First Man Page 12
The rules of baking and the endless recipes comforted me in those early days, and, before I really noticed, I was a regular feature in the bakery, wandering from tending the ovens to ringing up customers and loving every minute.
Dark Horse Bakery and the loud, wild city had become my home right under my nose, and as the months passed in king cakes and cream puffs, I realized that I’d finally found a place where I fit.
The red hair was an impulse. September arrived, and the old Ember would have been in a dorm room. Aunt Kathy helped me dye it the day I would have started classes, soaking my hair with the rusty colored liquid while I leaned over her bathtub in the cramped room.
The burnished copper color made me smile, and the girl looking back in the mirror had finally changed enough to match the way I felt.
Midway through the fall a package arrived from my parents. Mixed in with notes from Angie and Brian and the cards from my parents were a few random pieces of mail. One was a heavy padded envelope. The return address listed “The Speculative Literature Foundation.”
I tore open the envelope to find a copy of the journal. I flipped to the table of contents to see “The Power of the Story: Heroes, Villains and the Modern World” by Ember Pierson printed in the middle of the page. I sat on the floor of Aunt Kathy’s living room and read every page, letting the memories pour over me.
The next day I filled out an application Tulane for following fall.
My parents were ecstatic, and they offered to foot the bill for an apartment. Aunt Kathy’s tiny apartment above the shop was perfect for one person, but it was definitely cramped for two, so I readily accepted. I found a place about half a mile from the bakery, close enough to my Aunt to make my parents relax but far enough to let me spread my wings.
I settled into a comfortable life. I worked at the bakery five days a week and explored the city in my free hours. Summer had finally arrived, bringing with it endless humidity and even more crowds of tourists. And one June afternoon it brought Adam back to me.
I forgave him long ago. How could I really hate a man who loved me enough to give up what he deemed his last chance at happiness to protect me? That year of separation turned into a day when I saw him, and there was nothing in this world that was going to take him away from me again.
We didn’t leave my apartment for two days.
We hid in a tangle of bedsheets, telling each other every secret thought that had crossed our minds in the last year and relearning every inch of skin. We rushed headlong back into our relationship with the same abandon that had lead us down this road in the beginning. And just like then, I couldn’t regret the lack of caution.
“I knew I’d you find you again,” I whispered to him, in the small hours of the morning when even New Orleans finally slept.
Adam nuzzled my neck and asked, “What made you so sure?”
I smiled, slipping back to the memory of another night in another tiny apartment.
“Because the alternative is unthinkable.”
Ava Martell was born on Friday the 13th, but she always believed in making her own luck and writing her own story. She is a firm believer that love really does conquer all, but sometimes you have to take the long way around to get there.
Ava loves a good gin and tonic to wind her down or wind her up, depending on the occasion.
If you’d like to get in touch, Ava’s always plugged in!
msavamartell@gmail.com
Curl up in your favorite spot because this might get bit long! As an independent author, I depend on the help of my fellow authors and friends, so settle in while I shower them with praise!
To my writing group – every one of you is a rock star. The amount of talent and dedication in our little group continues to amaze me, and I know each and every one of you will reach the stratosphere one day.
To DE – Thank you for the endless encouragement as I bombarded you with drafts and updated word counts. Come hell or high water, we’re going to make all those dreams of yours a reality.
To BM – I can’t imagine where I’d be if you hadn’t clued me in the writing group and told me to give it a shot. Thank you times a million.
To DC – You’re not a guy who reads romance novels, but you read mine. Ultimate bro achievement unlocked.
To JR – You are my happy ending. Thank you for putting up with this crazy author during this whole process. I love you.
And last of all, thank you, the reader. You’re the reason I’m here. Once upon a time, a little girl dreamed of being a writer, and you’ve helped make that dream come true.
Ava
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