Faith and the Las Vegas Baker

Joe’s Slice of Heaven, the napkin reads.

We used to come here every Sunday. I wanted to visit once more, before living on the streets sends me rolling on a bus, never to return to North Las Vegas. I don’t have much, but I can spare some cash, for a memory.

The shop sparkles in white and soft blue. I’m the only customer here. The wall clock chimes the time, and the back door swings open. Out comes Joe; strapping, beautiful Joe; early thirties, thick black hair and beard, big brown eyes; black polo, jeans, and blue apron. His mother died of Leukemia, same year as Dad. Mom used to tell Joe that they’re waiting for us with cake in Heaven.

I don’t believe in God anymore, just cake. God takes away things you pray for; cake never fails. “Hi,” Joe greets, startling me. “How are you?”

“Fine.”

“No table for two today?” He’s genuinely interested. I try not to react impolitely, because, what does this poor man know about my life? “Um, no, just me today.”

“Okay,” Joe replies, dubious but conceding. “What can I get for you?”

“Slice of chocolate.”

“Always a good choice. I have a few kinds this afternoon: Banana hazelnut cream, lavender mint, whipped chocolate with rhubarb-strawberry filling—”

“The classic's fine,” I cut him off, overwhelmed. “The usual, then," he smiles. “I’ll be back with your order.”

I give him a thumbs up, feeling slightly irritated, not knowing why. But watching Joe move behind the bar always makes things better. He’s just so handsome; a strong-coffee type. He slices the cake and removes a piece with gentle, expert hands, performing a perfectly soft landing over a square, porcelain plate. “If I try to cut a slice of cake, it crumbles like an Arizona canyon after an earthquake.” Joe laughs. “Here we are.”

I pay, then plunge into the first bite. Joe's cake is a taste puzzle exploding in flavor: rich white chocolate ganache; buttercream milk chocolate frosting; luxurious chocolate fudge cake. I open my eyes in bliss and find him staring at me. “Hello.”

“I apologize, I don’t usually bother customers when they’re eating.”

“It’s cool. We both have to live inside the shop until I’m done.” He finds it humorous. “How is it?”

“Delicious. I can taste the effort. There’s something different, though.”

“You noticed! I swapped the buttermilk frosting for butter-molasses.”

“Well, you didn’t fool me; I’ve been eating the same slice of chocolate cake every Sunday, since I was seven.”

“Seven? How many years is that now?”

Asking my age?

Can it be? Oh, This is finally happening! “Twenty-three,” I wink and smile. “That was really smooth, by the way.” He frowns, uneasy. “I’ll… let you get back to your cake. Enjoy.”

Okay, that was not the reaction I was expecting! I am baffled. Stunned! Has my precious hit-on radar begun to fail? I feel unattractive now, which is not my favorite cup of tea—or slice of cake—when I’m wearing my favorite skirt! I try to drown my sorrows in another bite of cake, but, then, Joe comes back. “I just have one question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why, with all the creatively delicious cake options I have in my shop, do you always go for the simplest kind?”

I’m hoping this is his opening for an actual “creatively delicious” pick-up line.

“Because there aren’t many pleasures in life like a perfectly-crafted chocolate cake from scratch,” I reply. Joe grins. “You know, that is almost the perfect answer. I love hearing that my customers like what I make, especially the classics. But, on pleasures, I have one better.” He takes out a pocket Bible and sets it on the counter. I scoff lightly. “Uh… That’s a Bible.”

“Yes.”

“You find reading the Bible pleasurable?”

“It’s the greatest of my delights.”

“Hm.”

The latter poses a problem. See, I want a date, not a sermon. I want a man, not a preacher.

I want the red velvet option.

“Have you ever read it?” he startles me again. “Nah, I don’t really... You know. It’s not my thing.”

“How do you know, if you’ve never read it?”

“I’m not really a reader,” I lie. “And the Bible is full of words!”

“Oh, come on! Don’t let Satan win on a technicality. It’s the digital era! You can talk to a lamp and it’ll do your laundry! You think God doesn’t get down with the times? There are tons of audible options now; YouTube, Facebook, Bible Gateway…”

“Uh—Not to cut you off or anything, but I should tell you right now: I’m an agnostic.”

“So what? Abraham was an idolater, and God promised him a nation as great as the stars. Things change, people change. Now, usually, when people say they’re agnostics, what that really means is that they don’t know what to believe in.”

“Yup. That’s me!” It isn’t. “Hm. You want to know why I think that happens?” Not really, but—“Why?”

“Too many options.”

And now I’m intrigued! Smart ideas carry me away like that. Must be ADD.

“Modern faith is like going to the mall hungry: you need one solution to your hunger, but you get a food court full of different options: Noodles, burgers, pizza, tacos… You’re unexpectedly faced with making not one decision but many. That decision will be based on myriad life components at the same time: culture, background, race, lifestyle, the media, circumstance, and intelligence type.” He pauses and stares at me. “Are you dizzy yet?”

“Oh. No, this is all just… go on.” Joe doesn’t believe me, but he does. “So, you end up making a choice. And you base your choice on all of the aforementioned parts of your humanity. That choice is pizza. You pay for your meal… Find a cozy seat in the courtyard… And take your first bite.

“But then you see the sign at the taco booth that reads: ‘Three for Five Taco Tuesdays.’ And you immediately regret having bought the one pizza slice, because, really, you like tacos better, and you didn’t even know that this place had taco Tuesday offers, because, hello: it’s a mall; everything is expensive there.”

I laugh. The guy isn’t only cute, he’s also funny—and smart and well-informed—even if he’s talking about the Bible. I suppose I’ll have to answer if I want his number. “So, what you’re saying is that there should be just one big restaurant for everybody?”

“No. I’m saying that there already is. The bread there is satisfying, the wine is divine, and the water is a refreshing fountain of eternal life.”

Something inside me clicks, like a silent bell. It’s nice but strange.

Is this what falling in love with a Christian feels like?

Isn’t this just my luck? When I finally get the red velvet option, it turns out to that he’s a saint.

I imagined that, when this happened—Joe and I alone in the shop—he would talk to me sweetly and teach me how to bake a red velvet cake. Then, we’d kiss under the dim lights of the store. That’s the red velvet option; it’s getting the fancier flavor instead of the plain chocolate. I’ve been coming here for years, and the only lines I ever got were: “What can I get you?” and “That’ll be four-fifty, please.” A.K.A., the plain chocolate. Now that he’s finally giving me the time of day, he wants to talk about Jesus. “You know, I’ve never met a man that I was just friends with.”

“I know.”

“What gave it away? My ridiculously good looks?” I say, flirty. “No.”

“The skirt? Social predisposition?” He sighs, patiently. “No.” I shift in my chair, uncomfortable. “Then what?”

“God told me.”

Oh, well. I tried.

“I see. Well, it was nice knowing you!” I get up to leave. “Would you rather I was a creep at some bar, trying to hit on you?” he poses. A part of me wants to say yes, but I don’t want to lie. “No. I just wish you weren’t a Christian.”

“Because you’re not a believer?” My eyes waterlog with memories of my parents. “No. Because you’re asking me to be.”

I walk out of the shop, duffel bag hanging from one shoulder, and light up a cigarette. Tears fall from my eyes as I smoke—I wipe them off in fury. I feel sick to my stomach and embarrassed. The last time I cried, I was laying my sweet mother’s body to rest; the time before that, she was burying my beloved father. We had little, but we loved each other. And there was always Joe’s Slice of Heaven on Sundays.

Why is this happening now?

The bells on the door of the shop jingle. I look behind me. Joe is standing there, a small box in his hands. “You left a tip but forgot the rest of your cake.” I look at the box. “That’s a whole slice.”

“I was feeling generous.”

“Even with my flippant attitude?” He smiles. “I was feeling kind.”

“Wow. Must be my lucky day. Cake and honesty.” I flick the cigarette away. “Why are you here?” Joe sticks his hands inside his pockets. “Do you need a friend?”

“No.” He knows I’m lying. “Well, if you wanted a friend, my name is Joseph.”

“Joseph, the Las Vegas Baker. You don’t look like a Joe—or a Joseph. A Silas, maybe. Rhaego, if you want a fantasy name—Solomon, if you want a Biblical one—” I act like I’m the wittiest person alive. “Actually, Silas is also a Biblical name.”

“Really?” He nods. “Huh.” Not knowing what else to say, I say the first thing that pops into my head. “I need to catch a cab. Or the bus…” I look up at the darkening sky. It’s going to rain. My fingers fiddle with a big tear on my tights. I lost my spot at the shelter again. Where am I going to sleep tonight? “Or my life.”

“Do you want to know why I really came out here?”

“Cake?”

“I remembered your name. I was struggling to remember; I hadn’t seen you or your mother for a while. Then, when you went out the door, it came to me: Faith. You used to write it all over the napkins, in cursive.” I grin. “You remembered that?”

“I had to pick up those napkins. They made me smile.” My joy fades. “My mother passed away. It’s just me now.” His eyes soften. “I’m sorry.” I shrug as if it didn’t matter. But now I’m crying again. Joe approaches me. “You think God has left you, Faith, but that’s far from the truth. In fact, I think God made your name for a time such as this. Because he knew, one day, you’d lose it. But it’s time you found it again.”

“My name?”

“Your faith. I can help you.”

I look up at the sky. Warm raindrops fall on my eyelids, my cheeks. Why am I pushing this away? Oh, right: I lost my Dad, my Mom, my dreams...

You don’t have to lose anymore, a voice says. I gasp. “Did you hear that?” He shakes his head. “Hear what?”

I turn my eyes up again. The rain stops. A ray of light peeks from the clouds above. It provokes me to do something I haven’t done in a really long time.

I pray. I pray in silence. Then, I open my eyes and ask: “Is there another slice of chocolate cake involved with this help, Joe?”

“I'm fresh out. But I make a mean red velvet, if you’re interested.”

I smile at the coincidence and the new understanding that now fills my chest. It's soft and calm, like Heaven is waving at me. Boy, Jesus. You really do know how to make a comeback.

“No. But I'll try the lavender mint...”