The Pawnshop Window

For the third year in a row, my petition to remove the Santa statue from the storefront had been outvoted. Facing the sidewalk with one hand raised in greeting, the bauble was supposed to be welcoming. But I saw how the children walked by the window, one hand in their parents’, the other reaching out towards the display of holiday cakes. Their eyes would grow wide in wonder and subsequent horror when they noticed the terrifying portrayal of Saint Nick looming over them. His face had been carved into a permanent grimace with the paint chipping off the left side. His raised hand was more akin to a bear claw reaching out for an attack than an amiable wave. And the parts of the statue that still had their original paint were in hues so garish they hurt the eyes. Needless to say, it didn’t make for a great first impression. The children always drew back like they’d been burned, allowing their parents to usher them further down the street. Probably to patronize the other bakery.

Someone’s footsteps crept up behind me. “You know, Jane...if you really hate it so much, there’s an obvious solution,” Ivy laughed.

“Hm?” I asked, swiping a rag over the flour-coated counter.

“Get rid of it! Really, it’s not so radical. It’s your bakery, after all.”

I chuckled. “Yes, I know. But you know, it’s also my goal to make sure my employees are happy. So if Claus over there makes the boys happy, who am I to take it away?” Dropping the rag into a steaming bucket of soapy water, I leaned up against the counter and wiped my hands on the front of my apron. “It’s really very trivial. Although, I wouldn’t be sorry if someone burglarized the bakery and Mr. Claus was tragically kidnapped.”

“Well I hope you know-” Ivy laid her palm on my shoulder and gave it a reassuring pat “-Ricky and Connor only like that thing because they know how much you hate it.”

“And I only tolerate it because I know how much my mother would hate it.”

“Still, Jay,” Ivy said, “aren’t you scared it’s driving business over to Flour Power?”

I snorted. “Oh, please. Even with creepy Santa scaring customers off, Arthur doesn't stand a chance at outselling us. I mean have you tasted our snickerdoodles? No, if anything maybe it evens out the playing field slightly. Just slightly. At any rate, I’ll get used to the statue. Who knows, maybe it’ll grow on me.”

“Hmm well--” Ivy started, only to be cut off mid sentence by the entrance bell.

The silhouette of a tall man stood in the entryway, blocking the early morning light on its journey through the glass. With the sun to his back, and a scarf wrapped up around his nose, I couldn’t identify the newcomer. 

“I got this,” Ivy said, removing her hand from my shoulder and striding up to the front counter. Her green ponytail swished back and forth as she went and from the saccharine quality of her voice, I knew she had one of those genuine-looking smiles pasted on her face.

“How may I help you sir?”

I squinted at the man. He kept his gaze pinned to the glass display situated under the counter. Inside were an array of festive layer cakes and sheet cakes that Ivy and Ricky had baked just yesterday. This mystery man seemed to scrutinize the cakes, his brow furrowed and only the tips of his curly black hair were visible.

Finally he looked up and met my eyes over Ivy’s shoulder.

They were green. Pale green and sparkling with laughter.

My heart dropped. Why did it always do that when he was around?

“Speak of the devil,” I hissed.

Three years ago, Arthur Marra thought the empty flat five stores down the road was ample space for another bakery. Even though Roseann’s had existed years prior, he began to siphon a slew of customers. And after all the sacrifices I made for my bakery, word began floating around that his was superior. Arthur also proved to be one of the most arrogant, insufferable human beings ever to grace the streets of Redford.

“How are you ladies,” he grinned. One hand rested languidly in his pocket. He seemed to be making himself right at home in my bakery.

“Better before,” I said.

He barked out a laugh. “Oh, Jane you wound me so.” He pressed a hand to his heart in feigned hurt.

I glared at him. “What do you want?”

“Now, is that how you speak to customers? Why, I have half a mind to leave a bad Yelp review for that.”

“You haven’t already?” I quirked an eyebrow at him.

“You truly think so little of me? Is it against the rules to patronize the competitors?” He crouched down to examine the pastries on the bottom shelf. “Your scones don’t look half bad.”

“Yes, yes and thank you...I guess.” I rubbed my elbow. “Anyway, you still haven’t told me why you’re really here.”

He rose to his feet and leaned over the counter, like he was telling me a secret. “Always business with you. But if you must know, I have a proposition for you.”

Turning over my shoulder, I exchanged a look with Ivy. She wiggled her eyebrows at me. Ugh. So much for moral support.

“As you know,” Arthur began, clearing his throat, “The annual Redford Winter Festival is just around the corner. I assume you’ve registered for a spot?”

“Actually, I declined.”

His eyes widened. “Really! Well that is quite surprising. I thought someone as ambitious as yourself would jump at the opportunity.”

“Well, Arthur, you really don’t know me so well as all that.”

He laughed, ruefully, “Not that I ever had much say in that matter, darling. You made it quite clear from the beginning that you’d have nothing to do with me.”

I froze. “What are you saying?”

“Oh, never mind me,” he said, waving it off. “Where was I?” he asked, running a hand through his hair. “Ah! The proposition.”

Arthur shook out a paper from the inside of his coat and presented it to me.

It was slightly crumpled from its storage place and scribbled upon in Arthur’s jagged handwriting. In blue ink across the top, it read, “Redford Winter Festival’s First Annual Cookie Baking Contest.”

I glanced up at him, unamused. “Really?”

“What?!” He threw up his hands in frustration.

“Well, it’s just a little unoriginal. Not to mention a mouthful,” I said.

“Give me a break, Jay, I’m a baker not a visionary. Incidentally, so are you, so unless you can come up with a better idea…”

I folded the paper into quarters and placed it on the counter before him. “Gladly. My groundbreaking idea? Inattendance. I’m not going, Arthur.” I wasn’t sure whether this vow was because of a genuine desire not to participate or simply an instinct to disagree with everything Arthur Marra suggested.

Arthur stared at the paper but did not touch it. “Listen,” he said. “It would help both of our bakeries. You and I both know that business has been slow this past month or two. With all these new people moving into town, no one knows about us. This is in both of our interests.”

I chewed on my lip. As much as I wanted to dispute every word he said, I couldn’t deny that business had been painfully slow. I mean, the bakery had been open for three hours now and Arthur had been the only visitor. 

“Why are you suggesting this?” I asked. “If Flour Power is the only bakery at the festival you stand to make far more profit. Hell, you might stand a chance of outcompeting me. Why do you want me there?”

Arthur smirked. One corner of his mouth turning up and forming a dimple. I hated when he did that.

“People love competition, Jane. Besides, I think it could be kind of fun. Let the best baker win and so on and so forth.”

I turned the idea over and over in my mind, examining each and every side of it. Trying to find the catch.

“So what do you say?” He held his hand out to me.

I met his eyes, fighting the urge to run and hide from their jade-colored intensity. 

His hand dwarfed mine when they met together in agreement, with the dessert case serving as a divider. “Let the best baker win.”

He smiled. Lips drawn back to reveal pearly, even teeth. Eyes creased slightly. It wasn’t his normal, shark-like, competitor's grin. It was...a real smile.

My heart leapt again. Shut up! I wanted to yell at it.

“I’ll see you on December 12, Miss Shiffer.” He dipped his head to me and made his way towards the door. “By the way,” he said over his shoulder, “what is with that statue out front?”

Strings of white Christmas lights draped from the branches of the cherry trees all along the sidewalk of Saint Street. Office buildings displayed towering pine trees in their front windows, each more extravagant than the next, swaddled with gold garlands and topped with glittery snowflakes and stars. At the end of the street, a grassy median had been covered with freestanding ornaments: reindeer that moved their heads, angels with trumpets, menorahs with flickering candles.

“What do you think?” I asked.

Ivy’s mouth gaped open as she mumbled, “so much better than the bakery’s decorations.”

I snorted. The lights were only half the spectacle; the city kept them hung up all holiday season. But today, the road had been blocked off and lined on both sides with red roofed tents. The smell of kebabs, and roasted nuts and watery hot chocolate all intermingled into one, wafting through the air in tandem with the sound of off key carols.

As we stepped onto the avenue, the sound of sleigh bells and flutes grew closer. The band had huddled under one tent and was squeaking through a shaky rendition of “Up on the Housetop”. 

“Is that Ricky?” I asked, squinting at one of the saxophone players. Only brown hair poked out from underneath his trapper hat, but the freckled face was easily distinguishable.

Ivy crept up just behind the band director, who was fervently gesturing with his baton. She started waving her hands overhead like a castaway flagging down a helicopter.

“Ivy,” I hissed, “stop.”

I had only just latched onto the back of her vest, desperate to restrain her and keep her from ruining the bakery’s reputation when I felt a heavy hand land on my shoulder.

“I see you two are enjoying the show,” Arthur grinned down at me. 

He was close. Too close.

“Ready to lose?”

I shrugged him off, “As if.” Crossing my arms over my chest I shot my own arrogant smile at him. “You may have swooped in here three years ago but I’m here to take my business back.”

“Hm.” is all he replied.

I glanced up at him but his eyes were unfocused, fixated on some point in the distance. But he didn’t walk away. Was he waiting for us?

I coughed. “What cookies did you bring?”

“Oatmeal. You?” He replied, shaking himself from his stupor

The band director seemed to have taken notice of the intruder creeping up behind him.

“Snickerdoodles.”

He gestured furiously for Ivy to leave while Ricky was choking on his reed in laughter.

Why was it so awkward?

He pointed at the display before us, Ivy retreating sheepishly from the musicians. “I guess that’s our cue to leave?”

Wait. Our?

“Right,” I choked out. Then I turned to Ivy. “It’s been two minutes. How are you already banned from one of the tents?”

She flipped her hair over her shoulder. “It’s a gift.” Suddenly her eyes took in the scene. Arthur and I standing side by side. A devious look spread over her face, her lips splitting in the evilest smile I’d ever seen on another human being. Her eyes darted from me to Arthur. Arthur to me. “You know, you two should go set up. I’ve gotta find the bathrooms but I’ll meet up with y’all later. Ciao!”

I didn’t have the chance to speak before I was watching her back retreat into the crowd and disappear.

“If you ever see me drinking at work...you know why.”

Jane Shiffer - Santa’s Favorite Snickerdoodles I wrote on a little paper tent. Propping it up in front of my display, I glanced around, trying to locate Arthur in the mess of bakers and taste-testers.

His red beanie was easily visible in the crowd, stooping over his table a few paces away.

“Let’s see what I’m competing against,” I said, crossing the tent and peering over his shoulder.

He’d arranged his oatmeal cookies in rings all around a tiered display that he’d painted to look like a Christmas tree. Upon closer examination, I noticed sea salt glittering on his work like little ice crystals. If I won with my lack luster silver tray, it would be a Christmas miracle

He smoothed the table cloth in his work area and stepped back to admire his work. “Not bad.”

After a few moments, silence began to stretch between us, like cobwebs of words unspoken.

“Did you maybe want to walk around the festival?” I asked. The “with me” was silent.

“Sure!” he blurted out, like he’d been expecting the offer and rehearsing his response.

Oh, this was going to be awful.

Stepping out onto the asphalt side by side, the two of us started down the road. But we’d only made it a few paces before my cell started vibrating in my pocket.

“Gimme one second,” I stepped onto the sidewalk and fished the phone from my pocket.

My heart stopped when I read the caller ID.

“Hey, Mom.” 

Arthur followed me onto the sidewalk but I stepped back a piece. He didn’t need to hear this.

“It’s two weeks until Christmas,” she snapped.

“Yes…”

“Why haven’t you called?” A demand. Not a question.

I let my eyes focus on the sky, trailing snowflakes as they began their descent from above. Anything to take my attention away. Anything to quell the inevitable shaking of rage and shame.

“I didn’t think you wanted to talk to me.”

She huffed, so close to the phone speaker that a crackling noise sounded in my ear. “Well I don’t! Your step-father and I are struggling to pay the bills and where are you? Galivanting in the big city with your hotshot bakery?

Her voice grew louder.

“You good for nothing! I was right to kick you out. You think you’re better than us? Is that it?”

She was screaming now.

“YOUR LITTLE BROTHER HAS BEEN ASKING WHERE YOU’VE BEEN--”

“Mom I write Noah every chance I ge--”

“SAVE IT! We throw them out. He doesn’t need a bad influence like you in his life!”

My eyes darted over to where Arthur was leaning up against a lamppost. I tried to ignore the stunned look on his face.

“Hey, listen Mom, I have to go for now--”

“YOU’RE NO DAUGHTER OF MINE.”

“Love you, mom.”

I pressed the end call button and released a puff of air, letting myself fall back against the post opposite of Arthur. My eyelids squeezed shut.

“Hey, Jane.”

“Hm?” I asked, eyes still firmly closed.

He was silent for a moment then blurted out, “I’m sorry I set up my bakery so close to yours. It wasn’t fair and it seems like you gave up a lot to pursue this dream and all I’ve done is make it more difficult and honestly I thought Roseann’s was an pawn shop at first and I-”

The words tumbled out so fast my mind stalled like a faulty computer program. I could imagine the error messages popping up. Shaking myself from my trance, I looked at him. I’d truly never seen him look so...remorseful.

I closed the distance between us and looked up into his eyes. “Please don’t apologize to me.”

He just stared at me.

“We’ve all got baggage, Arthur. I’m not special. You have your own reasons for needing your bakery. I don’t deserve it more than you just because my mom is...well...my mom.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “Actually, I should be apologizing to you. You were right, you don’t know me that well because I’ve been perfectly awful and never gave you a chance…”

“Yeah,” he said, smiling.

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t make me retract my apology.”

“Is she Roseann? Your mom?”

I nodded. “I thought maybe it’d make her more accepting.” A bitter laugh crawled its way up my throat. “You think it worked?”

He grimaced. “Well, maybe not. But I don’t think your bakery is failing. In fact,” he said, springing up from the post and glancing at his watch, “It’s almost 4:30; I’d say you have a contest to win.” He extended one of his gloved hands. “Milady.”

“You know, you really don’t excel at flattery,” I snorted, placing  my hand in his.

“It’s not flattery if it’s true.”

The sun had sunk low in the sky, now a mere sliver of gold flashing between the skyscrapers and tents. Our long shadows trailed behind us as we made our way back to the baker’s area.

Suddenly my feet froze to the spot.

“Jane?” Arthur turned back to look at me, our hands still intertwined. The wind had colored the tip of his nose pink.

“I was thinking about what you said…” I began. “You thought Roseann’s was a pawn shop. Why?”

His chapped lips parted in laughter. “Well, the first time I saw it was three Christmases ago…”

My eyes narrowed.

“And the only thing I noticed was that Santa figure you have out front.”