22 Grow Bread Grow

Lily

Sharkie slept through two days and three nights.

While initially concerned, Lily reasoned that she was probably experiencing the soul equivalent of the let-down effect. Poor kid had been running in survival mode for so long, it was no wonder that her soul needed to shut down for a bit. She figured that if anything were wrong that she couldn’t sense, either the house or the cat would alert her to it.

Max maintained a vigil on Sharkie’s bed, with brief, infrequent forays out for attention from Lily. She texted updates to Luci, informed the gate demons that she would be absent for a little while, and resisted the urge to leave a million text messages for Bel. Luci had been oddly cagey about the patrol, telling her only that “If all went well, it would only last a few days.”

Luci’s reluctance to tell her more, along with the way people got weird when she asked about it, made her suspect that it was more than just a simple patrol. She didn’t expect to know everything, of course, and she trusted Bel to tell her what she needed and was allowed to know…but she didn’t like it.

Still, all Lily could do was wait. She filled the first day by hunting down new recipes and watching as many shark documentaries as she could stand. The second day was spent researching child development and trauma, reading, and convincing herself that she was not at all stressed. A lie that she had to confront on the third morning, when she found herself scrubbing the edges of the entryway floor with a toothbrush for no reason other than she’d thought of it.

Stress cleaning. Her biggest tell.

She suspected that the house, which had been entirely self-cleaning up to that point, dirtied itself so that she could feel more productive. Everywhere she decided to clean went from spotless to vaguely grimy before she got there. Only vaguely though, as if the house couldn’t stand to make itself truly dirty.

She stood, blowing a piece of hair out of her face, watching the grime she’d left behind disappear into thin air.

“A little dirt won’t kill you,” she said.

The house grumbled.

She grinned. “It’s just extra minerals.”

The house didn’t make a noise, but she got the distinct impression that it was pouting. She patted the nearest wall.

“Thanks for letting me clean, though. I feel better.”

She looked around the entryway, fiddling with the toothbrush restlessly. Sunlight peeked through the mist that had blanketed them overnight, washing everything in a pale glow. A breeze danced through a window she’d cracked open, carrying the fresh scent of dew and grass and the faint perfume of damp flowers.

Fresh bread. That’s what the morning was missing. Good, hearty bread. She turned to head for the kitchen but paused.

The picture haunted her. In a friendly, familiar, wonderful kind of way, but a haunting was a haunting. Why, in a place supposed to be her safe haven, her literal Paradise, was there a picture that made her feel like a wineglass spiderwebbed with cracks, still technically holding its form but only a jostle away from shattering? She knew she wouldn’t, no matter how much she wanted to, but she was done with the sensation. She’d store the picture in a closet or something. The idea of getting rid of it made her sick, but hiding it was fine.

She marched over to it and made to lift it carefully off the wall.

It wouldn’t budge.

She dug her nails between the frame and the wall and pulled, then yanked at it. The damn thing might as well have been set into concrete for all it moved.

Lily glowered at it, then the ceiling, and the walls and the floor and the whole fucking house that clearly thought it was so clever.

“I don’t want that picture up anymore. I’m not going to get rid of it, I just don’t want to see it, so if you could please just—” She grunted, trying to pry it off. “I asked nicely!” she hissed, trying different angles.

The hammer from a drawer had no effect, not even scuffing the frame or the wall.

Scraping it off with a butter knife didn’t work either.

She hung from it by her fingertips, trying to use her bodyweight to rip it off the wall, bouncing for extra leverage.

She bargained with the house, promising to never make it pretend to be dirty again, promising to call it Carl or whatever the fuck it wanted.

At one point, she managed to get her fingers behind it near the top and braced both feet on the wall, heaving with every muscle and ounce of spite she possessed to get. it. off.

Half an hour later, panting and dripping with sweat, she threw the toothbrush at it uselessly and gave up.

“Fuck this.” She gasped, stomping towards the kitchen, telling herself that the stinging in her eyes was sweat.

Just sweat.

She fixed her hair, washed her hands, put on some music and threw herself into making not only bread, but cinnamon rolls. If she couldn’t stress clean, she’d stress bake. Fuck the house.

By the time she poured hot water into the dry ingredients and started preparing the yeast, her pique had faded enough for her to get philosophical.

Her feelings had always been too intense, for her and certainly for her parents. The conclusion she’d come to as a child was that because dealing with her emotions was such an unsavory prospect, her emotional needs were best ignored. As she got older, she realized that emotional vulnerability was downright dangerous, at least in their community. When things had gotten too overwhelming, she’d found an outlet of some kind and let off some steam.

She mindlessly swirled the spoon through the mixture, waiting for it to cool enough, trying to recapture the peaceful optimism she’d found a few nights before in the library, but it eluded her.

If anyone else bottled everything up, I’d see how unhealthy it is. Why is it so different when it’s me?

She almost dropped the spoon as the answer hit her with such clarity that she damn near heard it.

Seeing herself as unimportant was safe. Unimportance was safe, being a disappointment was safe. There were no expectations, no standards, no more pedestals to fall from.

Ensconced in the safety and clarity of the Afterlife, she allowed herself to realize how deep that particular wound was. It had hurt so badly when she’d fallen from the grace of their religious community. Letting herself acknowledge the depth of that pain felt like admitting weakness, admitting that she’d cared about their reactions.

It had gutted her when the community she’d always known, the community she’d always believed would be there for her, had thrown her away when she’d dared to ask uncomfortable questions about God’s grace, especially after she’d read the book of Job. When she’d gone to them for help after her assault. When she had the audacity to be different, listening to secular music and reading fantasy books, something acceptable at home but not in the church.

The unconditional love she’d been told to expect had had some conditions after all.

She’d never regretted her decision to walk away from the evangelical community, but she remembered the look in her cousin’s eyes when she’d told Lily that she wasn’t comfortable with her holding her baby anymore. The way her mom’s eyes had been pained whenever the topic of faith had come up between them. The little remarks from adults who had always crooned over her, lauded her as everything a good Christian girl should be, until she’d deviated from their expectations. Then their words had grown barbed, their eyes cool and pitying.

She’d already fallen from one pedestal, and it had hurt down to her core, leaving indelible marks on her soul. The last thing she wanted was to fall from another, especially in the eyes of someone whose opinion mattered to her.

Like Bel.

She itched to check her phone or text him something meaningless, but instead forced her hands into motion, adding the yeast to the mixture.

How many times had she told her friends that no one’s opinion of them mattered more than their own? She’d cheered for them as they learned to care for themselves, to see themselves as wonderful and flawed and complicated and unique, convincing herself that while others deserved to take up space in the world, she was inherently too much, required too much space and effort. She never knew where the line of rejection would be drawn, which activities she enjoyed or which parts of her personality would be deemed inconvenient or unsavory, and that fear had, in many ways, kept her from living .

She kneaded the dough with a bit too much force. Turn, knead. Add some flour. Turn, knead. More flour.

Afraid. I spent my entire life afraid. What a fucking waste.

She worked the dough, muttering under her breath. “It’s too early to be growing as a person, the tea hasn’t even kicked in yet—”

“What are you making?” Sharkie’s drowsy voice asked. She blinked in confusion from the side entrance of the kitchen, wearing rumpled pajamas and clutching a round shark plushie. Free from the confines of her hood, her hair stuck up in a snarled nest around her head. Lily’s fingers itched to comb through it.

“Good morning, sleepyhead. We’ve got cinnamon rolls about ready to come out of the oven, and I’m making bread. We have other options for breakfast too, if you’re hungry.”

“You can make bread?” Sharkie inched closer to peer into the bowl.

Lily angled it to show her the contents. “Sure can. I’m almost done with this part, but you can sit on the counter and watch if you want.”

All traces of sleep evaporated from Sharkie’s face, blue eyes growing wide. “I can do that?!”

Lily chuckled, wiping her floury hands on her apron. “I can help you up, or you can drag a chair over.”

Sharkie scampered over to the dining nook and pushed over a chair, climbing up with palpable glee to settle herself on the counter. She clutched the shark plushie tighter, taking in the world from her new perspective.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lily caught a flash of black-and-white fur, reflexively reaching out with one hand to scoop Max up just as his paws touched the countertop.

“Oh no you don’t. Not on the counter,” she admonished. He hadn’t tried that since he’d been a kitten. She didn’t care what else he climbed on, but the counters and the table were, and had always been, off limits.

He meowed, unrepentant. Lily set him on the chair, pointed a warning finger at him, and rinsed her hands.

“Why are you making bread?”

“Just felt like it. Figured you’d be hungry when you woke up, plus it seemed like a good bread day. You’ve been out for quite a while, kiddo.”

Sharkie wrinkled her nose. “Really?”

“Yep.” Lily offered her a pinch of dough. “It’s been a couple of days. Do you feel better?” She certainly looked a bit better. There was a new light in her eyes, a quiet, cautious kind of light. Lily suspected having an impenetrable stronghold to escape to helped. Sharkie’s own mini-Paradise.

Safety could do a hell of a lot for a person.

She hoped Bel was safe.

“I guess so,” Sharkie said. “Thank you for letting me stay with you.”

“You’re welcome. It’s an honor.” Lily sprinkled in some flour and resumed kneading. The mouthwatering scent of the cinnamon rolls filled the kitchen, and she caught Sharkie’s eyes darting to the oven.

“Do you have anything you want to do today? We could go exploring, or stay home, watch movies?”

“I don’t know.” Sharkie shifted on her feet. “I was only allowed to go to church or school. Before.”

Lily made a mental note to send another text to Gregorith; she was updating her plans.

“Well, now you get to decide what you’d like to do. And there’s a lot of options.”

Sharkie stayed quiet, looking at the floor.

“Did you like school?”

“Yeah,” Sharkie said, looking up hesitantly.

“Luci said there was a school you’re welcome to attend if you feel like it, and there’s a bunch of other schools for Afterlife kids if you want to try those too.”

“I want to stay with you,” Sharkie said in a rush, fear limning every line of her body.

“Then you stay with me, bug.”

Sharkie nodded, relaxing by degrees.

“A friend told me about a realm with an ocean in it, so we could walk on the beach or see if there’s a boat or something.”

“Your Bel friend?”

“No, a different friend, you haven’t met them yet.”

“Where’s Bel?”

Lily masked her sudden involuntary inhale with a stretch, rolling her shoulders. “I don’t know. He’s a general—do you know what that is?”

Sharkie nodded uncertainly.

That’s a no.

“He’s in charge of a lot of people in Hell’s army. They don’t fight wars all the time like we’re used to in the mortal world. They go on patrols and train and stuff most of the time. That’s where he is, on some super-secret patrol mission.”

I’m worried about him.

I miss him.

She hadn’t realized how used to their casual texting and phone calls she’d gotten, how much she looked forward to seeing whatever goofy selfie or picture he’d sent, or his reactions to her own pictures and terrible jokes. The debates they had over such serious topics as what foods counted as a sandwich and which ones were salads—pizza was abso-fucking-lutely a salad—or the legitimately serious ones when a particularly shitty soul came through her line or when Bel got an odd, distant quality to his voice that told her that he was getting lost in the shadows of his own head.

She missed him.

And yes, she lusted after him a bit. It was hard not to when he was so sweet and filthy and unfairly attractive. She’d replayed certain moments so many times that they were almost as familiar as her own name. That day in his office. At trivia night. All the times he’d leaned his hip against her desk, or his shoulder against the door frame in the breakroom. The way they’d laughed and teased each other over Lev’s stupid memo. The moments between them in that hallway. That heated look.

“What about Luci?” Sharkie asked.

Lily’s smile crept over her face. “Luci’s not on patrol. He’s down in Hell, and he’s been asking about you. He’ll be excited to hear that you’re awake.”

“Oh.”

Lily glanced at her, double-checking the meaning of that “oh,” relieved to see it seemed to be one of acknowledgment. She flipped the dough one last time and absently patted the top of it gently three times, just like she always did.

“Grow bread grow,” she muttered, reaching for towel to clean her hands.

“What?” Sharkie asked.

“What?”

“Why did you pat the bread and tell it to grow?”

“Oh.” Lily wiped her hands in the towel. “It’s something my mom did with me when we made bread together, especially as a kid. She’d have me pat the bread and say ‘grow bread grow.’ She said it made the bread better. Want to give it a pat?”

Sharkie leaned over, gave the bread a gentle pat, pat, pat , softly telling it to grow. Lily winked at her, put the bowl into the second oven to proof, then pulled the golden-brown cinnamon rolls out of the other oven.

A short while later, they both sat on the counter, eating fresh cinnamon rolls drizzled with icing and swinging their feet while Sharkie asked a thousand questions, mostly about the Afterlife. Max perched on the chair, staring accusingly at Lily as if to tell her to get off the counter. Birds chirped and sang outside as the world finished waking up, the mist burning away to bathe the kitchen in sunshine.

The combination of Sharkie finally waking up, the beautiful morning, and the delicious cinnamon rolls helped ease the lingering ache of Lily’s earlier realization. Sharkie leaned down to let Max lick some icing off her finger, and Lily had another epiphany.

We’ll be okay. I’ll be okay. And…maybe I don’t want to be afraid anymore.

* * *

ie put her onesie back on before they left the house, perhaps as a form of comfort. Lily didn’t comment on it, wanting her to do whatever she needed to feel secure. They only ventured as far as the village that day, and Lily had taken her at a time when it tended to be the quietest. Sharkie had stuck close to her, but the moments where her curiosity overrode her caution grew more frequent throughout the day, and Lily loved seeing those snippets of Sharkie just being a child. They ended up sitting in the backyard to watch the sun go down.

The next day, they did the village again, but when it was busier. Sharkie seemed more relaxed, like she’d decided that Paradise was okay, though she periodically glanced at Lily to gauge her state of ease. Midway through their lunch of chicken strips, Sharkie had squared her shoulders and announced that she wanted to see the field of doors again.

They’d gone all the way to the arch to the Universal Hallway, where Lily had expected Sharkie to want to turn around and go home, but with another look at Lily, Sharkie had tugged them forward into the Hall. After a bit more exploration, something caught Sharkie’s eye.

Sharkie pushed her hood back and let go of Lily’s hand so that she could play tag with a trio of multicolored wisps the size of basketballs, which drew the attention of other kids. Eventually, forty or so souls—Lily included—denizens, and creatures were all running around the Hall, laughing and out of breath. People wove through the game, calling out advice and encouragement, others formed a small crowd that clapped when they were done. A rumbling, wailing chortle from something more massive than Lily was willing to consider had echoed out of a large archway nearby. Sharkie had waved at it before taking Lily’s hand and skipping along down the hall. They’d gotten cocoa after that, and Sharkie had charmed the baristas at Common Grounds.

The day after that, Sharkie hadn’t woken up until late afternoon, as if the adventure had burned through some battery of hers. When she’d emerged from her room, she’d been quiet, but asked if they could stay home. Lily suggested a movie night. So, she made cocoa—something Sharkie could have every single day, as far as Lily was concerned—and settled into a nest of blankets and pillows on the couch. Just as the opening credits rolled, a large bowl of fresh popcorn appeared between them. Sharkie had giggled a thank-you to the house around a mouthful of buttery perfection, and they’d stayed like that until darkness fell and they went to their respective rooms to sleep.

Sharkie had woken up early and refreshed the next morning, asking if they could explore more realms. Lily agreed, but, cautious after the day that had resulted in burnout, explained they should have a secret code so Sharkie could signal her at any time. They’d agreed on hand signals: Thumb down meant help immediately , thumb in the middle meant I’m ready to go , and thumb up meant I’m having fun . With that established, Lily took her to the Summerland, where they’d eaten pasties and gravy, then moved on to Valhalla.

The denizens and resident souls of Valhalla welcomed them, a small group forming after their arrival. After a bit of a wobble where Sharkie had pulled her hood up and made herself small, Lily had stepped between her and the others immediately. A man with tattoos all over his bare scalp had shooed everyone off before kneeling down a few feet away to wait.

After a moment, Sharkie peered around Lily to look at him with big eyes. He introduced himself as Ivan and explained calmly about how they liked to spar for fun and training there, offering to show her whenever she was ready. He’d even set her up on his shoulders for the best view, if she wanted. Sharkie had studied him for a long moment, then looked to Lily, who told her both were good choices, but it was entirely up to her. Slowly, she’d stepped out from behind Lily and told the kneeling man that she didn’t want to be lifted up, but she did want to see the sparring.

Together, the three of them ended up cheering for the bouts of (mercifully bloodless) sparring in one of the many fighting rings. Lily had tried her hand at some basic sparring on an earlier visit and quickly realized that her technique wasn’t so much lacking as it was nonexistent.

Bel could teach me.

The thought popped into her head, and she glanced at her phone for the millionth time. She wondered how Bel might instruct her. How he might laugh and adjust her grip or stance in that sweet way of his.

After a time, when Sharkie had unsurprisingly been adopted by more warriors, Lily retreated contentedly to a nearby banquet table and piled a plate with savory meat and garlic potatoes. She maintained an observation of the warriors and kept an eye out for Sharkie, but she wanted to give Sharkie the chance to be comfortable without Lily directly at her side. According to her research, small steps like that were important.

Lily sipped her mulled wine, bemusedly watching as a horde of warriors crouched down to teach Sharkie the basics of Viking-style combat. Sharkie looked around periodically to check in with Lily, but her eyes were bright with curiosity.

Lily gave her a smile, gesturing up and down with her thumb. Sharkie returned her smile and so far had only given a thumbs-up.

Someone eased into the seat next to her. An old man with a long, flowing beard fixed his single, piercing eye on her, leaning his spear against the table. Lily kept her face neutral, holding his gaze as the hum of his power tingled over her skin.

“Hello, Allfather.” Lily said. I will not be afraid anymore. If I’m not afraid of a god, then I won’t be a complete weenie when I’m eventually vulnerable with someone.

Not just someone.

Bel.

“Lily,” Odin said, his voice roughened with age but in no way weak. “I was not here when last you visited my hall. Beleth speaks highly of you, as do others.”

“Thank you. Your hall is beautiful. Sharkie seems to be enjoying herself.”

They both looked to where three men who wouldn’t have been out of place in a biker bar had collaborated to show Sharkie how to make a proper fist. Sharkie mimicked them intently.

A smile tipped Odin’s lips. “A true warrior, that one.” He fixed his gaze back on Lily. “And a true warrior in you. You would have made a fine addition to my hall. Should you ever wish to quit Paradise, you would be most welcome here.”

She hadn’t been lying to Odin when she’d complimented his hall. It was stunning—grand in scale and decoration, but warm and hearty in feel. There was a certain primal energy there, but…wisdom too. Fitting for a hall of true warriors.

“Thank you. But my battle was less noble than the kind that earns souls a place in your hall.”

“All battles have the capacity to be noble,” Odin said, casting his gaze over the crowded hall. Not everyone fought. There were plenty who simply relaxed at the tables, or wandered through doorways to places Lily couldn’t see. “Cancer may not be sung about in songs, or woven into a tapestry, but that does not make the heart and fight required to combat it a lesser thing.”

Lily kept her instinctive flinch to just a blink.

“There are many battles worthy of Valhalla, no matter what the stories may say. I’m sure you’re aware by now the nuances of reality when it comes to the Afterlife. Not all the souls who find belonging in my hall spilled blood, and not all of them reside here permanently. You are no less a warrior than any soul in this hall, Lily of the Hellp Desk, and you are always welcome.” He rose with a languid ease that belied his apparent age. “As is the little one. We’ll teach her a trick or two.”

“Who knows, Allfather,” Lily said, swirling her wine and looking to where Sharkie was biting the ear of a warrior who had gently grabbed her up, giving her an opportunity to practice whatever defensive maneuver they’d been teaching her. “Maybe she’ll return the favor.”

Odin lightly thumped the butt of his spear on the ground, watching the scuffle. The man, ear bleeding, had quickly set her down and rushed to reassure a suddenly cautious Sharkie, beaming as he heaped praises on her for her creative technique. Other warriors did the same, and bit by bit, Sharkie relaxed. Her eyes found Lily’s, and she held her thumb up. Lily returned the gesture as Odin laughed.

“Maybe she will.”