“Don’t chicken shit me sweetface, she said.

“Mom, the only reason I’m here is to talk about how I’m not going to accept the award. I don’t want to do the business even if dad wanted me to, and who- who plots to turn over a bakery competition?”

Mrs. Ruloe chuckles.

“Oh my boy, acting so grown up, I’m impressed. This isn’t about “turning over a competition” this is about ensuring a legacy, my dear. You have all the experience, the knowledge, the caliber, because I worked for it. Your father didn’t do a damn thing.” Mrs. Ruloe stands up and takes the vodka bottle off her desk.

“You get the girl to sell her bakery and we’ll buy it before the contest is over so she can’t compete. Use whatever you need to convince her. Do you understand?” Mrs. Ruloe stated. She unscrewed the cap and drank straight from the bottle.

“We’re done. Get out.”

Bastille gripped the hands of the arm chair and kicked the chair from underneath him.

His mother didn’t move. He walked up behind her chair and murmured in her ear, “It’s a shame, it has to die with you but it’s a good thing it will.”

Bastille buttoned up his coat and left the room.

The only sound was the ding to the elevator opening and closing.

Aida starts walking into the grocery store to buy her supplies. She runs into Bastille.

“Hey!” Aida's eyes lit up when she saw him. She couldn’t quite explain why she felt softer this time. But she did.

“Oh, its you.” Bastille groaned after the meeting with his mother.

“Don’t act so happy.” Aida ripped back into her callous ways.

“You know what Aida?”

“What What just admit that there  is a plan to buy my mother’s bakery and stop acting like your some big hot shot that doesn’t feel like that’s a prominent move”

“Aida, I don't do any of those things. I’m tired of you looking at me like I’m just some wealthy snot. You wanna know something? I lost my father. He died too. I know your mother was sick when you were holding up the bakery. I know!”

“You’re not the only person who has lost someone, Aida and you’re not the only person who feels alone.

Aida started crying.

“Oh Jesus.”

He pulled a pair of tissues off the shelf and handed it to her. 

He gave her tissues and lowered himself to her level. He used his finger to lift her chin. She looked up and started to cry harder. He pulled her in to give comfort.

“It’s okay to break.” He whispered.

She wailed  and in this moment she could feel her heart burst. She smelled him and let out of sigh and in this she felt a moment of comfort.

She couldn’t believe that he was holding her but her muscles feel when she realized that she hadn't felt a sweeter embrace since her mother kissed her on her forehead.

They locked eyes and slowly she felt her lips fill in his.

“So what is this bakery dish that you’re trying to make?”

She sniffles.

“It’s macaroons.”

Bastille reaches over and grabs a box of macaroons.

“We’ll get one more box of macaroons just in case.”

“Just in case.”

Bastille and Aida spent the next two hours working on their baked dishes, getting ready for the announcement of the competition the next day. 

The cameras were flashing when Bastille walked up. He had looked at Adia and sighed.

“You know I’d really love to accept this award…”

Aida’s heart dropped.

The cameras stopped flashing.

“...but I can’t.”

The cameras started flashing rapidly. The murmurs in the crowd grew. Aida couldn’t believe what she just saw.

“There is someone far more deserving of this award, who knows what is worth, legacy, and dedication truly means. She is brilliant, fiery, and completely has my heart. She’s sitting right over there.

The crowd turned to Aida.

Aida knew in that moment that everything she thought she understood, she didn’t. That look on Bastille’s face spoke through her soul.