Heartbreak Cake (23 page)

“Sounds like a movie I saw on the Independent Film Channel,” I tease. “Well, I’ll just say this. I didn’t ruin my life simply for phenomenal sex. It was a little bit more than that.”

“Phenomenal? Seems like I have my work cut out for me.” Noah looks impressed and gives me a sly wink.

“I’m up for the challenge.” I blush hotly and try to get the image of him meeting that challenge out of my mind. “You know what I mean,” I stammer. “It was love. Stupid, blind love that makes you do things you know you shouldn’t.”

“I’m familiar,” he says. “I’m not fond of rehashing war stories, especially since I just met you. But here’s what I’ve learned from my own experiences. I don’t wait around for someone anymore. I wasted many years hoping she would come to her senses. But she never did. And I’m a much happier person now that I’ve learned to let her go.”

Noah and I walk through the noisy conference and make our way through the crowds of well-dressed women who are all running around with their gift bags and pink cocktails, and head to the wrap-around bar that has an epic view of the ocean. The sun has already set and you can see a few stars peeping out in the sky.

Noah orders our drinks, and I watch him joke good naturedly with the bartender. It’s hard for me to imagine Noah pining over someone. Even more unfathomable is realizing there was a woman out there who dumped him.

“I do feel happier now, aside from the rest of my life imploding. Personally, I feel like a weight’s been lifted.” I take two glasses of champagne from the bar and hand one to Noah as he steals a soft kiss on my lips.

“Exactly. Focus on that. Focus on your work, and focus on a dashing and ridiculously handsome man showering you with attention.” He gives me a sparkly smile, and we clink glasses flirtatiously.

“That, Noah, is the best advice.”

***

“I’m not drinking that.” Pedro hands the martini glass back to me.

“Don’t be a male stereotype. Drink this. It’s delicious. Champagne infused with strawberries and mint leaves. You love this kind of stuff.” I whisper this last part because I don’t want anyone to find out that my best “girly drink” buddy is actually Pedro Sanchez.

“What’s that stuff around the glass?”

“It’s pink sugar, you big baby. We are at the Pink Sprinkle. What else would you expect? Rocks? Dirt? You’re lucky you aren’t wearing a pink chef’s jacket like the chefs from Crystal Cove.”

“Is it really good?” he says quietly as he takes it out of my hands.

“Better than those Appletini’s we had in Vegas.” I give him a wink and he shushes me.

“Keep it down.” He looks around before he quickly guzzles it and smacks his lips. “Oh wow, that
is
really good.”

“That’s why these are dangerous,” I say with a giggle. “I’ve had two.”

I head over to our display kitchen and check on the banana custards that look like perfect pastry gifts tucked into their mason jars. We have 15 minutes ‘til show time, and I have spent the last hour thinking about how to handle everything.

Strangely enough, I wish I could call Mrs. Pasqual and ask what she did after she left town. Did she feel better? Did she stop feeling like the worst person in the universe? Did she forgive herself for making wrong choices and hurting other people?

But most of all, I wish I could ask her if she regretted never telling everyone to just fuck off and stop judging her. “You ready for this?” Pedro hands me a microphone headpiece and we both slide them on like pilots heading into the Bermuda Triangle.

“We got this,” I say, and we give each other an enthusiastic high five and head to the center of the stage.

As I look out into the crowd, I see many familiar faces, none of them looking very friendly, and I pray that any hecklers decide to wait until I’m done before they start hurling insults at us.

Focus, I think. Focus on Cake Pan. Focus on Pedro, Rebecca, my parents. All that is good in my life

“Hi everyone! A few years ago, my partner and I were asked to come up with an idea for a traditional southern wedding. And we started with the concept of pie. Southerners know their way around a pie. What we came up with was a deconstructed Banana Cream pie in a mason jar. A sweet homage to pie and traditional jarred desserts from the South. It became our signature dessert at Cake Pan, and to this day, it’s one of our most requested, because not only are they adorable, but they taste amazing.”

I can feel the room soften like warm butter as I talk, smiling at each person whom I make eye contact with, dazzling them with the romance of baking. And I can tell the crowd is engaged as I cut the banana slices and go through each step slowly, speaking animatedly.

Rachel Ray’s got nothing on me, I think, as the audience erupts into laughter when I tell them the story of our first runaway bride who ditched her soon-to-be husband at the altar, but still found time to ask me for the recipe for our Banana Cream pies in jars.

Pedro flashes me a smile from the oven where he’s pulling out the tray of baked pies.

We so got this.

“Alright, everyone, Pedro is going to hand out samples. Please remember the mason jars are yours to keep. I’m now opening the floor for any questions you may have for dessert bar ideas or if you’d like to talk about your own wedding coming up and need some ideas for inspiration.”

Total silence, which is typical, so it doesn’t bother me. There’s always some coaxing needed from a crowd.

“Anyone? This is your chance to ask us any questions on tablescaping, budget weddings, or if you have a wedding coming up and want to brainstorm. We are here!”

I see a hand pop up at the very back of the crowd. One small hand, but I do see it.

“Yes, you in the back. Go ahead.”

“Hello, Indira. I have been a huge fan of your bakery. I come in all the time and saw you on local television yesterday. I love everything you and Pedro do. It’s inspirational.”

“Thank you.”

Flattery will get your everywhere, I think.

“But I recently read an article that said you were having an affair with a married man, and I wondered if that was a groom you were working with? Or if it was someone you met at a wedding you were catering?”

I hear my heart beat in my ears and try to keep the smile on my face, just like Rebecca told me to. I dart my eyes at Pedro, panic stricken, but there’s nothing he can do now. I’m holding the microphone and the question is mine.

So I think about Mrs. Pasqual instead. And the way she quietly moved away, never addressing the rumors, never bothering to defend herself. Taking all the blame even though she wasn’t alone when I found her.

Scanning my eyes over everyone, I look for a friendly face that may help me decide what to do.

There he is.

Noah stands tall above everyone in the nearly all- female crowd, and he looks at me not with concern or panic, but with an irreverent smile.

And then he mouths, “
Screw them.”

The young woman stares back at me, and I can feel everyone waiting for an answer.

“Not that this has anything to do with our demonstration. But, yes, I had an affair with a married man. He was not a client. He was a long term boyfriend. And it’s over now. Next question.”

Chapter 18

It starts with one single flash from someone’s smartphone.

Click.

I blink with surprise. What a what? Is someone taking a picture of me?

Another flash follows quickly behind. And then another. And pretty soon the crowd looks like they are at a concert waving their lighters in the air, but instead of a Zippo, it’s a cell phone.

I stand there not sure if I should walk off the stage or take another question.

I turn to Pedro, who I thought would be horrified, but he gives me an understanding nod. He gets it. I may have ruined us by admitting to my affair, but I also set us free.

“Does anyone have another question?” I say amidst the excited chatter, trying to hold on to any professionalism I have left.

“I do.”

A petite woman steps forward, doll-like with long blonde hair and a pink shirt-dress with a leather woven belt tightly cinching her tiny waist.

I remember you
.

One of my first brides, who ended up canceling her wedding because her fiancé said he had feelings for someone else. “Was he a groom?” She asks suspiciously, but underneath I hear the fear.

I am sure she has spent the last year wondering what she did to have her fiancé leave her.

“Everyone, I am here to talk about my business, Cake Pan. We make desserts. We don’t have sex with grooms or try to take them away from our brides. My personal life is just that. My personal life. How this all got out, I will just say is because of people not verifying their facts or making up rumors for their own benefit.

“I am sorry to my neighbors, my friends and family who have to learn about my poor relationship choices in a very public arena thanks to a bunch of hacks who never bothered to call me and got paid to run a smear campaign against me.”

I give a game show hostess salute to the gals from Wedding Belles, who stand at the back table looking sheepish as the crowd whips around to see who I’m pointing at.

“Sometimes, you make bad choices in life, but it doesn’t define you, right? I mean who here has been with someone you knew was wrong for you, but you stayed anyway?”

A few hands inch up.

“Who here has stayed with a guy longer than you should have, because you kept hoping he would miraculously change and become the man you thought he could be?”

A few more hands raise.

“And who here has settled for less, because the idea of going back out on another bad date just makes you want to give up on trying to find the right one? So instead you stay, because it can feel like it’s better than nothing.”

A couple dozen hands shoot up.

“And who here still has that one person you think about when all the lights go off and it’s just you?”

By the time I’m done, I realize that nearly everyone has their hands up. Everyone, including me, Samantha Tate, the Wedding Belles, and even Marley Cooper, the local goat cheese maker, whom I’ve never seen speak to a living person outside of her friendly goats. A few of the bride models, a row of wait staff, and the harpist all stand with their hands in the air.

I feel like the heartbreak preacher. Standing there amongst the sea of raised hands in the air, an honest confessional from the crowd who are admitting when it comes to love and heartache—there’s a unity amongst us all.

“See, love can cause you to make wrong choices, because you will do anything to save yourself from heartache. Losing love. It’s an awful feeling.”

People shake their heads earnestly, and I think I even hear an “Amen” in the crowd.

“But closing the door to one love and opening the window to another, it can also bring you here, to the Pink Sprinkle, where dreams come true and love lives forever. And this is why we all keep going out there hoping we find the
one
. Right?”

My eyes dart over to Josh, who is walking away from the crowd. Valentina watches him leave and I see her own heartache in her face. And then I focus on Noah, who smiles at me from the audience.

It’s time to follow my own advice, I think.

“With that, does anyone have any actual questions on weddings? Or baking?” I ask.

“Yeah, are you taking orders for spring weddings?” a voice calls out.

“Yes, we’d love it. Anyone else?”

I break out into a big grin as a dozen hands go up in the air.

***

“I’m calling you the love doctor from now on.”

Noah spins me around, and I’m giddy with excitement. The last hour has been an adrenaline rush, and while I don’t know what this means for tomorrow or my interview with
The New York Times
in two days, I do know my mom always told me that when you make a mistake, it’s always best to just say you’re sorry and that you’ll try better.