I sat beside her and asked whether she wanted solutions or sympathy. She studied me, surprised enough to ask who had taught me that, and I admitted it had been Jess. “Sympathy first,” she said, leaning against the cabinet while I put an arm around her. I told her the situation sucked, and she closed her eyes with the relief of someone who had spent all day expecting to be told how to fix her own life.
Eventually, she admitted the cancellation had brought back her father’s warnings about opening the bakery at twenty-two. Every setback seemed to give his doubts a fresh voice, even after two years of keeping the business profitable. I reminded her that one bad order didn’t erase all the mornings she had unlocked the doors and made the place work. She rested her head against my shoulder, and for several minutes neither of us tried to make that sound like a joke.
