How Two-Way Bakery Came to Be

Winter had already kicked in hard in Minnesota, and the news said it was here to stay.

I looked down Main Street. The bakery's lights shined brightly on the corner, just by the Christmas tree in the square. Our bakery was the best in town. There are two other bakeries besides ours. They are Ms. Miggin's Treats and the Joyces' bakery.

The Joyces are our sworn enemies. When my great-great-great-grandfather opened our bakery, the Joyces’ great-great-great-grandfather opened one too, out of spite. Our families have competed ever since.

Yesterday, Mom finally let me start helping in the bakery where I'd spent countless nights doing homework. Although now, I'm not here for homework. I'm here for work.

“Abigal! You’re late for the family meeting,” Mom says, pulling me into our white kitchen. I see my family huddled in the back whispering quickly. Mom leads me over to them.

“For the baking contest, we need to put all our skills to the test. Our desserts must be top-notch, and must be better than the Joyces’,” Dad says sternly to everyone.

“Abby needs to be in a contest since it’s her first time working. We can evaluate then if she’s ready for the big stuff afterward,” Jenson, my older brother, says to me. Mom and Dad both grin. It’s a tradition in my family to have the newest member of the bakery bake in the Annual Winter Baking Competition. The AWBC is a big deal in our family.

Last year, Jenson beat Carter Joyce with his apple pie. Mom was defeated by Mrs. Anne Joyce from her sugar cookies. Kaylee, my older sister, was beaten by Miriam Joyce because she took her strawberry pastries out of the oven a minute early. Dad won against Mr. Brigg Joyce with his pumpkin cheesecake. 

The AWBC has a few different categories. They are pastries, pies, cookies, and then gingerbread houses. My oldest sister June always wins the gingerbread category.

"I think Abby should do cookies,” Mom suggests. 

“What about pastries? I think she’d be better at that,” Kaylee argues. 

“Pies are boring. Have Abby do them,” Jenson complains.

“Abby will be assisting me with the gingerbread house,” June orders. We stop talking. When June speaks, everyone listens.

“Jenson, you will do pies again. But not apple pie, blueberry pie. Mom, you do cookies, but keep them simple. Dad, keep making your pumpkin cheesecake but add a little more pumpkin. Kaylee, make strawberry pastries again but cook them the right amount of time,” June orders.

The competition is less than a week away and Mom is completely freaked out by the possibility of Mrs. Anne Joyce beating her again. June is the polar opposite. Relaxed and confident.

Everyone nods confirmingly, and the kitchen comes alive. June leads me over to her station. The ingredients for gingerbread are already laid out. 

“Do you know how to make gingerbread?” June asks. 

“No. I didn’t get that far in lessons,” I reply. We’re homeschooled, and learn all your regular stuff like math and reading, but we also learn to cook. 

“Then I’ll make gingerbread. You make the frosting. You can do that, right?” June asks. 

“Yes. Frosting is the first thing I learned,” I said, annoyed. Who does June think she is, acting like I don’t know how to make frosting?

I pick up the ingredients and start.

An hour later, the gingerbread was done and June was taking it out of the oven. Jenson had already finished his blueberry pie and was now making vanilla ice cream to go with it. Mom was worriedly putting the molasses cookies onto a plate. She was still freaked out. Dad was reading a magazine and Kaylee was placing her strawberry pastries on a drying rack. 

“The gingerbread is done. Now let's work on the house,” June commands. I turn back to her. June’s dark brown hair, like mine, is tied up in a bun, but hers looks much more professional. Like she belongs in a kitchen. 

Carefully, June and I construct the house. Every year, June picks a more detailed house. This year it’s a mansion with wreaths on the doors and windows. 

“Get the candy,” June says. I go over to our candy cabinet and pull out M&Ms, gumdrops, and mini candy canes. June looks approvingly at my choices and begins working.

“I need Twizzlers,” June says. I sigh and quickly get the jar of Twizzlers. The gingerbread house looks great. What could be missing? Then I see it.

June takes the Twizzlers and hangs them up around the house like strings. Using the frosting (that I made without any trouble, mind you), June attaches tiny hard candies like lights. It's perfect.

Kaylee murmurs a wow. Jenson’s eyes get as big as frying pans. Mom and Dad stare. June smiles proudly at her creation like it’s her kid or something.

“Now that's going to win for sure!” Kaylee cheers. June frowns. 

“Of course it’s going to win. Did you ever think otherwise?” June asks.

“No,” Kaylee replies quickly. June turns back to her prized creation and smiles again.

The next day is a flurry of activity. The Joyces probably just started because their bakery is closed and the kitchen lights are on.

Mom is frantically rushing around checking on things. June is calmly answering her questions. Jenson is whining about something, Dad's sleeping, and Kaylee's texting friends.

“Abby, please, wake up your father. JENSON HEATH QUIT WHINING! Abby no excuses. June, please go check on your gingerbread house. KAYLEE GET OFF YOUR PHONE! June, there is no need to argue. JENSON WHAT DID I SAY? Abby, where did I put my headache medicine?” My mom says, exasperated. 

“In the candy cabinet. I saw it yesterday,” I say. 

“What’s in the candy cabinet? Oh, nevermind,” Mom turns on her heel. “I’m taking a nap.”

Once Mom starts sleeping it gets a bit less crazy. Kaylee is fussing about her hair and Jenson is quietly sulking around the house.

The air is still freezing cold. As I’m re-winding my scarf, I accidentally bump into someone, and we go flying backwards.

“Oh my God, I am so sorry,” I apologize, brushing myself off. 

“It’s okay,” assures the stranger. He picks himself up, and then helps me. The stranger’s hair is brown, not nearly as dark as mine. He has lovely light green eyes that sparkle in the light. Quite handsome. 

“Thank you,” I say once I’m standing again. 

“Don’t worry about it. I should’ve been watching where I was going too,” the stranger says kindly. 

“Oh, I forgot to even introduce myself. I’m Abby,” I say. 

“Cool. I’m Blake,” Blake replied, shaking my hand. I smile. He does too. Then, out of nowhere, t begins to snow. Not hard snow, but light snow that gently and gracefully glides down from the heavens. 

We both giggle, and then duck our heads to blush. Blake’s phone dings and he looks apologetic. 

“I’ve got to go,” he says. “Nice meeting you.”

“Likewise. I’ll see you around?”

“Yep,” Blake starts towards the neighborhood, but I decide to make a quick detour and see the Christmas tree in Town Square. 

The sky has darkened from the snow, and the tree’s lights glimmer brightly. I think of my family. They do this every year. They bake and bake. But for what? Bragging rights?

Then I think of the Joyces. They do it too. Why? I mean, publicity maybe?

The last thing I think of while I’m by the tree is of Blake. He looks familiar, like someone I’ve been close to my entire life but never noticed. Is he a Joyce? Probably not. I don’t think Joyces are as nice as he is, no matter what Camryn says. 

When I get back home, everything is calm. Mom seems to have lost her jitters, and Jenson is happily watching his favorite TV show. Kaylee is FaceTiming her friends again, June is nowhere to be found, and Dad is sleeping in his room. Perfect calm. The way things should always be. 

The day of the Annual Winter Baking Competition finally arrives. I haven’t seen Blake at all since our first meeting, but that is the least of my worries. 

One of Mom’s friends said that the Joyces’ have a new secret weapon. Their newest addition. Supposedly, his gingerbread house skills are better than even June’s. June got so angry, she won’t come to the competition, so I have to present the gingerbread house alone. Great. Just great. 

“Oh, Abby, you’ll do perfectly, won’t you? June will be so proud when you come home with the ribbon for her,” Mom assures me. Her assuring only makes me more worried. 

We all pile into the car (except for June) and drive to the field where the competition is hosted. The judges are already there, sitting at their tall chairs with an air of authority. The Joyces are all crowding around someone I can’t see. 

“Probably their famed newest addition,” Mom says gingerly. I agree, and so does Dad. Jenson and Kaylee think they’re just huddling together to keep warm, like penguins. 

The spectators are kinda standing around, waiting for us to arrive. When we get out of the car, Mom is instantly mobbed with reporters. 

“Ma’am, how do you feel about the Joyces’ newest addition?

“Are you intimidated by your competition?”

“How confident are you about your cookies this year, Mrs. Heath?”

“May we get a picture of your lovely family?”

The reporters are relentless with their questioning. Finally, Mom has enough and shoos them all away. The crowd immediately gathers in front of the judges, leaving just enough space for Mom and Mrs. Anne Joyce to present their desserts. 

Then it’s Jenson’s tun. After that Kaylee’s. Then Dad’s. And lastly, mine. I take a deep breath and present my gingerbread house to the judges. I hear a gasp from behind me. I turn, expecting it to be an astonished spectator, but it isn’t. 

It’s Blake. 

And he’s a Joyce.

My enemy.

But I don’t hate him. I can’t. I only wish I would’ve found out sooner so I could prepare myself. 

“Abby?” Blake says at the same time I say, “Blake?” 

His gingerbread house looks equally as fantastic as mine, er, June’s. I wonder who will win. Could it be a tie? No. My mother would never stand for a tie. Neither would Mrs. Anne Joyce. 

“Mr. Blake, please present your gingerbread house,” a judge orders. Blake complies, still not taking his eyes off of me. I don’t take mine off of him either. 

The judges admire each house, and then break off a tiny corner to taste the gingerbread. They all look impressed, by who’s, I don’t know. Then, we’re dismissed with our treats, and the judges talk quietly to discuss the winners. They seem to know exactly who won each contest because the talking is over quickly. All the participants line up. I stop looking at Blake, and he stops looking at me. This is a fierce competition. Feelings should not be included. 

“All your dishes were delicious. The winner of the cookie category is Mrs. Heath,” says the first judge. Mom does a happy dance and yells “YES!” louder than she yells at Jenson for leaving the back door open. 

“The winner of the pie category was. . .Edward Joyce.” Jenson’s face falls. Edward Joyce sticks out his tongue at Mom. She looks like she’s about to strangle the kid. 

“The winner of the pastry category is Kaylee Heath,” says a kind-looking judge. She winks at Kaylee, and Kaylee beams. 

“Mr. Heath wins the next category,” an old male judge announces. 

“And lastly but certainly not least,” the last judge says, “we are very excited to announce the first-ever. . .” My mother sucks in a breath. I try to focus on slowing my pounding heart. 

“. . .A tie! You both did so well, Miss Abigail Heath and Mr. Blake Joyce that we simply could not decide who did better! Thank you very much, and that concludes our festivities for the day!” the judge smiles. I bet she thinks she’s doing something good for us. But making it a tie will most definitely not make our families better behaved toward each other. 

The judges bow and leave their places. Kaylee is smirking at Miriam Joyce while happily answering questions from reporters. I see my mother’s bright red face and Mrs. Anne Joyce’s death stare and I know not everyone is as cheery as Kaylee. 

I send a worried glance Blake’s way. He sees my expression and gives a tiny nod, just as my mother erupts. 

“A TIE?” she yells. “THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE!”

“Technically, a tie is possible,” Jenson says unhelpfully. Mom glares sternly at Jenson and he scurries away to the reporters.

“My son’s gingerbread house was better than yours, but the poor judges didn’t want to embarrass your family, so they called it a tie. My son would’ve won if not for that,” Mrs. Anne Joyce proclaimed to the growing crowd. More people were interested in the fight than in the competition itself. 

I send another glance Blake’s way. C’mon, do something! Thankfully, Blake gets the message.

“Ladies and gentlemen! Please, act like civilized people!” Blake says commandingly. Not like June’s powerful voice, Blake’s is kinder but still stern. He nods my way.

“This baking competition was a friendly competition for many years, one which everyone attended and shared their delectable desserts. No matter if they won or lost, they were still happy. But when we lose, we get into fights. Why are we like this? What is there to win? Bragging rights? Fame? Why aren't we friends?" No one talked. They just stared at the dead grass guiltily.

“Generations ago, our ancestors became bakers. Our great-great-great-grandfathers started this entire thing out of spite and jealousy. Do we want to be like them? Do we want to be spiteful and jealous of our neighbors? As the stories go, our great-great-great-grandfathers were best friends, and then they had a little quarrel, and look at what has come of it. We hate each other for no reason. Do you want to be known for that? I certainly don't,” Blake adds. Mr. Brigg Joyce looks proud of his son.

“I understand your point of view, Abigail, but you must understand that this is a big deal in our family. It’s tradition, and we don’t break traditions, do we?” Mom asked sternly. She was daring me to say no. Tradition is a big thing in our family. We don’t break traditions, it’s true. But sometimes traditions are meant to be broken. 

“Mom, my best friend Camryn always says that thinking out of the box includes doing things you or your family don't agree with. I have a proposal for you," I say.

“Let me hear it, but I don’t think I’ll like it,” Mom replies. I look to Mrs. Anne Joyce and her husband. 

“We’ll listen too,” Mrs. Anne Joyce agrees. 

“The Heaths and Joyces have always been brilliant bakers. So, what if we combine our bakeries? Then we won’t have to compete or argue anymore, and our bakery will prosper. We can share profits and become friends instead of enemies. Please, Mom, and Mrs. Joyce, won’t you consider it?” I pleaded. Mom looked like she was weighing her options. Mrs. Anne Joyce looked at me like she was trying to see if I was lying. 

“What do you think?” Mom asked Dad. He shrugged. “I think it’s a perfect idea,” Dad said. 

“Then we’re in. What about you, Anne?” Mom asked Mrs. Anne Joyce. I noticed she called her “Anne” and not “stuck-up Joyce” or “way too tanned Anne”. I also smiled at the fact that nobody bothered asking what June would think.

“It’s certainly a tempting proposal. I must consult the family,” Mrs. Anne Joyce said softly. Blake winked at me and I winked back. The Joyces huddled together, whispering like my family when we were planning our desserts. 

Finally, they turned around. Blake was grinning, Mrs. Anne Joyce was pressing her lips together trying not to smile, Miriam was smiling joyfully, Mr. Joyce was looking at Dad approvingly, and Edward Joyce was looking apologetically at Jenson. 

“We agree to your proposal, Abigail,” Mrs. Joyce said. 

“Call me Abby,” I told her. After that, our families came together.

“You did great back there, Abby,” Blake said kindly.

“Thanks,” I replied, blushing furiously.

We hugged and Kaylee dragged me away to meet Miriam, her new BFF.

A few days later, the Joyces sold their bakery and so did we. Pooling our money, we bought a bigger bakery for all of us. Mom and Mrs. Joyce decided we should name it “Two-Way Bakery” since two families shared it.

You might be wondering what happened with June. When we came home June started yelling at me. She’d seen the entire thing on TV and was not happy about it. 

"We will be the laughingstock of Minnesota!" she yelled. But then Mom told her I was a genius and June packed her bags and left for Utah.

Now, Blake and I are married. We have two lovely 7- and 9-year-old children, Maggie Anne Joyce, and Pierce Edward Joyce. Kaylee married a man she met in Nashville while visiting with Miriam. Jenson is single and owns the bakery. June is in Utah still as far as anyone knows. Mom loves being “Gramma” and stays with our kids and Kaylee’s all day. Mrs. Anne Joyce favors Kaylee’s daughter Willow the best and adores her. Mr. Joyce has since died, along with Dad. Edward, “Uncle Eddie” to Maggie, is still with us.

We're all family now. Last names don't matter. Heath and Joyce are the same things. The rivalry has been resolved and friendship has been found.

And that, my friends, is the story of Two-Way Bakery.