I can still smell that bakery you despised. It's sickeningly sweet, full of processed sugar and disgustingly fattening. It was the only place that could keep you at bay, at first. The bakery's assortment of cakes, danishes, and cookies were all you could stomach during the first few weeks of treatment. Your cravings were through the roof. The clerk knew me by my first name, and sometimes I thought she'd memorize my credit card information, too. Despite being twice her age, it always bothered you the way the clerk batted her huge, false eyelashes at me. The bakery you loved soon came to be a place you despised, as if you weren't my wife of 9 years. You were still jealous of this 17-year-old girl, as if you weren't carrying my child. 

 

Our wedding cake was from this bakery: a three-tiered, marble flavor with buttercream icing and two edible figurines at the top that resembled us. You loved their red velvet cakes with cream cheese frosting in the winter, and in the fall, you bought their pumpkin rolls every week. Now, each February, when their red velvet Valentine's desserts are displayed, I choke back the urge to vomit. I can still smell the wretched scent of the day you threw it up all over the bakery's floor, and the smell of the hospital immediately afterwards. The aroma of the emergency room, the iodine, and the "Sorry for your loss" flowers haunt me. And now, three years later, on the anniversary of your death, I am at the bakery, and you are not with me to despise the way the clerk flirts with me. Instead, you are my guardian angel who keeps the freshly turned 20-year-old girl at bay. Valentine's Day is not a day of celebrating love anymore, rather, grieving the memories of you with our unborn child in the corner booth of the bakery relishing in the flavor of fruit tarts and crème brûlée.

 

Entering the shop and approaching the counter, I am forced to relive the feeling of walking inside and pushing you in that creaky wheelchair to smell the freshly baked German black forest cakes. Your fertility treatments were so intense you couldn't walk for long periods most days. My strength has since depleted as I haven't had to carry you up the stairs in so long. You were so frail, like an egg that could crack at any moment, and I, so paranoid that the yolk within you could leak out. 

 

"D'you got anything new or special for the holiday?" I ask the clerk, refusing eye contact as I pull out my beat-up wallet. The photo of you threatens to drop onto the floor while I pull my silver credit card out of its slot. The clerk leans on her elbows, resting on the counter, batting those heinous false lashes at me for the first time in 3 years. 

 

"Haven't seen you in forever," she vamps. "How's life been?" 

 

"It's fine," I reply with a sigh. She leans back up off her elbows, her posture straightened against the counter. I glance at her name tag. I had no reason to learn her name when you were the woman consuming every thought and every minute of my day.

 

"Well, Andrew, we've got a ‘Lover's Red Velvet' bundt cake, cookie butter cupcakes with cookie dough frosting, some lemon poppy seed muffins...Anything catching your attention?" 

 

I stare at the display. You would have been enthralled by the cookie dough frosting. I point to it, and Melody – the clerk – lets out a pleased gasp. 

 

"Ah, great choice! I frosted them myself this morning before we opened!" She retrieves the cupcake out of the display with a pair of tongs, and boxes it up in the bakery's signature pastel orange to-go container. She hands it to me, and I exchange the box with my credit card. Melody's fake nails graze my hand while taking the card, and she holds the piece of plastic for a long moment, eyeing me up and down. She gives me back the card. 

 

"It's on the house, Andrew." 

 

I blink hard three times, and an empty stare sweeps across my face. 

 

"I know what day it is. It's Valentine's Day, yea, but for you it's something different..." Her bubbly countenance shifts into a frown. I take a deep breath. 

 

"Thanks – Melody...I appreciate it." Of course, the first time I came to this bakery after your death, I got my pastry for free. Melody only did this when I came to the shop without you; I can count on one hand the number of visits I paid to this place in your absence. I shove a hand in my pocket, and a crinkled five-dollar bill emerges. I lay it in the tip jar, and force a grin. Melody's wide smile returns, along with a chuckle. 

 

"You're too sweet! Does this mean you'll be back more often?" She asks. I finally submitted and made eye contact with her. After a pause, I shrug. 

 

"I dunno. Maybe." I don't think you'd want me to come back to this place if it wasn't in honor of you. Is coming today even honorable? 

 

"I gotcha. Just happened to catch you today, I suppose..." Melody sighs, then beams at me. "In that case, can I give you my number?" 

 

My lips parted slightly, and my breath hitches in shock. I blink rapidly and jolt my head from side to side, taking a step backwards with it. 

 

"Your– what? Melody, I am almost 40 years old. That is highly inappropriate," I scold her. "My wife died on this day three years ago. Are– Are you kidding me?" 

 

Melody's mouth hangs open, aghast at my response. She throws her hands up as if she is surrendering the gesture altogether. I shake my head in disappointment, grabbing the boxed-up cupcake and whipping around. The sound of a chime rings as I exit the bakery door. Standing on the sidewalk, I let out a defeated groan and tilt my head up toward the sky. 

 

"That's what I get for coming without you, Asyia," I huff. The chime of the bakery door rings again. 

 

"Andrew!" Melody calls. I whip around, and she's behind me holding a receipt. "Please, call me. It doesn't have to be today, or even a week from now. But once in a while, maybe?" 

 

She grabs my free hand that's rested at my side and takes it in hers. She opens my hand up and sets the receipt in the center of my palm, closing my fingers around it. She smiles gently and stays there on the sidewalk with me for a moment, her hand still holding mine. Snapping both Melody and I out of this moment is the sound of sirens from an ambulance as it speeds down the street. Suddenly, the memories of the last time we were here overwhelm me. I feel a light squeeze around my hand, and it's Melody. 

 

"It must be something about you at this bakery on Valentine's Day, Andrew. That only happens once in a blue moon."