Home. Home was warm. It smelled like apples and cinnamon. It was the old quilt in the living room. It had your best interest in mind, even when you didn’t like it. It liked to bake pies and cakes and bread. It was orange and green and brown and all the colors of fall. It was old wood and that ugly family portrait in the hall. It was quiet, but it told a story. It wasn’t a long story, nor was it interesting, but it was the story of his life. It had gone by slow.

This place isn’t his house. Nor is it his home. It will never be. The city is fast. It’s sleek. It’s rich. It’s knowledgeable. It wears red pumps. It smokes. It’s emaciated. It’s loose. It’s metal and concrete and glass. It’s respected. It’s feared. It’s an ugly and twisted sort of pretty. It’s fleeting and stands still for nobody. It was gray and red and black. It judges you. It never ends.

Chuck stood on the balcony of the 21st story loft. His green eyes scanned the lack of landscape. The sun was setting, the top was black and it faded into the reds and oranges that matched his hair. No stars, though. There might have been stars at one point. Thousands of years ago, if someone stood upon the ground from this spot, they would have been able to see a vast and endless black sea full of stars. But now, the stars were nothing but the lights on the planes. They were red and yellow and mocking him.

He sighed. He turned into the room and closed the frosted glass sliding door. He shut the curtains and sat on the couch and turned on the avant garde lamp, that looked like Buddha, holding a bottle of some unknown alcohol in his right hand. Wearing a lampshade of course. He looked at it a moment. Then he turned it back off, if only to spare him having to look at it. He sat in the dark.

Ever since he had moved here Charles Bacon was not happy. He was only here two days but he was constantly working. He looked at the kitchen. It was like a graveyard of burned or otherwise rejected baked goods. Flour and powdered sugar lay like a blanket over the counter. The dishes in the sink piled up. He was kinda mad. Kinda tired. Kinda confused. He was finally achieving his dream. He should be happy, right?

Right.

Trixie thought so, too.

Trixie was a good friend. Lots of people had good things to say about her. Chuck, at the moment, did not.

She was his best friend, had been since high school. Though they went their separate ways for college. They kept in touch. They visited. They chatted. They shared secrets and dreams. Maybe he had once mentioned owning a bakery. She knew he baked, but he was sure he couldn’t have said much about it as a career. It was his deepest, darkest, and most personal secret.

Okay, admittedly, Chuck was not that unhappy. He was actually ecstatic. He had a friend that had more guts than he had ever had, and she was making his dream come true. If he could just find those three perfect recipes.

This was all finally happening, and it was all thanks to her.

Damn her.
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He didn’t need to look at the phone to know who was calling. He knew the ringtone. He picked it up anyhow. “Call from: Trixie”. It had a picture of her showing off her first tattoo. He looked at the clock. 7:00 AM flashed red and angry in the dark. He dropped the phone and rolled over.

It rang once more. 7:03.

Twice more.7:07.

Three times more. 7:10.

“I give, I give!” He said, after finally pressing the green button.

“You awake?” Trixie said in a sickeningly sing-song voice.

“Unfortunately. What do you want?” He groaned, pulling the sheets over his head.

“I want you to come visit me.”

“No.” He said, and considered hanging up.

“Chuck, seriously. You’ve gotta come. This surprise is life-changing and amazing. Ah! You are gonna love me forever.” There was a smile in her voice.
______________________________________________________________
In retrospect, she was right. But… this was too much.

“Open your eyes!” He did so.

“Trixie.” He said flatly. Her hands were clenched. Her smile was wide as she bit her lower lip. She seemed to be waiting for him to leap up and hug her.

“Yeah?” She said, her voice far more falsetto than he had ever recalled it being before.

“This is an empty store.”

“Well it is right now, but look.” She walked through the room excitedly, pointing at empty space and filling it with imaginary furniture. “Here are the tables. And over here is the counter and here by the window can be a workspace, I’m thinking cookie-decorating station. Couldn’t put cakes there, the fondant wouldn’t stick in such a warm place. And here in the back will be an oven that goes all the way to the ceiling! You could bake so much! All at once, Chuck!”

“What.” He said.

“Chuck! It’s your bakery!” He stood in silence. The imaginary furniture stood in his mind where she pointed. He blinked and it was gone.

“I don’t… I can’t… Trixie, you-” He muttered. Inside his heart was racing. He had a bakery. A bakery. Something he had dreamed of doing for a long time. His mind overtook his heart when the time came for college and he chose medical school. It was that simple. He wanted to be sure he could make enough money to live how he wanted. Something about a bakery was uncertain. “I don’t have the money for this.”

“Uhhh, yeah, you do.”

“Since when are you my treasurer?”

“Since I got you a sponsor.”

“A… what?”

“Sponsor. They’ll pay for everything up front, and as you make money, some of the profit goes to them. Of course, you have a test.”

“A… what? Trixie! A test? A bakery- I can’t! I don’t even… ugh!”

“Chuck, look at me.” He calmed down and did as she said. “Do you remember the night you called me so upset, wondering what you were gonna do with the rest of your life? You just graduated from college and wanted to apply for medical school? I told you to follow your heart.”

“Yes, but I-“

“No buts! You didn’t follow my advice. If ever you should waver, you have made the wrong decision. I,” she continued, putting an arm around his shoulder “am trying to put you on the right track.”

“You’re crazy.” He laughed.

“Maybe, but I’m even crazier for those macaroons you always used to make. Chuck, I honestly wouldn’t have done this if I didn’t think you could. But the more I think about it, the more I can see it. This place and you. You were destined to be together.”

“I spent so much money on tuition, I have exams, I’ve already done a semester, I think it’s-”

“I think it’s time for you to stop running from this.”

“Wha- I’m not, I’m not running.” He laughed. She stared at him in silence. “Yeah, okay,” he agreed. “Maybe I have run a bit.”

“See! Now we’re getting somewhere. Now tell me, why do you not want this?” They stood enclosed in 5 walls of concrete and windows and a door of glass, with sunlight bouncing off it, lighting the room.

“I just can’t Trixie.” He laughed, “ I mean, I live four hours away and-“

“Then you’ll live with me.”

He sighed. “No, you don’t understand, I have that lease on my apartment-”

“I can wait.”

“Listen to what I have to say!” He shouted. Realizing his sudden burst of anger, he backed up. He massaged the bridge of his nose for a moment. “I’m sorry.” He was quiet. “This is all happening sort of fast.”

“You done?” Trixie said, raising her eyebrows.

“Yeah.”

“Of course it’s happening fast. I’m trying to get you back to where you belong. Y’know, I read a book once. At the beginning there was this whole thing about what keeps you from achieving your dreams. So let’s do that.” Chuck breathed in, smiled, and nodded. “Okay. God, let me see… fear of achieving your goal. Considering all the backtracking I’m gonna go ahead and say that’s a check.” She made a motion of checking a box on an invisible notepad. “Umm, fear of… hurting loved ones? I think that was it.”

Chuck’s breath caught in his throat. Loved ones. He looked at his feet and uncomfortably scratched the back of his neck. “Should I say that’s a yes, too?” Trixie almost whispered.

“Yeah.”

“Would it be okay if I asked why?”

“It’s just that this bakery thing wasn’t my dream at first. It was my mom’s. She had always said to me as a kid that one day she’d have a bakery. She said we’d make good money and we’d get away from him and…” He trailed off. He laughed to try and lighten the mood.

“Oh.” Trixie didn’t ask for more than that. “Well, how about general obstacles?”

“It just seems like a lot to do. I wouldn’t think I could.”

“Yeah, but I do. And I know you trust me, don’t play like you don’t. Which leads us to the last; people who say you can’t.”

“Well, I suppose I can’t think of anybody because nobody knows about it but us.”

“Right. So let’s get over these. By Saturday, hopefully, cause that’s when we’re meeting our sponsor.”

“What day is today?”

“Monday.”

“I think I hate you.”

“That’s okay.”