Bakery
Cuddy put on her shoes and stuffed her pantyhose in her purse. Glancing behind her, he slept noisily. She debated whether or not to take a shower here, but if she remembered the last time, he only had Zest soap and Finesse shampoo. Home. Why is it they never went to her house?
House. She shook her head. Home. That's where she wanted to go. Driving down the empty streets early on a Saturday it seemed that the town belonged to her. Once she got in her door she kicked off her shoes, threw her purse on the table and shrugged out of her clothes.
She headed for the bathroom and started the shower. When she renovated, she had installed a waterfall showerhead. Standing under it she sighed in satisfaction. There were dollars you spent that you never regretted. Regret. No. No inclination for regret.
A small dab of Phytocitrus shampoo emulsified between her small hands. She lathered through her long hair. At her age most women had cut their hair, she couldn't. The scent soothed her as she massaged her scalp. The gift basket she got from a board member had not gone to waste. She used the L'Occitane soap, and followed up with the almond shower oil. Unapologetically high maintenance.
Shifting into a white, cotton nightie she slid into her bed to grab another few hours of sleep. She loved sleep stolen in daylight; it felt decadent.
She awoke refreshed. All in all, things were right in her world. She turned on the radio and listened to classic rock as she did some stretching.
Normally, she'd log in and check e-mail, catch up on budgets or something else; but she declared a moratorium on work today. Today she was devoting just to herself. She did check her calendar.
Damn. It was Gretchen's birthday. Damn. She was responsible for the cake. There was no way to avoid going out.
She threw on a pair of jeans and her favorite red corduroy jacket. The color made her feel better. She decided to change purses. The weekend called for informality. She checked her closet, crammed full of her frilly, delicate clothes. In the back was her favorite Louis. Denim lined in red suede and accented with red leather and gold chains. It was ostentatious and WAY too expensive, but it cheered her up. Except that she wasn't depressed. Much.
A pair of red Keds and she was ready to bounce out the door. She found a parking space right in front of the bakery. She pushed through the glass door and stood in line. Weekends were busy. Lovers sharing croissants and coffee at the café tables by the windows. Ladies buying day-old challah for tomorrow's French toast. Little kids whining for their free cookie.
Cuddy took a number and examined the cases to see what she might want. Gretchen loved chocolate. There were a few different options. Flourless chocolate cake. Death by Chocolate. Chocolate Love cake, decorated with candied rose petals. That was the one. Romantic.
When had all the romance gone out of her life? Were there no more surprises? Was everything either an item on her agenda, or an impulsive action? How many more poignant reminders of the thoroughly temporary nature of her personal life would it take?
Looking around the bakery, the customers seemed so alien. Why didn't she let her lover take her out for pastry in the morning? For whom would she make French toast? Would she ever have an impatient child to placate with sweets?
It didn't matter. She had what she wanted. She was who she wanted to be. Dean of Medicine. Not many women accomplished that. Not many women would sacrifice for that accomplishment. Although, some days she wondered why she did.
Not today though. Today she resolved to be happy. The sun shone on a cool autumn day. This was her life and she belonged to it.
She waited until the harried counter-girl called on her. In no time the cake was wrapped up in a pink box with white string. There was also a white, waxed bag holding an apple turnover. Breakfast.
Rather than eat it there, Cuddy thought about where she could get a really strong cup of coffee.