Heartbreak Cake (4 page)

Timothy crosses his leg over his knee and looks surprisingly annoyed; it’s the same weak explanation I’ve been giving him for the last year.

“He’s never leaving his wife is he?”

I hear Timothy’s lemon-mint Ricola scrape his teeth. He lowers his head and makes another note in his pad.

And I wonder if he just wrote the word delusional down.

“Indira, your time is up. I think you did great today.”

“Really? Because I feel like absolute shit. I’d like to stay here until we come up with a plan.”

“You have a plan, a great plan. You just have to follow it through and trust that you are going to be okay without this man. So just start walking,” Timothy unfolds his legs and stands up. “Do it and the rest will come to you, I promise.”

Timothy takes my hand and pulls me from the curled up fetal position I am currently in and gives me a gentle push toward the front door. “Go live your life and stop living his. I think you’ll be surprised by how much you’ll enjoy it.

Dragging myself out of his office, I make my way to the car and a breeze of ocean air dances around me. I catch the swirls of butter cream, sugar and pear scents from my work clothes. It reminds me of Noah Cavatelli, and for some reason that makes me smile.

***

9:14 p.m.

I look at my cell phone and a flash of anger surges right through me as I realize he’s late, even though he was the one who asked to see me.

But here I am, waiting for him, as usual.

“Ugh,” I scream into the emptiness of my apartment, startling my pleasantly plump cat, Norma, who purrs loudly against my ear as she sits comfortably against my head, her tail swishing anxiously in my face.

When did my life become a sad Lifetime movie?

I look around my living room from where I sit on the couch and notice the trinkets I’ve collected over the last five years that symbolize a life with Josh. A jar of seashells he and I began to pick up from our walks on the beach, a hot pink surfboard he bought me when I told him I wanted to become a surfer girl and join him in the waves, but turns out, I’d rather wake up at 6 a.m. to make cinnamon rolls and drink coffee than freeze my ass off in the ocean. Then there’s the wall photo collage, which is really just my homage to us—photos of us on vacation, camping trips, handholding, and family picnics. It was our life.

My favorite is the first Crystal Cove team photo taken of all of us. There we all are, Pedro looking annoyed, Simon looking devilish, and Josh and I just before we had started dating. He had his arm around my waist and we glowed with happiness.

We met five years ago in the elevator of Crystal Cove Resort, a palatial hotel that hangs on the bluffs of Orange County’s Laguna Beach, known for its scenic beach views, five-star dining, and skimpy bikinis.

Josh was barefoot, wearing a wetsuit and carrying a slender white surfboard, and I was awkwardly dressed in a two-hundred-dollar black pantsuit—price tags still on—that I had purchased for a job interview.

Josh looked like a gorgeous advertisement for a rugged, albeit slightly older surfer, and we smiled at each other pleasantly while the elevator began to climb its way to the top.

“Aren’t you supposed to be heading toward the ocean?” I asked.

“I forgot my flip flops,” he said sheepishly, and we both looked down at his bare feet. “I don’t want to leave a mud track on my way back.”

“Good point”

“And you?” Josh gestured his surfboard toward me. “You look a little nervous.”

I pulled anxiously at my collar and squirmed in the form-fitting blazer. “Is it that obvious? I’m really trying to look comfortable. I have a job interview, and it’s really important. I’m so worried I’m going to blow it.”

“What is it?” the surfer said with interest.

“I’m meeting with Simon Ford,” I said proudly, but there wasn’t a flicker of recognition on Josh’s face. “Owner of Notting Hill Kitchen in London? Popular reality show on the BBC channel? The Hugh Grant meets Gordon Ramsey of the cooking world? Really? You got nothing?” I stared at Josh incredulously, chalking it up to way too much surf and sand. “Must be a food thing. Simon Ford is a big deal in my profession.”

Once I stopped babbling, I noticed Josh holding the elevator door open for me. “Sorry about that, I babble when I’m nervous. And meeting Simon Ford ranks high on my wish list of people to meet.”

We both stepped out of the elevator. I made a quick left, but Josh reached out and touched my shoulder before I dashed down the hall.

“There’s no way he won’t love you.”

“Thanks,” I said, flushed with girlish adoration.

I swiveled on my heel, mortified by how prepubescent this blue-eyed man made me feel.

Before I could even open the door to room 732, it was flung open by a pretty woman wearing a suit similar to mine and her hair pulled into a tightly wound ballerina bun. She smacked right into me on her way out and looked up to apologize with her panicked eyes.

“Good luck,” she said and gave one last dreaded look behind her before escaping down the hallway.

“Join us won’t you?”

There stood Simon Ford, tall and lanky, tousled blond hair and those light blue eyes that have made him a cover boy for food magazines. He wore a form-fitting chef’s jacket that showed off his broad shoulders and slender waist. He looked like a model, not like one of the most well known chefs in the world.

“We’re just having a pie contest amongst friends; do you think you can handle that?”

I took one long look at his smug smile and taunting stance, everything about him daring me to walk away from him. There was no way I’d measure up to this man, I remember thinking nervously.

But then I saw it, the apple pie had frayed edges and the top crust looked...wait, a minute... overdone.

He was imperfect. As was his pie.

“If that’s your idea of a five-star pie, this competition should be easy,” I snapped and closed the door firmly behind me and made a confident beeline toward a suddenly unsmiling Simon.

A few days later I got a call from the receptionist from Crystal Cove’s food and wine department to set up a second interview with the Director of Food and Beverage, Josh Oliver.

Waiting in an office that looked straight out of a Restoration Hardware catalog, I nervously kept tucking a loose black hair back into my ponytail and tried not to over think what this meeting could be about.

“So, looks like you made an impression on Simon,” a voice behind me announced. I whipped my head around to discover the surf bum was now sporting a tailored suit, his messy hair tamed, and his bare feet covered in shiny black oxfords.

“Well, you sure clean up,” I said with a laugh. “You are Josh Oliver? You really should wear a nametag. Here I thought you were trying to sneak onto the hotel’s private beach.”

“I get that a lot,” Josh said and took a seat behind an oversized mahogany desk where he looked just as comfortable in this corporate world as he did a few days ago barefoot and headed toward the beach.

Josh curled his hands together and placed his fingers under his chin contemplatively. “So, tell me, Indira. We have 215 applications. We can choose from the best of the best around the world, but for some reason Simon only wants you. And he won’t tell me anything except that I have to make you take the job.”

Leaning back in his leather swivel chair, Josh waited for an answer as I squirmed awkwardly.

“He didn’t tell you what happened?”

“No, why don’t you?” Josh sounded intrigued.

“I walked out of the interview,” I explained flatly. “But not before I called him a condescending, pompous, overexposed ass.”

“No. You. Didn’t.” Josh said like a tween who’d just heard the best gossip ever.

“Yes, yes, I did. But, as much as I regret speaking that way to Simon Ford, and I promise you, I have spent the last two days crying about it. I have to tell you, Mr. Oliver, he is an arrogant and rude man. He made some poor girl cry in her interview, and he tried his hardest to get me to break. I regret letting my anger get the best of me, because this was my dream job, but I would do it again. He’s incorrigible.”

“Simon loved your portfolio. You were the fastest in the timed pastry test and he happens to think your irreverence would make a perfect fit in his kitchen. What do you think about that?”

“I think he and I would possibly kill each other... And I think I’m not interested.” I moved to leave, but Josh got up quickly to follow me.

“Hold on a minute. Give us a chance here. Simon is not so bad, once you get into his good graces,” Josh said confidently. “It will be worth it, you’ll see. He’s a kitty cat, once you get to know him. And honestly, he needs someone like you in the kitchen to keep him…on his toes.”

Josh gave me his winning smile. “We’d like to offer you the job. What do you say?”

“I think saying yes is nuts, but how can I say no to you?”

***

I look at the time on my cell phone, 9:53, and go to the kitchen and rifle through my spice rack to look for my special jar of cardamom that I only use for emergency emotional breakdowns.

Popping off the tab, I find my stash of cigarettes that I keep for nights like this. I take my glass of wine to the balcony and light a cigarette, listening to the lapping waves that are just across the street from my house. I had never lived by the beach before I moved for the job at Crystal Cove. I grew up inland, in the suburbs of Pasadena where we had the San Gabriel Valley Mountains as our picturesque backdrop and suffered sweltering summers.

Josh’s truck pulls up on my block and he quickly jumps out and dashes across the street, knowing he’s in trouble for his lateness. I watch him rub his face anxiously as he approaches my building, and I stand on my balcony, waiting for him to see me.

“Indira,” he calls and waves at me. “I’m so sorry. Valentina asked me to come home and fix the leg on the dresser before I went back to work. So now we are totally free for the night.” Josh looks excited and happy to see me. He always does. He always makes me feel loved when he’s around me, but it’s not enough. His heart does not ache like mine, and he has no idea how living this secret other world has affected me or my relationships with friends and family.

I could smile at him, and beckon him up, and feel the instant rush of love—and then the abandonment when he leaves a few hours later.

Or I could suck up and pick me this time.

Wordlessly, I crush my cigarette onto the ashtray, and take one last look at Josh before I walk into my house, close the door firmly behind me, and turn off all the lights.

I lean against a wall in my apartment to hear Josh running up the steps to my front door. Damn him and that spare key. Thank goodness for the deadbolt.

“Indira?” he says through the door. “I’m sorry I made you wait. I know you hate that. Just give me a chance to explain. I need a little more time, just a few more weeks, a month tops. I promise. It’s just so complicated.”

I close my eyes and try to shut out the sound of his voice, repeating the same thing over and over in my mind.

He’s married.

He’s never going to leave. He already let you go.

I push the palm of my hand against my chest, hoping if I’m firm enough I may just keep my heart from breaking into a thousand pieces.

“Indira, are you really just ending it like this?”

I think about the last year. The secrets. Lying to my friends and family. How I’ve cried every day for the last year knowing he was home in his real life and I was nothing more than dessert.

“Yes, Josh, just like this…now go home to your wife.”

Chapter 4

I am startled awake by the loud shrill of my landline phone, which never rings unless it’s a telemarketer trying to get me to buy home-delivered organic meats.