the woes of bread-making

Recently I decided to bring some apple bread to work. 

I'm fairly new at my job. I've been there a little over a month now, and things have been going well. I really like all of my co-workers, and they've all been so nice and helpful to me. So when I had this bread I was like, "You know what, I'm gonna give it to them, they deserve it!" 

I bring it in on a Saturday afternoon. It's fairly busy, and everyone is quite full from the company lunch, so I leave it on the back desk and tell everyone to help themselves. 

By the end of the night, it's only my coworker Tony and me left. The apple bread has gone mostly untouched, but I'm not offended because I know the company lunch was heavy. I'll just bring it back home, I think. 

"Yo Kait," Tony says as he's leaving. "I'm gonna take this bread, alright?"

"Oh my gosh, please do!" I say. "I brought it for you guys to enjoy."

"That's right, imma enjoy it." 

"It's best warmed up with some butter."

"Girl, you read my mind."

I appreciate Tony. He's so nice and supportive.

The next week I meet Tony at the desk. 

The bread is all he can talk about. 

"That bread was sick!!! Oh man, it was so good. I let my daughter have some and then I brought some back to work for lunch and shared it with Victor, and you know what? He loved it too! It was bomb!!!"

That's awesome, I think. I'm glad they liked it. 

He goes on about the bread for the rest of the day. And the next. He says he talked about it all weekend, that he told everyone at the resort how good it was. He won't stop complimenting me, talking about how amazing and talented I am. By the middle of the week, he has everyone convinced I'm a domestic goddess. 

Except there's one problem. 

I didn't make the bread. 

I don't know how to make apple bread. I don't even know how to make regular bread! When I bake cookies, I buy the dough pre-made from the store. That's how undomestic I am. 

The truth is that my mom made the bread, and I swear on my life that I announced that when I walked in with it. I'm like 100% sure. Maybe only 80%. Who knows at this point. 

And then when Tony started with the compliments, I promise I tried to say that my mom made it. I tried twice. But he kept talking over me saying how good it was, how unparalleled I am as a baker that I just couldn't get a word in. Tony is very passionate about bread apparently. I too am passionate about bread. I just don't know how to make it. 

It's fine, I thought at first. I don't want to interrupt him. Let him think I made the bread. It's not that big of a deal. 

Except it is a big deal when Tony keeps talking about how amazing I am at making bread. And it is a big deal when he spends FOUR WHOLE DAYS walking around the resort acting like I'm the next Martha Stewart. 

At this point, I'm in a tough spot. I never actually lied; I never said I made the bread. But what am I supposed to say now? I tried to tell you, Tony, but you don't know how to listen! That's rude and blaming him. Very mature. Or I didn't make the bread. My mom made it. I just let you believe I made it for four days. Great, now I look like this pathetic new girl who lies about something as mundane as making bread just so people will like her. What a loser. 

I'm in too deep at this point. I see no logical way out. 

You know in the movie Knives Out how Marta can't tell a lie without throwing up? That's like me. Except I don't throw up, I just get incredibly anxious and can't sit still. I always have to tell the truth, and I also always need to express my feelings to people. Most of the time I'm just confessing random things that nobody cares about, various thoughts and ideas and opinions I have in my head. I just have to say it, or I will explode. 

That's where I found myself recently. 

One morning I open the desk by myself at 7:45. The lobby is quiet, then a little busy, then quiet again. I read my book anxiously to pass the time. 

At 10 o'clock Victor comes in. He's not timed in yet, so he's in the back eating his breakfast at the desk. 

I approach him. My shadow slips over him, cloaking his McMuffin in an ominous shade. 

He looks up at me. 

"Victor," I say. "I have something to tell you."

My voice is grim. 

"What?" he says warily. 

It's like Silence of the Lambs. He's Clarice. I'm Hannibal Lector. What will Hannibal say? What is he going to confess? What does he know?

"You have to promise you won't tell anyone."

"What??"

"I swear on my life, if you tell anyone I will never forgive you," I threaten. I've only known Victor for 5 weeks at this point. 

"What?" he says.

"Promise me!!"

"Okay, I promise! What is it?"

I swallow. 

"I didn't make the bread."

There. The words are out. Hannibal is free. 

Victor is laughing so hard that his voice carries out into the lobby, booming and bellowing and jovial.

"Why did you lie?" he says in between breaths. 

"I didn't lie! I swear I tried to tell Tony that it was my mom! But he wouldn't let me talk! And now it's gone on too long for me to tell the truth because I'll look like an idiot who was lying about making bread! And now I'm stuck because he won't stop talking about it!"

Victor is dying. 

"You can't tell anyone please. This just has to blow over. He'll forget about the bread."

He agrees to keep my secret. 

I've confessed to someone. I feel better now. The saga is over. 

Tony comes in at noon. 

"Hey Tony," Victor says immediately. "Kaitlin said she's gonna make you some more bread this week."

Tony is ecstatic. Excited. Thrilled. 

I scratch my face with my middle finger, glaring pointedly at Victor. How dare he. He's trying not to laugh. 

Tony doesn't notice. He's too excited about the bread. 

And now I have to learn how to make it or continue being a liar.

*EDIT*: I could also just quit, so I never have to see Tony again. lol.