Finding the Never Father Figure

Even now, looking through the assortment of baked goods set out across the living room, I breathe in the heavenly smell, its mesmerizing aroma hypnotizing me for a minute. My long flowing burgundy sequin dress flows after me as I fix the roses in the vase below the family portrait. My mother is before the fireplace, her once bright blue eyes now a dull grey, the empty voids staring blankly at the fire. The effects of Alzheimer’s clear on my mother’s features. She would have taken a bite at the chocolate-filled croissants and stuffed a jam bagel in the pocket of her flour-covered apron but her frail hands remain in her lap.

“Now, now, Antionette, don’t put the cinnamon rolls beside the muffins. Wouldn’t want people clustered in one place now, would we?” I say to the shy French girl as she gives a low courtesy and picks up the plate of cinnamon rolls, moving them across the room.

My bakery, Sweet Serenity, had started 3 years ago, continuing my grandfather’s legacy. In his time, he had the best chocolate chip cookies around. People would stop by each afternoon for a piece of his delicious cookies and a cup of tea and spend all they had. They had given his recipes to me on my 18th birthday. New to it all, I studied the art of baking ad trained with my Tia Anita before she passed because of natural circumstances. Now, at 23, I had the biggest and best bakery around. Set up in California, Texas and 13 other states, I was living life large, a cup of coffee in one hand, a large pastry in the other.

Today, the bakery would celebrate its new milestone and its achievements since its beginning. Its principal aim was a cookie exchange for the future. There were to be at least 200 guests, friends and hopeful business partners. With a big smile, I nodded to the other maids but couldn’t hide my frustration forever. I was angry. I had prayed for my grandfather to forgive me for what I had planned for today. It would disappoint him to see what I had put into his hard work but it needed to happen. The bakery had been my escape route from the rough patches that life had left me to walk on. My severely broken heart and my unlimited supply of fake friends and people who collected unearthly amounts of cash to kill me or at least get my recipes. It was tiring thinking I had to look behind me each time I was in public.

People arrived around noon. Baskets filled with each of the finest cookies from every successful bakery across the state. The poshest and most extravagant around the state had knocked on my front door. The fancy hats and the expensive coats filled the living room fast, the preying bejeweled eyes of the rich, skimming over the baked delicacies, a few people trying to inhale as much as they could, dry lips being licked in anticipation. Cookies from each bakery were labelled and laid out across the room with other pleasantries.

I look around for my special guest, hoping to find his shaggy brown hair amid the eager crowd. After an unsuccessful search, I grab a wine glass off a tray, downing it quickly before picking another and heading to the center of the room. Tapping the glass with a spoon, the call for silence and the chatter dies down.

“Hello everyone! My name is Catalina Serenity and I welcome you all to mi casa! We gather here today to celebrate my great grandpa’s legacy and a new milestone for Sweet Serenity. I would not bore you with the details so I’ll get straight into it. An old saying goes’ Nunca as trade para aprender’ meaning it’s never too late to learn. Three years ago when I started Sweet Serenity, I thought it would be such a mess. Putting the legacy in the hands of messed up 20-year-old who was already dealing with a sick mom and what not was a risk. My Tia Rosemary was so scared of what I would do that each morning she would pray for me not to kill myself in the process of worse,” a few laughs come from the audience as my Tia throws me a playful glare.

“Eventually, after two years of training beforehand and my ability to learn fast saved me. Now surrounded by you all, I thank you for helping me throughout the way. Now the moment we have all been waiting for, please feast for I have prepared my finest goods for you all! Bakers all round, prepare to taste only best cookies around by yours truly! Cheers to many more years!” A cheer comes from the crowd as they erupt in applaud. Some congratulate me on my way to the back of the crowd. A few men come to close and I roll my eyes, telling myself it’ll soon be better.

The men remind me of a time not too long ago when some suitors appeared at my front door claiming they were from my fath-

I spot him. I find his shaggy brown hair resting against a wall near the famous chocolate chip cookies. Why aren’t I surprised? They were his favorite, after all. I raise my head in ambition and stride towards the man I had not seen in the flesh for years, but only in

pictures.

You gave a lovely speech, Mija. Your abuelo would be proud.”

“Father. What do I owe this pleasure?”

“I thought to stop by and congratulate you. I also remember receiving an invitation...?” He says, revealing a black invitation card from the pocket of his almost tattered grey jacket.

Now looking at him, his grey stubble and protruding belly, his faded black shirt and his tacky shoes, my father had become a mediocre hobo and I was suddenly happy that he had left all those years ago.

“I see your mother’s sickness continues to worsen. Poor soul she is.”

Looking at his revolting figure once more, I replied, “Yes, it’s getting worse but it could have been dealt with earlier had you not been a coward and helped us through the beginning of the crisis.”

“Now, now Mija, I come in peace not to dig up the past. I came to wish you goodwill and since I have, I will take my leave.”

Reminiscing the day they diagnosed my mother first with Alzheimer’s, I remember every detail of my father’s face. His actions. He drank that day and my tia was scolding him, trying to make him understand what was at hand. Instead, he broke a bottle on the wall, yelling curses into the air, picked up a pack of cigarettes and spent the night in another woman’s bed. I hate him.

“Welly daddy, since you must leave, mama asked that I save a special piece of abuelo’s chocolate chip cookie for the day you return. If you would follow me....”

With a wicked smile, I lead him to the basement; the place were we keep the family secrets. There would soon be another addition to my family’s dark truths.

“Father, did grandfather ever share his secrets with you?” I say, reaching into the fridge to pull out the cookie.

“Yes, he did, Mija. He told me everything because he trusted me.”

“He told you about the recipes too?”

“Yes, he told me all the ingredients and measurements. Mija, can I get the cookie and go or are we going to play a round of twenty questions?” he says with a nervous laugh.

“No, not that father. Did he ever tell you how he had to kill my grandmother for those recipes?”

“Catalina, what are you on ab-“

“After a little digging off my own, I found out that grandfather’s death was really a suicide after all. He couldn’t hold on to the fact that he had to rid to love of his life all for his love of money. Here’s the twist. I lied. His death wasn’t a suicide. It was pure cold-blooded murder.”

“Mija-“

“Grandfather visited the house after mi abuela had passed, yes? He claimed to need some closure and had stayed for a week before his passing caused by poisoning by himself. That day, grandfather was drunk and had told me about what had happened to grandma. He told me to keep it a secret and one day I could run his business too. You were going to kill mother when it came of time just as your father did, right? That day I made grandfather’s tea. Tea laced with poison, which was fast acting. Tell me father, did you know all this?”

“Mija, you’re a monster. You’re delusions seem to mix with your reality as usual.”

“Yes, and so are you. Leaving mama in the dust after they diagnosed her was a monstrous thing to do.”

I hand him his cookie with a silver fork. This cookie was exceptionally soft, making it fragile enough the be cute with a knife in one slice. He eyes it skeptically, as if scared to try it. I roll my eyes. “Take a bite. I wouldn’t kill you in this way. It would be too easy. Go home father before I change my mind.”

He takes a bite, slowly chewing. After a while he smiled and ate a bit more. Suddenly, he started coughing hard, showing that he was choking. His arms flailing around in alarm, he tried to reach me. I give him a bitter smile before making my way to the stairs. “You shouldn’t have given up on us. On me.” I say as I hear his body drop with a loud thud, his movements now stilled. “Vete al infierno.” (Go to hell.)

Now back up in the living room with my guests, I smile and give pleasantries as I meet my mother by the fireplace

“Mother, it’s done. Just as you told me to do with grandpa.”

“Good girl.” said the woman who hadn’t spoken in years.