My Anne.

“Dad! Hey, dad!” my son Michael comes barging into my room.

This automatically sends me into panic mode because he never does that.

“What’s wrong Michael?” I spring off my bed.

“Nothing serious,” he walks over and sits on the edge of the bed. “Just that, it’s been long since you told me a bedtime story. I miss them,” he grins.

Is this boy drunk? I squint my eyes at him for a second before sitting next to him.

“Michael, you’re nineteen. It’s been almost ten years since I last read you a bedtime story.”

“I may be nineteen, but the age gap between the both of us is still the same,” he smirks.

Snarky. He gets that from his mother.

“Okay, let’s say I agree to do this, where can I get such a book for someone your age?”

“Oh, you don’t need a book for this story.”

The look on his face worries me. What plans are going on in that head of his?

“What story?”

“One you’re very familiar with,” he smiles. “The story of how you and mom met.”

Wow. He’s been consistently persistent with hounding me for this story since he was a child.”

“Michael…okay, later.”

“How much later? I have to wait another ten years? Come on dad! Mom always said later to and, well-.”

“Okay, I’ll tell it to you tonight.”

“No, I want to hear it right now.”

“But it’s not yet your bedtime,” I smirk.

“Then let’s call it a daytime story,” he moves into the bed, making himself more comfortable.

The persistence kicks in again. That, fortunately or unfortunately, he gets from me.

I sigh a heavy sigh I almost yawn, “Fine.”

I was twelve years old and my parents and I had just moved into town. Initially, I was upset about the whole move because I was leaving everything and everyone I knew behind. In fact, I don’t think I spoke to my parents the whole drive here.

I smile, remembering my childish antics.

My mood was pretty sour until the next day when I was being driven to my new school and I saw this girl riding her bike in our direction. This girl, with her hair in a ponytail and eyes focused on nothing but the road. So pretty from the first glance.

I watch the growing smile on his face.

 That girl was Jane.

He frowns.

Just kidding. She was Anne, your mother.

I’m not a believer of love at first sight but I certainly felt something strong for her in that moment. As the distance between us grew, she vanished from my sight but not from my mind. Even as I walked into my class, she was the only thing on my mind. Till date, I don’t remember introducing myself to the class, but I was told I did. All I remember is wondering if I’d ever see her again.

It didn’t take long for that question to be answered as I saw her walk into the class and sit right in front of me.

You know, I was a very imaginative child so at that moment I kind of panicked. I wondered if I had unlocked a stronger and more visual level of imagination. I didn’t. she was right there, chatting with some girls in the class.

I think she must have felt the intensity of my gaze on her because she immediately turned and smiled at me. For a second, my face was numb and I forgot how to smile. Till date, I don’t know if that was due to the anxiety of being around new people in a new environment or it was all her.

After that smile, it was smooth sailing. Everything flowed, our conversations, jokes, everything. Connecting with your mother was the easiest thing I’ve ever experienced. It was so natural.

Before I moved, I’d never known how to ride a bike neither was I really interested in learning, but a week in the town, seeing Anne living just across the street, got me thinking. What sealed the deal was when she herself suggested we ride together. Man, it took me two days to learn fully how to ride a bike. I was naturally a slow learner-

“You still are.”

“Be careful.”

Anyway, I was naturally a slow learner but I made sure I did whatever it took to learn quickly. I even starved myself for hours just to avoid wasting time.

By the third week, we were riding to school together.

Our friendship blossomed so beautifully in such a short amount of time that I felt I’d always known her and I’m sure she felt the same way about me. I went from hating the move to thanking my parents every day for it.

Three months later, my mother bought our neighbor’s house which was up for sale and had her dream of owning a bakery came to fruition shortly after reconstruction. Plus, business was booming because it one of the only three bakeries in this town, and the only one in this area.

The bakery became the place where your mother and I would spend all our time. We’d be there after school, on the weekends, holidays. It even got to the point that mom had to teach us how to bake because we just couldn’t occupy space freely every day. From those baking lessons, even before I fully mastered the art, I decided that I’d be a baker when I grow up. Your mother, on the other hand, was, without a doubt, certain she’d be a doctor.

“Then how did she end up as a baker too? Did she end up loving it so much?”

I break into a hearty fit of laughter remembering what caused her change of profession. I swear Anne’s one of a kind. Such a character.

“I’m getting to that.”

Mother did an excellent job training us. It was so excellent that by the time we were fifteen, we were handling sixty percent of the orders, eighty-five during the holidays. Mother would leave us in the bakery for hours, only checking in from time to time.

It was during that alone time, watching your mother so focused on every little detail and how careful she was, how naturally everything came to her, how happy she got after a successful bake, that I started falling. Or, at least, that’s when I became aware of the budding feelings I had for her.

From the moment of that realization, I didn’t put it into words what it was but my actions showed and she caught on because the dynamics of our relationship changed. We weren’t doing what normal, platonic friends do. We weren’t kissing or anything but it was clear in the way we related that something was up.

Whatever budding thing we had going on was cut short when my parents’ lives were cut short in that accident.

I pause and comport myself, visualizing a 16year old me being so confused and scared after receiving the news of a car accident so tragic his parents’ bodies burnt to flames in it. The only form of identification left was the number plate.

But no, let’s not go back to that place.

I had to step up. I had to handle the business full-time. Of course, handling the business full-time was already part of the plan, but it came sooner than expected. Either way, life gave me lemons and I had to make lemonade.

Your mother was so helpful during that period of my life. She took on the responsibility of handling all my orders and never even got a penny for herself. Man, she did so much for me, worked day and night, seven days a week, while I just had random breakdowns. I got a hold of myself when I saw how everything was wearing her down. I felt selfish. What’s worse is she never complained. But when the news that she had been accepted into medical school came, I knew things had to change. She wanted to reject it because of me and I couldn’t have that. She always talked about how much she wanted to be a doctor and I wasn’t going to let her throw that away for me. No, I wasn’t.

It was hard, but I had to cut off every connection I had with her because that was the only way she’d do what was best for her.

So, I decided to take a week off and visit my uncle back in my old city. But before leaving, I changed the locks to my house and bakery because she had a copy of the originals, and left her a note by my doorstep telling her to go to medical school and forget about me. I also changed my phone number once I left town.

“Damn dad, that was cruel.”

“I thought I was doing what was best for her.”

By the time I got back, she’d left. But she too, left me a note, mostly containing insults but in summary, she never wanted to see me again. I honestly felt her reaction was a bit too extra but again, I don’t know what she was feeling or what ran through her mind when she read my note.

The years went by and I never saw her. I knew she purposely stayed in school during the holidays to avoid me and it hurt. Her parents would always come up with a story as to why she wasn’t coming back but they were never good liars. Eventually my feelings for her got buried so deep I actually thought they weren’t there anymore.

The bakery was doing really well. Really, really well. I was proud of myself. And it wasn’t only mine, the other too two. It’s like everyone in the town suddenly got on the pastry train.

Because of this, the mayor started sponsoring the pastry baking competition during the Christmas tree lighting ceremony.

I always won the competition thanks to your grandmother’s yummy recipes. Recipes that only your mother and I had.

Then suddenly, one day, your mother came back, all her luggage with her. I spotted her through the window of the bakery and was shocked because it wasn’t the holidays. My shock grew when weeks went by and she was still around, not looking like she’d be leaving anytime soon. I started wondering if she’d completed her course but I was so sure she had two years left.

What was going on.

That question was answered in a surprising yet funny, well it’s now funny, turn of events when I heard she’d rented one of the bakeries. I didn’t even know it was up for sale, and it was the one closest to mine, three blocks away.

And I found out about that when one of my customers one day made a comment about how that bakery made pastries that tasted like mine but better.

In his words, “Oh, you have to taste some of the pastries from the A’s Bakery because they make it seem like those are the originals and yours, the cheap knockoffs.”

Obviously, I was confused because I didn’t know what A’s Bakery was since, the last, I knew, it was ‘Tastes Like Home’.

So, what did I do? I marched down there to see what was going on. What did I find? Your mother.

The brief eye contact we shared sent shivers down my spine. I should have realised at that moment that my feelings for her never died, but another feeling took over and overshadowed those. Anger. I was so angry with her for using my mother’s recipes as her own. Of course, my mom taught them to both of us but I’m sure if she knew we’d turn out like this, she’d have taught them to me alone.

I marched up to her front and looked her dead in the eyes, “What’s this about?”

“What’s what about?” she looked so oblivious, a superpower of hers.

“You’re passing off my recipes as yours,” I said.

“Our recipes, you mean,” she smirked.

“MY,” my blood was hot.

Now I’m realizing it was hot from how close we were standing in that instance.

“Come on Jay, you know I do more justice to these recipes than you have and will ever do.”

That’s not a truth I was happy hearing.

“Just stop using my recipes or I’d have to report you,” I started walking out.

“Did you copyright them?” she laughed.

That’s when the battle line was drawn.

A battle that I was constantly defeated in woefully. She didn’t only come for a lot of my customers, she also came for my title as the champion of the pastry baking competition, year after year.

My bakery was doing pretty badly and I was on the verge of closing it down. In fact, I was one meeting away from selling it.

My pride was in the mad.

And at that moment, my anger had subsided and I was just genuinely hurt. I started wondering how such a close relationship could end up the way it did. That was when I realised the feelings were still there. Because only she had the power to hurt me so bad, and despite it, I wished her only the best.

So, not only was my business failing, I was also heartbroken. What was left was for me to sale the property, rent out the house and move back to my old city. I spent the few days before the meeting packing and taking walks to all the places Anne and I would visit as children. On the night before the meeting, I sat on the bakery floor and cried my eyes out. I was about to sell my mother’s dream and a place that held so many memories for Anne and I.

The next day was, one word, woah. I wore my best suit and went to our meeting place early, which was the park down the road. The roads were full because it was the beginning of the tree lighting festival but I wasn’t participating that year, obviously.

 It was going to be my first time meeting the person since I’d earlier dealt with a middle man.

I got to the park and saw Anne sitting at our spot and when she turned to me, a sad smile and glint of sadness in her eyes. The same glint she had looked at me with when I was grieving my parents. My heart broke and I fell to my knees in front of her. I just wanted her to hug me like she used to. I wanted to go back to when we were kids.

She knelt down too and my arms just enveloped her, my body getting electric currents at the points where her hands landed on my back. I engulfed her sent with all my might like I’d never get to sense it again.

“Why did you cut me off?” she finally spoke.

“I didn’t want you to throw your dreams away because of me. I’d have never forgiven myself.”

“We could have talked.”

I broke the hug, held on to her shoulders and looked into her eyes, “You are very stubborn.”

“True,” she laughed, tears falling down her eyes. “But I felt so hurt. I thought you were being unfair and honestly, I was upset that you were giving up on us. The last part is what hurt the most. I really thought we had something we were building.”

“We did,” I wiped her tears. “And I screwed up.”

“You didn’t,” she wiped off tears from my face that I wasn’t even aware were there. “I understand where you were coming from.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“No, I’m sorry. I could have come during the holidays but I didn’t. I just decided to completely forget you, but that was hard because my parents constantly talked about you.”

We both laughed.

“But what happened with med school and why the bakery?” I asked.

“By the second year, I realized that being a doctor wasn’t my dream. I convinced myself I wanted to be one because my parents always said I’d make an amazing doctor when I was a child. I tried to endure but I could only manage three more years until I finally decided to go for my happiness,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“And the bakery?”

“When I dropped out, I started thinking of what I’d do next and after a lot of self-introspection, I got to remember how happy I was whenever I baked with you and your mom. Baking never felt like a job to me so I decided to give it a shot. I wanted nothing but to run across the street and tell you I want to work with you but I was scared. So, I convinced old Mr. Philip to rent me his bakery since he wasn’t making much from it anymore. I honestly didn’t plan to take business away from you but the way you treated me the day you walked into my bakery, it hurt. I expected you to congratulate me or hug me since it was our first meeting in years.”

“I’m sorry. I guess you have to prepare for the competition. I won’t waste more time. So, the sale of my bakery. What’s your offer?”

I thought it’d be better to stop the reminiscing to avoid making it harder for myself.

She stood up, extending her hands for me to get up with her, and a grin took over her mouth, “I was thinking of proposing a partnership. What do you think?”

“Well, I bet you can tell what happened after,” I say.

“Wow,” Michael’s voice cracks.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes, dad,” he clears his throat.

“Okay, it’s getting late, so quickly get ready and let’s take your mom her flowers. You know I don’t like visiting the graveyard in the dark.”

The End.