Heartbreak Cake (11 page)

“So what’s the market
chisme
these days? “ I ask Clifford, who’s filling a wood apple basket with pale green Ginger Gold’s. “Who is it today? Mary for raising her corn prices? Or is it Linda from Beach TV for wearing a bikini while interviewing the principal of Bay View Elementary? God, I almost spit out my coffee when I saw the segment air. Actually, I did spit out my coffee now that I think of it.”

Clifford keeps packing the apple basket, and for a minute I wonder if maybe he just didn’t hear me.

“I haven’t heard anything, and usually I get a call from Lilly if it’s off the charts. You’ve met Lilly? She’s the honey farmer from Bakersfield,” I say, scanning the market and spotting Lilly standing in her stall. I wave at her when she glances at me, but she turns away.

“I don’t think she saw me, but you should go to talk to her, she’s a total hoot. She will tell you a hundred stories about getting stung by bees that she somehow makes sound hilarious.”

I turn back to Lilly who is whispering in her assistant’s ear as they both stare in the direction of Cliff and me.

“That’s weird,” I say, as my stomach flips with unease and an army of butterflies takes over.

Rebecca comes up behind me and hands me a hot churro.

“No Nutella. They keep it natural, but oh my, it’s delicious.”

“Indira.” Clifford clears his throat and walks out from behind his apples to where I’m standing and suddenly feeling so anxious I’m vacillating between wanting to bolt out of the market or break into tears.

I was too busy with Rebecca to notice, but aside from Clifford, no one has talked to me once at the market, which is unusual. These are my people, my friends.

“What is going on Clifford?”

“There’s some talk about you and Josh.” Clifford says awkwardly. “That you two have been having an affair since he got back together with his wife.”

“Is everyone talking about it?” I say panicky.

I instantly flash to Pedro who is at the shop testing recipes for our tasting with Stephanie and Travis. How am I going to tell him this?

“If you mean everyone at the market, then yes.”

“And what about everyone else?”

“If you mean everyone who knows you and Cake Pan, then yes. Everyone knows.”

“Why couldn’t this happen three weeks from now?” I say, feeling my face get hot with shame. “It’s true then,” Clifford says.

“Don’t judge her. And don’t you say anything.” Rebecca puts her hand on my shoulder protectively. “You and everyone else here have no idea what she’s been through. And it takes two.” She raises two fingers in the air and glares at him. “Two.”

“I was just asking. Trust me, I don’t judge. I’ve got a few skeletons in my closet.”

Rebecca stands in front of me in full on mama bear stance, clenching her churro and somehow managing to look menacing while wearing those ridiculous green running shoes.

“Let’s go, Rebecca.” I tug on her arm as Clifford turns to help another customer.

“Okay, we will leave, but we are going to grab our apples and we are going to leisurely walk out of here. Don’t you dare lower your head and look like a scared bunny rabbit.”

“Wabbit!” screams Maggie from her jogger. “Who would do this? Josh?”

“It’s not Josh. He’s got just as much to lose as you do. But he’s a man, so guess what? Boys will be boys and all that crap. He will not be judged the same way you will be.” Rebecca is in full-blown attorney mode. She moves us through the Farmer’s Market, slowly, stopping to buy Muscat grapes and then a bag of kettle corn.

“Eat! And smile. Smile at me.” Rebecca gives me a grin. I take the bag of sweet-smelling popcorn and force myself to choke down a few kernels.

“Let’s go. I have to regroup before I face Pedro.”

“We’re almost out of here. Just don’t want you to run out looking guilty.”

“I am guilty,” I say through a forced smile.

“Oh crap,” Rebecca’s neon green feet abruptly stop in place. “This could be unpleasant.”

I swing my head in the direction Rebecca’s staring to see Valentina walking down the produce aisle like a runway model.

How does she make a pair of khaki shorts look like the sexiest piece of clothing I’ve ever seen? And why does she look like she’s walking in slow motion?

“I think we found out who is telling everyone.” Valentina, ever the star of the show, is instantly flocked by admirers, including market manager and infamous town gossip Samantha Tate, the leader of the biggest and most powerful group in the community: The Mommy-Brigade.

As I watch Valentina and Samantha giggle and link arms like the best of friends, I realize their union means I’m in trouble.

Double trouble.

***

Rebecca left me in the parking lot of the Farmer’s Market after a well-intentioned pep talk about Hester Prynne in
The Scarlet Letter
and how she held her head high despite the Puritans rallying for her hanging.

I know what I’m up against. I’ve seen how someone went from neighborhood favorite to social pariah. Oh sure, it was a friendly beach town with flip flops and smiley surfers, weekend bonfires and riding your beach cruiser along the strand. But get on the wrong side or cross the wrong person, and it could turn on a dime.

I lost a few friends who left town after the whispers took a toll on their businesses and their personal lives.

I wish I could say I was above it, but I followed the lead of everyone else and made sure to stay friendly with who was important, because it did help. Being in the right circles meant you were picked to make cupcakes for the Chamber of Commerce mixer or the Mother’s Day city- wide brunch. It meant more business and loyalty from the neighborhood, as long as you played the game.

I push the front door open to the bakery, and I hear the tinkle of the bell and smell of butter and sugar. The pastry case is filled with rows of cookies, slices of coffee cake, and cake stands covered in mini cupcakes, macaroons, and mint green-colored cake lollipops.

This is home, and I could lose it all.

“Indira, hurry I need you to taste this.” Pedro waves me to the kitchen happily. “They’re just out of the oven. Dulce de leche taquito.” He hands me a puff pastry that’s been rolled into a thick cigar. “Comes with a dark chocolate glaze that I made with cayenne. Here, dip.” He holds out a ceramic ramekin.

“That’s amazing,” I moan. “You’re a genius.”

“Thanks. Hopefully this will help us with the Wright- Hemsley wedding.” Pedro looks pleased, and I think he forgot he hasn’t spoken to me in nearly a week, aside from a few grunts.

“Stephanie and Travis are not going to know what to pick, we have so many things for them to sample. Dulce de leche taquitos, chocolate and coconut tacos, vanilla bean mini cupcakes with spicy mango, Mexican chocolate brownies, churro bites on sticks.”

“Did you go to the market today?” Pedro points to the basket of Ginger Gold’s sitting on the floor.

“Clifford’s in town,” I say. “I was going to add apple empanadas to the menu.”

Pedro snaps his finger at the pastry intern who is waiting on stand-by for direction, and she immediately rushes to grab the basket.

“I want perfect slices, not too small and not too big. And if I see any skin on those apples, you’ll do another basket over again. And don’t forget to core them, unlike last time.”

The intern blushes and nearly salutes Pedro as if he were a General.

“Why must you torture the interns?”

“It’s how they learn,” he says slyly. “It’s how I did. It’s how you did. It’s how everyone in a kitchen must learn and get a thicker skin. Remember when Simon threw away the wedding cake you made for the McGregor wedding? I still remember your face when he pushed it straight into the garbage can.”

“He told me it was the ugliest thing he’d ever seen and to start over,” I say with a fond smile—now. But that day, I nearly gave up baking and thought about going to law school.

When I first walked into Simon’s kitchen, I knew I had a lot to learn, but I didn’t know how much of that involved finding out who I was. He was my Mr. Miyagi, and he taught me how to “wax on, wax off” in the kitchen. And I loved him for it. So did Pedro, even if we never said it out loud.

“What’s with the walk down memory lane?” I ask Pedro, who is suddenly very interested in cleaning the counters.

“It’s just good to remember that hard times help you get stronger and smarter.”

Wait a minute.

“Pedro, what’s going on? Your pep talks always have a reason, now spill.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he leans against the counter, avoiding my eyes.

“I went to the market today, and guess what.”

He says nothing and instead looks down at the ground and starts to trace a spot on the floor with the toe of his shoe.

“Do you want to guess? I have a feeling you may know.” I walk over and lay my head on his shoulder.

Pedro finally looks at me apologetically. “I’m sorry
, Indira
. You don’t deserve this.”

“That’s sweet of you to say, but I do. Some of it, at least. Just not how bad this may all get. How did you find out?”

“A new bride cancelled an order today. A small backyard wedding. One hundred cupcakes,” Pedro says gently. “She’s going with someone referred to her by Samantha Tate. So, I started asking around, and it looks like everyone I know, knows.”

“Valentina’s partner-in-crime,” I cringe, wondering how much damage has already been done in the last twenty-four hours. “We can survive this if we handle it right,” I say still feeling optimistic.

“That’s not all,” Pedro adds. “Stephanie called. She wants to have a meeting with you on Monday. Alone.”

Chapter 10

I’m in need of a John Hughes moment.

I want Molly Ringwald to waltz into my closet with a sewing machine and turn my 1990s baby doll dress into something vampy. All while New Order plays in the background and Andrew McCarthy looks at me adoringly in his
Pretty in Pink
blazer.

Why can’t that be my life?

Instead, here I stand in my closet, sporting a towel turban and trying to salvage a dress I bought during my grunge phase.

“I have nothing to wear,” I whine to Rebecca over the phone.

She has checked on me every hour, on the hour, since we left the Farmer’s Market to make sure I don’t cancel my date with Noah. It is my one saving grace, she explained, to show everyone that I actually do like single men.

“You told me you were going to the mall,” she says sternly.

“I did. I may have taken a slight detour and gone to Ikea. I came home with a new bedroom mirror and a few bags of frozen Swedish meatballs.”

“Indira,” Rebecca chides.

“Fine, a few
dozen
bags of meatballs, but so what. A girl needs to eat.”

“This is why you have a closet full of jeans, concert t- shirts, and clogs instead of cocktail dresses and heels. You choose food over function nine times out of ten.”

“I know, I know. You sound like my mom. I can’t help myself, it’s a compulsion. I may have a problem.”

“No kidding. Why don’t you come open your front door, so I can save you from what I bet is an awful outfit.”

“Oh thank God,” I scream, then run down the hallway and throw open my front door to find Rebecca holding Maggie like a baby chimp in one arm and cradling a load of clothes in the other.

“You are my fairy Godmother! Can you do that little French braid twist that you do? It’s so chic,” I ask excitedly.

Rebecca walks past me, taking in my flowery silk baby doll dress and grimaces. “I’m going to need you to take off that dress.”

“But I’ve had it since college…and look, still fits!” I twirl, but Rebecca isn’t buying it. In fact, she looks like she may rip it into shreds.