Bitterly Sweet

October 28, 2009
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I had no real insight as to why things like this happen to anyone. In my younger years as a student in high school, how did I know that a single person in my life is fated to change a piece of me, a piece that can never be reverted and kills that past forever. And what of that outcome? Is it better then the original? I suppose such an answer will change from each victim that attempts to shut out everyone else only to let that one person slip through.

Initially though, I hadn't liked him too much, he was American and I was an upcoming French Pastier. Or so I believed at the time, no one could throw me from my pedestal and as the stereotypes tell, I wasn't the friendliest out there. Snotty and rude, I began to pick on the blonde as a way to vent out my frustrations, not caring about his own feelings and focusing on my own. In Canada, they didn't focus too much on pastry making in a public high school culinary class. Frustration drove me over the edge, desperate not only to have some recognition for my work, but to have someone who would at least listen to me. And once more it all came down to the blonde. Out of anger, I smashed my newest delicacy into his face, not expecting him to laugh and taste it, and certainly not to compliment me on my work.

Dumbfounded as I was, we slowly began a proper conversation and later a friendship. Being the elder, I did graduate first and left to go to a culinary school, determined to open my own pastry shop. I exchanged talk with my high school companion outside of school, developing emotions inappropriate for the relationship we currently held, but I kept my mouth shut and my tongue between my teeth. I didn't want to lose the one person who didn't mind my quirks and was the first to open up to me and vice versa. And so I went on, content enough like that until I did obtain my one dream and opened my shop. Years later, after Guy had graduated from college and was working on a life, I received a call that devastated my being. Two cakes, a brides and grooms for a miss using the same last name as my own love interest. He had never told me about an engagement and like a sneak I was forced to learn it from someone else to confirm that he was marrying.

I held an odd determination to complete the cakes after that, using the same recipe I created for his birthday a few years ago, his favorite. Despite the pain in my heart, I wouldn't take it out on the food anymore, not since my first heart to heart with Guy. Despite the bitter irony of me being the baker, I delivered the goods early on their wedding day, set them up and received a happy 'thank you' from my rival in love. And of course I met the groom by accident, he sat miserable in the parking lot and all I could think of was to sit close to him and comment on his mood, pained at seeing that expression in his eyes. Our words were pointless, slowly we leaned closer, lips pressed together in a needy kiss reflecting both of our wants. Panting for the breath we lacked as we pulled away I stared questioningly. “Couldn't you of said something years ago?” But I knew, I wasn't one to complain despite how much of a hypocrite I was at heart.

And with that I had obtained a very important fact, Guy wasn't in love with that woman, he was settling for a contented life. Frowning, I told him to go beyond that, to be happy because if he tried then he could obtain his dreams like I did. With a few more words I rose, not bothering with a good bye, but instead parted with my wisdom and moved on to my car. I didn't see the man again for two months, until he surprised me by arriving on the front door of my shop after I had closed. I allowed him to enter and we talked, kissing lightly and recollecting our times to the other. Eventually though, he claimed his love, his need, for me. But I wouldn't settle for being second. Despite what his heart said there was still a ring on his finger. And that was where the complication came in. He was kind and she was gentle, he didn't want to end it so soon and crush her, he would devote at least a year to her. A year of secret meetings and embraces between us that left me begging for more.

And when that more came, and the ring was gone, we were both happy. Even his ex wife had come to understand what was going on early and had no qualms with letting go. I was, at last, no longer a second, but a first to him. And most important we did not have to hide, we could do as we please where we saw fit, the gestures and looks no longer forbidden and our bodies meant for only each other.

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