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Looking down at the mounting bills, I tried to
keep tears from falling from my eyes. We owed money to the bank for our
mortgage, Sal for repairing our ovens, my father’s medical bills for his weekly
physical therapy, our electric bill, phone bill and our rent, which,
thankfully, was rent-controlled. I didn’t get paid so we could cover the costs
and living expenses for our family. But, my biggest fear, losing the bakery
that had been in our family for four generations, was sadly coming to fruition.
With the growing pile of debt, I feared we’d never get out of this without
declaring bankruptcy.
And let’s not forget my student loans … but
that was a whole other can of worms. Thankfully, I’d been able to defer some
payment due to my financial situation, but that was another bill waiting to be
paid and be paid soon.
Scrubbing my eyes, I sat back and took a few
calming breaths. It was close to midnight. I’d have to be back down at The Swan
Family Bakery, Inc. in 1897 by four tomorrow morning to prepare for the morning
rush. We were one of the few remaining family bakeries in our tiny neighborhood
in Brooklyn. There were two Jewish bakeries and then ours, which specialized in
Italian delicacies and some Gevalian treats, calling on my great-grandfather’s
heritage. It was a blend of Italian sweets, French baked goods and Gevalian
chocolate. I also had an espresso maker, cappuccino maker and a fridge with
sodas, but we were barely scraping by.
“Isabella, sweet girl, you need to go to
sleep,” said my father, Charlie. “Staring at the bills will not make them
magically go away.”
“We need a million bucks, Pop,” I said,
standing up and walking out of the tiny office. “Or more. We have enough to
cover the mortgage, electric bill, our standing order with the grocer and Sal,
but we may have to ask the doctor for an extension on your therapy bills and
I’ll cancel my cell phone. I’m here most of the time, anyway. You can reach me
here.”
Charlie, with a trembling hand, frowned deeply
and patted my cheek. “You should not be shouldering this burden, sweet girl,”
he said, his voice tired, weary. “All of this would be so much easier if it
weren’t for my medical expenses and Alice’s inability to understand that we’re
struggling.”
“I’ve talked to her, but she keeps bitching
that I’m not her fucking mother,” I growled, turning off the lights in the
office and following my father up the steep stairs to our two-bedroom
apartment. Alice, the selfish cow she is, took the bedroom that we once shared
after I moved out for college and I was relegated to the couch when I moved
back home after my dad was first diagnosed, just after I’d accepted a position
teaching in Connecticut. It was a nice apartment, just under a thousand square
feet with hardwood floors and antique charm. Our furniture was old, but
well-maintained and it was homey, warm and comfortable.
“She is an entitled little snot,” Charlie
grumbled. “I love my baby girl because she’s so much like your mother.”
“Mom wasn’t spoiled like this, Daddy,” I
argued. “She worked right beside you until she went into labor with Alice. She
worked hard.”
“This is true, but Alice’s ambition is just
like your mother,” Charlie snorted. He kissed my cheek. “Why don’t you take my
room?”
“If I do, you won’t be able to walk for days,
Dad,” I said. “The doctor said you need the support. I’ll be fine.” I hugged
him and watched as he shuffled to his room. I went to the bathroom, stripping
out of my dusty clothes and pulling on some pajamas. Brushing my teeth, I went
back to the living room and tugged out the bedding from the chest we used as a
cocktail table. I made my ‘bed’ and set my alarm on the phone that I was
canceling tomorrow because we needed the money. I’d rather cancel Alice’s
phone. It had unlimited text, data and minutes, but she’d bitch if she didn’t
have her phone.
She’d bitch about every damn thing if it were
up to her.
Swan Family Bakery
Living Room/Bella's Bedroom
Charlie's Bedroom
Alice's Bedroom
Bathroom
Kitchen
Isabella Swan
Charlie Swan
Alice Swan
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