How to Bake a Perfect Life (28 page)

My mother is the first to arrive, bringing fresh tomatoes from the store and a bunch of cilantro clipped from her garden. She’s wearing crisp capri slacks in lemon yellow with an orange and yellow striped tank. Her earrings are whimsical lemons and oranges that match her bracelet. I wish I had inherited this dressing gene, but I did not. I think of Steph in her turquoise tank and jeans and sandals, her hair cut in a mod, angular style. She’s the one who got it. When we were teens, she was the plump one, always draped in oversize T-shirts and jeans. I can’t remember now when she started looking so together all the time; it’s been long enough that I can’t remember much about her adult self other than this one.

Maybe I am as self-centered as she says I am if I can’t call up her transformation period.

“Cute jewelry,” I say to my mother, hoping to start the visit on a high note. We haven’t really talked since the day she found me in the kitchen with Cat, and I’m irked at her for telling Stephanie, but tonight is not the time to bring that out into the open. I’m jumpy, thinking of Sofia and Oscar and what her news might be, and between those emotions are the juicy plum edgings of Jonah’s arrival in my world.

Which I am keeping to myself.

“Where’s Katie?” my mother says, putting her bags on the counter.

“Upstairs.”

“Good. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

“Mom. This is not the time.”

She puts a hand on her hip. “Haven’t you learned one single thing about men all these years, Ramona?”

In a rush, I think of her driving me to Poppy’s house, of her storming into the record store, of a dozen other times she thought the worst of me without giving me a chance to explain. Putting my knife on the counter, I face her, unaware that I am mimicking her posture until I feel my hand on my hip. “Has it ever occurred to you that you could give me the benefit of the doubt?”

She makes a noise that would be a snort in anyone else. “You are going to stand there and tell me that you are not having an affair with Cat Spinuzzi?” Cocking her head, she adds, “Do you think I’m blind, Ramona?”

“Actually, I am going to stand here and tell you that. But you know what, Mom? I’m forty years old and single. And I don’t appreciate your speculation or the fact that you discussed it with my sister. My love life—or lack thereof—is none of your business.”

“Well, you know, Ramona, you haven’t exactly shown the greatest discernment in the area of men.”

“Oh, is that right? Which man are you thinking of, Mom? The one who fucked me when I was a child—”

“Watch your language!”

“—or the one I married, the one everybody approved of so much and who ended up being as faithful as a tomcat? Everyone sure seemed to like him when I married him.” She opens her mouth, but I hold up a hand. “I’m not doing this. I’m a successful, independent”—not quite true, but I’m on a roll now—“divorced businesswoman who raised a fantastic daughter.”

“With help!”

“Absolutely I had help. Thank you.” I step toward her, keeping my voice low. “But I’m tired of apologizing for a mistake I made when I was fifteen. I’m sick of being treated like a teenager. It’s ridiculous.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about today, and you know it. Cat Spinuzzi is one of the biggest womanizers in this town! You want to be just a notch on his belt?”

“Mom! Stop. That’s not what you care about. You care that it will infuriate Dad, but I’m not sure why it matters anyway, since all we ever are is polite to each other.”

“And who started that?”

I sigh. “I’m sure I did. But it’s not like that with Cat, anyway.” I shake my head, realizing it won’t matter what I say. “He’s my mentor, and that’s all.” I hold up a hand. “I swear on all that’s holy.”

“That’s not what I saw.”

I want her to shut up and leave the subject alone. I want to retreat into silence. I want to stonewall her. But if this pattern is going to change for any of us, somebody has to start. “Mom, will you listen? Please?”

She takes a breath and crosses her arms—shutting me out physically if not mentally—and I do something it has never occurred to me to do. I step forward and put my hands on her arms, gently taking them apart. “Really listen.”

Her shoulders ease the smallest bit.

“He
was
my lover for a while.”
The truth
, I say to myself. “Maybe a long while.”

Her mouth tightens. “He’s much, much too old for you.”

“I know. But he’s also charming and kind, and he’s very good to me. He made me feel good about myself when I was feeling like the ugliest, stupidest, most pathetic woman on the planet. Does that make any sense to you at all?”

“Yes.” Her eyes cloud. “I’m so sorry you felt that way. I hope you don’t anymore.”

“I don’t. He gave me that gift, Mom. But I also realized that he is too old for me and I was using him to avoid facing my real life. So I ended it. Well over a year ago.”

“I see.” She presses her lips together. “Thank you for telling me.”

The doorbell rings and I shout, “Come in! We’re upstairs!” To my mother, I say, “Can we keep this between us, please? Please?”

She nods but doesn’t look at me.

Whatever. It’s a start. It’s the best I can do for now.

Nancy and Poppy fell in love that summer I stayed in Sedalia, and they credit me with their long and happy partnership. It’s been a boon for both of them. They’re now in their late sixties but quite vigorous from daily yoga and the walking treks they take all over the world. Poppy is still plump and busty, but she’s taken on muscle in her calves and shoulders from all that exercise. Her hair is steel gray and clipped to her shoulders, and tonight she is wearing a simple athletic top and hiking pants with Tevas. Nancy, tall and rangy and very tan, wears a straight
blue-and-white-striped shift. She reminds me of Julia Child, with that same vivid zest for life, and as she comes in bearing bags and boxes, she fills the entire room with a soft violet light.

“Hello, hello!” she cries, bending to kiss my cheek. “It’s so good to see you! Lily, you look terrific as always. That color is excellent for you.” She puts her parcels on the table and inhales deeply. “It smells great. Is that our dinner?”

“Yes.” I laugh, hugging Poppy and feeling all the tension flow out of me. “What’s all this?”

“Well, we thought we should welcome a new member of the family in a proper fashion. Where is she?”

“I’m not sure. She was getting dressed. Let me call her.”

But before I move to the door, her herald arrives with his tail in the air, happily snuffling the hands that reach for him. “Oh, who’s this?” Poppy cries, getting down to look him in the eye. He sits politely, as if he is well trained, and licks his lips but doesn’t lick her.

Nancy smiles fondly. “What a mutt!”

And there is Katie, leaning like a garden creature against the doorjamb, her wild hair springing around her head. She’s wearing a sundress my mother must have bought her. It’s made of some airy fabric the color of new leaves, a shade that brings out her eyes and flatters the warm tone of her skin and makes her look even more like a dragonfly. “He rescued me,” she says. “His name is Merlin.”

Nancy smiles and offers a hand. “You must be Katie. I’m Nancy.” She gestures toward the table. “We brought you a few things to welcome you.”

A split second before she speaks, I realize Katie is in haughty mode—that nose tipped up in the air. “I’m not an orphan, you know. My parents can buy me things.”

“Katie—” I begin, but Nancy gently waves her hand my way.

“Absolutely. I’ve met your dad and he’s fantastic—I can’t wait to see him again.” She gestures toward the bags and boxes. “This
is the extravagance of women who never had daughters of our own to spoil. We do the same thing to Ramona and Sofia.”

“It’s true.” I nod my head. “No matter how I protested, they spoiled Sofia rotten.”

Katie looks to Lily, as if for permission, and my mother gives a slight nod. Katie eases forward. “What
is
all this?”

“Open it and see!” Poppy says, and brushes dog hair from her shirt. “If I’d known about the puppy, I’d have brought him something, too.”

Katie opens the parcels to reveal outdoorsy clothes and shoes and gardening gloves in two colors, plus a big book, used but in good condition, on dahlias. “Oh,” Katie breathes, “this is beautiful. Did Lily tell you about how much we’ve been planting? And we’re going to go to this flower show together in a couple of weeks.”

“What are some of your favorites?” Poppy says, drawing the girl to sit beside her. I glance at Nancy over their heads and smile. They’ve always been so good at nurturing.

We eat heartily—even Katie loves the tacos, much to my surprise. Afterward we take cups of herbal tea down to the backyard, and only then do I bring up my idea. “I’m worried about Sofia,” I say. “She’s due to deliver in a few weeks, and I think she needs somebody with her.”

The aunties and my mother all sit up straight. “What are you thinking?” Poppy asks.

“I’ll go,” Lily says, and only I catch the flicker of dismay that crosses Katie’s face before she hides it, bending over to pet Milo, who has followed us down, weaving through human and chair legs, brushing his tail along the backs of knees.

I give my mother a look, one she misses. “I think it would be better if it was Poppy and Nancy. They like to travel, and they can go hiking or whatever. And Nancy is a midwife.”

“Retired,” Nancy says.

“Officially,” Poppy laughs, taking her hand. “I’m in! How about you?”

“Of course. Whatever we can do to help.” Nancy inclines her head. “Is that all right, Lily?”

My mother’s mouth is pinched. “Well, I’m no midwife, but she is my granddaughter.”

“Mom,” I say, standing. Something brushes over my face and, thinking it’s a spiderweb, I swipe at it with a shudder. Instead, I feel something almost silky moving over my skin, like a scarf. For a moment I am reminded of my grandmother and even fancy I smell her perfume. Wishful thinking. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

Not happy, she follows me, and I’m so mad at her by the time we make it to the kitchen that I could cheerfully slap her. In a low, fierce voice, I say, “Did you happen to notice that there’s another girl who might need you right now?”

“What are you talking about, Ramona? I’m only expressing a preference—”

I put my finger to my lips. “Katie worships the ground you walk on, Mom. She needs you.”

“Oh.” She looks over her shoulder, and when she looks back, tears glisten in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Ramona. I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s all right. Let’s just go fix it.”

But Katie has gone upstairs by the time we return to the yard. “She said she’d be right back,” Nancy says.

Of course she isn’t, and after a while, during which we hammer out a plan for Nancy and Poppy to head to Texas, my mother goes upstairs to see if Katie wants to spend the night. She declines.

A small wound, I think. She’ll heal quickly enough.

• • •

I’ve finished pouring white and wheat flour into the vast kneading machine for our first round of baking this morning when Sofia calls. It’s just past three, and I take the phone into the backyard again. “Hi, honey. How’s it going?”

“Not good, Mom. Oscar is awake, but he doesn’t want me here.”

“What do you mean?”

“He told me to go home. And it wasn’t even a nice kind of go home, where he asked me to go home and be safe or take care of Katie or anything like that. He won’t even look at me.” Her voice thins. “He’s so angry.”

I have no idea what the right thing to say might be.
Listen
, I think,
just listen
. “That must be crushing.”

“It is. I’ve been waiting and praying for him to wake up. I have been sitting right beside him and reading aloud and trying to be encouraging, and now he’s finally awake and he can’t even stand the sight of me?”

“I’m sure that’s not what it is, Sofia. He might be shocked and upset and angry, but not at you.”

“I know. I keep telling myself that, too, but it’s hard. I’m not tough, like you.”

I laugh a little. “I’m a real tough marshmallow, baby. What if I can send you some backup?”

“Are you coming?” Her voice is filled with hope.

It pierces me. “I can’t, honey, not if we are going to have any money at all. I can’t leave the business right this second, and there’s Katie.”

“I know. I understand. But I wish you were here. It would make it so much better.”

“How about a couple of aunties instead? Poppy and Nancy will come if you want them to. They’re so excited about it.”

Her voice is quiet. “I know you love them, Mom, but they are kind of eccentric and this is an Army hospital, and … I don’t
know.” She starts to cry softly, then swears. “Damn! I keep telling myself that crying doesn’t help, but I can’t seem to stop anyway.”

For a minute I’m wondering about my choices. Would it be better to leave somebody else in charge of the bakery? Bring Katie with me to Texas to look out for Sofia?

No. Impossible. “I would love to be there with you, Sofia. I hope you know that.”

“I do. And you know I love the aunties. I just wish it was you.”

How did I get so lucky to have this child who likes my company? Who needs and wants me? In a deliberately upbeat tone, I say, “Remember, Nancy is a midwife, and it won’t be so bad to have someone with medical training around. Oscar loves Poppy, too. Maybe that will help.”

“Maybe.” She takes a breath. “When are they coming?”

“They have to get things arranged—maybe a week or two. I’ll let you know.”

“Okay. I guess I should let you get back to work. What kind of bread are you making today?”

I tell her the names of the breads, the oatmeal sunflower and millet whole wheat and the sharply sour rustica. But what she wants is distraction and a sense of normality. “Oh, guess what? I met a guy from a long time ago, from when I was pregnant with you.”

“No way! The sweater guy?”

I blush to the top of my bra. I’d forgotten that I told her all about the sweater, which I do still have tucked away in a trunk of things I’ve kept. Sofia loved to go through it with me and have me tell stories about each thing. My roller skates, a scrapbook I made at church camp one year, an autograph book and pictures. And the sweater. She used to like to put it on. “Yeah. How weird is that? He found Katie’s dog when he got out of the yard one day and brought him back.”