“What?”
“Knowing exactly what tomorrow will look like.”
I shrugged. “There are worse things than predictable.”
That wasn’t entirely true.
You know everyone’s routine.
There had been a time when I wanted more.
Once, I told Jenna, “My mother used to own that bakery downtown.”
“The empty one?”
“Yeah. She inherited it from my grandfather.”
“What happened?”
There are worse things than predictable.
“She sold it when money got tight. Bought our house with what was left.”
“That must’ve been hard for her.”
“It was. And the strange thing is, nobody ever bought the bakery after that.”
“Maybe nobody wants it.”
“Everything else on that block has changed hands.”
She sold it when money got tight.
“Then maybe you should buy it.”
“I used to think I’d buy it back.”
“What stopped you?”
I laughed. “My bank account.”
“You could still do something someday.”
Nobody ever bought the bakery after that.
“Jenna, I’m forty.”
“So?”
