Confectionately Yours #3: Sugar and Spice (12 page)

I
never, ever thought of my parents’ divorce as something that happened to anyone outside of my family. I knew it affected the two of them. I knew it affected me. I knew it affected Chloe.

But Artie?

I never thought about her.

I mean, okay, there are a lot of ways in which she was a bad friend to me when I needed her.

But I guess I wasn’t so great, either.

I was so worried about the fact that we were growing apart that it never occurred to me to wonder if Artie was sad about it, too. I didn’t even think about her at all.

Here’s another funny thing: Artie’s parents hardly ever even talk to each other. They never laugh. They’re very efficient and intelligent, but they aren’t
warm
.

And Marco’s parents are strict and downright cold at times. Marco’s mom always looks tired.

When Artie’s and Marco’s families would come over to our house, everyone got along fine — but I was always glad that I got the best parents. I never thought they would break up.

Artie’s parents? Maybe. Marco’s parents? Probably. But mine?

It just goes to show that no matter how well you know someone, or how much you love them, you never know what’s going on in anyone’s mind.

Everyone’s just a living, breathing, walking mystery.

A
rtie and I knock on the door, but nobody opens it. We don’t want to bang on it, because the show is still going on, so we have to run around the building to get in the front door. This is actually kind of fun and it feels good to move, though the icy air is cold in my chest as I drink in deep gulps of air.

“Please let this be open,” Artie says as she reaches for the door.

It swings open, and we blink in the surprising darkness of the auditorium. Onstage, a screen has been lowered, with a large image of Kyle seated at a piano. A moment later, he’s talking to the camera. “I could play that piece blindfolded,” he jokes, and the audience goes wild.

I realize we’re watching Marco’s mini documentary. I smile at how well Marco has captured Kyle’s sense of humor as the scene switches, and suddenly I’m behind the counter at the Tea Room. I let out a little squeal as I watch myself mixing cupcake batter, and Artie elbows me in the ribs. Onscreen, Marco asks, “Will you be in the show?”

“Performing isn’t my life,” says the onscreen me. “And it
is
Artie’s life. I don’t want to screw it up for her.”

I feel Artie’s head swivel to look at me, but the documentary has cut to one of Artie’s practice sessions. She’s rehearsing in one of the schoolrooms, and her voice sounds just as good as it did earlier. Marco has managed to capture the dramatic moment when she really reaches out with an almost impossible high note — it’s the part of the song that we missed, and it makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. And, suddenly, we’re watching Meghan hang up posters in the bathroom. “Why are you working so hard for this show?” Marco asks.

“I just can’t wait to see what everyone has planned!” Meghan says. She beams into the camera for a moment, and then — black.

T
HE
E
ND
flashes onscreen in white letters. A F
ILM BY
M
ARCO
D
E
L
UCA
.

The audience goes nuts, screaming and cheering. And then, suddenly, someone starts to chant. At first, I can’t make out the words. But I hear Artie suck in her breath, and then I realize that they’re chanting, “We want Art-ie! We want Art-ie!”

“What should I do?” She looks shocked.

“Go up there!” I tell her, nudging her down the aisle. She takes a step, then looks over her shoulder at me. “Do it!”

So she walks forward, and as people realize she’s coming toward the stage, the cheering gets louder and crazier until it’s deafening. Artie climbs the side stairs, and when Meghan sees her, she comes dashing from the wings with a microphone. Mr. Lao raises the movie screen and puts the spotlight back on her. Artie takes a deep breath and closes her eyes as the audience settles down. Then her eyes snap open, and it’s like there’s a whole new Artie there. She almost doesn’t need a spotlight — she’s magnetic.

And then she starts to sing.

Her voice is huge. It’s almost like a physical thing — a
rope you could catch in midair, or maybe a cloud that could lift you and carry you away. It’s so beautiful that I feel my throat close. My breath is wheezy.

If Omar and Jamil appear
, I think,
I will seriously go ballistic all over them.

But they don’t. Instead, the song reaches out and pulls me in and I want it to go on and on. But, of course, it can’t, and suddenly, it’s over.

The auditorium is silent, as if everyone needs to just breathe for a moment, and then the place explodes. People jump to their feet. Electricity shoots through the crowd. Artie looks shy and embarrassed, but she curtsies and everyone just keeps cheering. Finally, she waves and walks off, but the crowd keeps cheering.

Meghan leads everyone who was in the show out onto the stage for a bow, and the audience goes wild. I’m still standing in the aisle, and Meghan manages to spot me in the crowd. She gives me a grin and a thumbs-up.

I grin back.

Sometimes, the craziest ideas really
are
the best ones.

∗ ∗ ∗

The scene backstage is nuts. Everyone is crying and hugging, or squealing and hugging, or high-fiving, or running around in circles and barking (that last one is just the Corgi).

Meghan grabs me and gives me a huge squeeze. “We did it!”

“It was a great show,” I tell her, even though I only saw part of it.

Just then, Artie comes over. Her mascara is all smeary, but she’s beaming. “I’m so glad you made me go up there!” she says.

“You were great,” Meghan tells her, her voice warm.

“Thank you — so were you,” Artie gushes, and I let out a little snort of surprise. Artie twirls the end of a lock of hair that has escaped her updo. “I don’t know if I’ll get another chance to perform anytime soon, though.”

“Why not?” Meghan demands. “You were amazing. You should be performing every
week
!”

Artie rolls her eyes a little, but she’s smiling. “Well, I don’t think Ms. Lang was impressed.”

Meghan sniffs. “What does she have to do with anything?”

“Meg’s right,” I agree. “You could put on your own show, couldn’t you?”

Artie bites her lip. “I’d need Ms. Lang’s permission.”

“No,” Meghan corrects her, “you’d need permission from someone in the drama department.”

“How about Mr. Lao?” I suggest.

“Bingo,” Meghan says.

Artie cocks her head and looks at Meghan in a way I’ve never seen her look at Meghan before. It’s as if — for the first time ever — Artie can see why someone would think Meghan is cool. “That’s a really good idea.”

“Let’s go say hi to him now,” Meghan says, grabbing Artie’s hand and dragging her off. Artie flashes me a panicked look over her shoulder, but I just give her a little wave.

“Good luck!” I call.

“Hayley?” someone says over my shoulder. When I turn, I see Kyle’s smiling face. “You did a great job on the show.”

“Oh, thanks. I didn’t really do anything.”

Kyle laughs. “Really? So — Meghan and Artie just really got along and enjoyed working together?”

“Well … not exactly.”

“Right. That’s your talent, Fred. You bring out the best in people.”

I feel every hair on my head. I hear the blood rushing through my ears. I bring out the best in people? “I’m sorry I missed hearing you play the piano.”

“You can hear that anytime,” Kyle says.

I giggle like a moron, and the sound makes Kyle laugh. But not like he’s laughing at me. More like he thinks I’m funny, or like I made him happy. I get this weird feeling — like someone’s watching me. When I turn, I see Marco. He’s standing off to the side, almost underneath the glowing red exit sign. He’s holding the video camera to his eye. When I look at him, he lowers it and pushes the off button.

Marco was filming me talking to Kyle. My heart throbs in my chest as he looks down at the screen.

And once again, I wonder what he sees there.

“T
hat was fantastic!” Aunt Denise gushes once we’re home. “I really loved Marco’s film!” We’re in Gran’s tiny upstairs kitchen, and my aunt is helping me load a plate full of cupcakes. Raspberry flavor.

“Wasn’t it great?” I agree.

Marco blushes. “Aw, come on.”

“You’ve got talent, for sure,” my aunt tells him.

Mom pops her head into the kitchen doorway. “How’s it going in here?” she asks.

“Hayley’s got everything covered,” Aunt Denise assures her.

Mom takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. I can hear Ramon telling a story at the table. A moment later, everyone laughs. So far, this dinner party has been super fun. Mr.
Malik and Ramon have been chatting away, and Aunt Denise — who has been seated beside Uzma — can talk to anyone. Chloe can’t stop talking about the ballerina dog, and Rupert keeps repeating, “But how can you train it to
appreciate
the music?”

I was just starting to think that everything was going to be okay and I was just a paranoid nutburger when Mom did that slow breath thing.

“What’s up?” I ask her as Marco takes the seat beside Rupert.

She looks over her shoulder and rakes her fingers through her hair. “Nothing. You ready?”

“Almost,” Denise says. But she’s smiling a little smile that doesn’t look like it has anything to do with cupcakes.

“Why are you smiling?” I ask her.

Denise’s eyebrows shoot up, and she looks over at Mom. My mother gives her head a quick little shake and says, “There’s going to be an announcement, that’s all.”

“An announcement?” I repeat. My aunt is now smiling so broadly that her dimples are showing. It’s funny to see a grown woman with dimples.

“Ready?” Mom urges.

“Sure,” I say, and nobody but me seems to notice the quaver in my voice.

Denise actually starts humming as she picks up the platter of cupcakes. She gives me a wink, and now I’m sure, positive, certain that Something Big is happening. The lasagna we had for dinner is swimming around in my stomach, and so I try Mom’s technique — I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly. It doesn’t help.

Don’t start bawling when he asks
, I tell myself.
Act like you’re happy.

It’sfineit’sfineit’sfineit’sfine
, I repeat mentally, like a — what’s it called? That yoga term? A mantra? I repeat it all the way into the dining room. Mr. Malik’s wrinkles dance into a smile that uses his whole face. “Cupcakes by the master!” he says.

“Those are beautiful, Hayley,” Ramon puts in.

“Amazing, as usual,” Marco agrees.

Denise slides into her seat beside Uzma and grins at my mom.

Mom smiles back and takes in a shaky breath. “So — everyone — we, uh, I’m so glad that you all could join us here tonight. There’s, um, something very special …”

I don’t even realize I’m doing it, but I grab my sister’s hand. She looks at me, curious, but she doesn’t let go.

Mom has paused, almost expectantly. And then Mr. Malik stands up.

“Dear friends,” he says. “Thank you so much for having my sister and me into your home.”

I love Mr. Malik, but right now, I wish he would just sit down, so we can get this horrible “announcement” over with. I feel like a fish that has just flopped onto a riverbank — I can hardly breathe.

“You are all very, very dear to us,” Mr. Malik says.

“Hear, hear,” Gran says.

Mr. Malik smiles at her. “In the eighteen years that I have owned the flower shop beside your tea shop, Mrs. Wilson,” Mr. Malik says, “we have grown close, and become the best of friends, have we not?”

“Indeed we have,” Gran agrees.

“And we have spent many happy afternoons together, drinking tea and talking.”

“Many afternoons.” Gran’s blue eyes twinkle.

“In the time that your daughter, Margaret, and her daughters, Chloe and Hayley, have come to live with you, it
has been my great privilege and honor to get to know them, and to feel that they are almost my own dear family.”

“Aww — we love you, too!” Chloe chirps.

Uzma murmurs her agreement. I look over at Mom, who is crying now, and I wonder if she’s upset that Mr. Malik has ruined her announcement. I bite my lips to keep from screaming.

“And, Denise, I hope to get to know you better in the future,” Mr. Malik goes on.

“You can count on it,” my aunt tells him.

Mr. Malik smiles at her, then turns to Gran and takes her hand. She cocks her head in surprise, but she is still smiling. “And so, my dear Mrs. Wilson, as we have enjoyed so many happy afternoons together, and so many years, I feel it’s quite natural that we should wish to do this as often as possible, for as many years as we can. In the words of our beloved Charles Dickens, ‘Come, let’s be a comfortable couple, and take care of each other! How glad we shall be, that we have somebody that we are fond of always, to talk to and sit with.’” And I’m still trying to figure out why Mr. Malik is gushing on and on about friendship when he kneels down on one knee, and Uzma starts blubbering into her
napkin, and Gran’s face lights up, and I realize that
this is the announcement
.

It doesn’t have anything to do with Mom at all.

“Will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?” Mr. Malik asks.

“Oh my gosh!” Chloe cries.

“Oh, Mr. Malik, don’t be absurd,” Gran replies. “Of course I will.”

Then Mr. Malik kisses Gran on the cheek, and everyone starts talking at once, and Chloe jumps out of her chair, and I do all I can not to fall out of mine, and Rupert shakes my hand gravely and congratulates me on my new grandfather. Marco runs for his video camera, Aunt Denise and Mom are hugging and crying, and Uzma can’t stop blubbering as Ramon pats her on the back awkwardly, and it’s just about the strangest, most stunning thing that has ever happened. Ever.

And finally everyone settles down, and Mom says, “How about those cupcakes!” and everyone agrees that it’s a great idea. I notice that Gran has pulled her chair closer to Mr. Malik’s, and they are both beaming and looking kind of excited and proud.

Mom starts handing out cupcakes, and Chloe says, “Oh, this is just so great. Now if only Rupert weren’t moving away, everything would be perfect.” She looks over at him sadly, but Rupert is grinning at Uzma, who clears her throat.

“Well, it seems that a solution to Rupert’s schooling has been found,” Uzma announces.

“What?” Chloe gasps.

“It’s true!” Rupert crows. “Uzma’s going to drive me!”

“What?” This time it’s me who’s shocked.

“I’m an early riser, anyway,” Uzma says primly. “I’ll simply pick up Rupert and take him to school. Then I’ll bring him here afterward, and he can stay at the Tea Room until his father can pick him up.”

Chloe screeches and wraps Rupert in a huge hug. For a moment, he doesn’t seem to know what to do. Then he gives her an awkward hug back.

“Well, I think everyone agrees that it’s terribly disruptive to change schools at this time of year,” Uzma says, and I have no doubt that she’s using the exact words she used with Rupert’s dad and family. I shake my head. Uzma is not to be trifled with.

You’ve got to give her respect, or she’ll roll right over you.

“This is the best day of my life!” Chloe cries. “I’ll remember this forever!” She stands up and twirls around like a crazy spinning top, which makes everyone crack up.

I look over at Gran, who is smiling, but looks a little teary. Mr. Malik is beside her, and he’s so happy that he looks like he might just float right up to the ceiling. Uzma looks pleased and proud. Rupert laughs at Chloe, but seems shy, as if he’s not used to having this much attention.

I wonder what I look like. Maybe as if I’ve been hit on the head with something heavy. Not in pain, just — stunned.

Anyway, I know one thing for sure: Everyone around me is happy. The room is buzzing with it. And I’m happy, too.

Mom passes out the cupcakes, and I take a bite.

“Life is sweet,” Mr. Malik says as he tastes his.

Yes. That’s right. At this moment, life is sweet. And Chloe is right — none of us will ever, ever forget this night.

Peanut Butter and Jelly French Macarons

(makes approximately two dozen macarons)

INGREDIENTS:

INSTRUCTIONS:

1. Cut two sheets of parchment paper to the size of your baking sheets. Draw 1-inch circles on the paper, spacing them at least a 1/2-inch apart. This will be your guide when squeezing out the macaron batter.
   
2. In a food processor, grind together the confectioners’ sugar, almond flour, and peanut flour or ground roasted peanuts to a fine powder. Sift the mixture through a medium-mesh sieve and set aside.
   
3. In a stainless steel bowl, beat the egg whites on high speed until they are foamy. Slowly add the granulated sugar to the egg whites while still beating them with your mixer. After all the sugar has been added, add the vanilla extract and beat the egg whites on high speed until they reach stiff, glossy peaks. (Check by removing your mixer from the meringue to see if the peak left behind keeps its shape.)
   
4. Scrape the sides of the bowl so all the meringue is at the bottom. Add half of the sifted flour mixture to the meringue. Using a spatula fold it in by scooping it up from the bottom of the bowl. (Don’t just “stir” like you would for cupcake batter, or you will destroy the meringue.) Add the rest of the flour and fully combine.
   
5. Learn a new term:
   macaronnage
   . When all the flour is combined, press and spread out the batter against the bowl’s sides. Scoop the batter from the bottom and turn it upside down. Repeat this process of pressing/spreading, then scooping about 15 times. TIP: If the macaronnage step is repeated less than 10 times, the baked macarons lack luster. But repeat more than 20 times and oil stains may remain on the surface when the macarons are baked.
   
6. Learn another term:
   macaronner
   . When the batter becomes nicely firm and drips slowly as you scoop it with a spatula, the mixture is done.
   
7. Grab a large pastry bag with a tip that has about a 0.4 inch/1.01 centimeter circular opening. Twist the pastry bag to hold the tip tightly. This will prevent batter from leaking out while putting it inside the pastry bag.
   
8. Place the pastry bag, tip down, in a deep cup, and fold over the end of the bag to hold in place. Pour the batter in, then after it’s all inside, twist the bag’s end and clip it (or use a rubber band) to prevent batter from being squeezed out.
   
9. Take your parchment-lined baking sheets and slowly squeeze out circles of batter (oh yeah, you should untwist the pastry bag where the tip is), following your pattern. Be careful, since the batter tends to spread a little after being squeezed.
   
10. When the sheet is filled with batter, rap it firmly against the counter or other flat surface to help form the “foot” characteristic of French macarons.
    
11. Dry the batter at room temperature, uncovered, for 15–30 minutes. At this point, you can preheat your oven to 375°F, placing oven racks in the center of the oven.
    
12. The macarons are ready for baking when they form a slight crust, so test one with your finger — if it doesn’t stick to your finger, the batter is ready.
    
13. Bake the macarons for 15–18 minutes, until slightly crisp. To bake evenly, make sure to rotate the tray halfway through baking. When done, remove from the oven and allow to cool completely before adding the filling.
    

Jam Buttercream Filling

INGREDIENTS:

INSTRUCTIONS:

1. In a medium bowl, whip the butter and salt with a mixer until fluffy. Slowly add the confectioners’ sugar and beat until completely combined.
   
2. Add the jam and continue beating until light and fluffy. Take the macarons you’ve made and create little sandwiches with the filling. Refrigerate macarons up to one week.