The Bake-Off (13 page)

“What happened to the other one?”

“It's a long story; I'll tell you later. But I would like to state for the record that I am here on time.”

Keenly aware of their audience, Amy restricted her response to a close-lipped smile, then introduced her new acquaintances. “This is Susan Miller and her stepmother, Joan Whitson. They're making strawberry rhubarb upside-down cake. They grow their own rhubarb in their yards. Isn't that cool?”

Joan and Susan swiveled wordlessly toward Linnie, who shot Amy a filthy look before shaking their hands.

“Delighted to meet you,” Susan said to Linnie. “I can't wait to try your Polish apple pie. Amy's told us all about it, and it sounds delicious.”

“May I have a word with you?” Linnie hissed, dragging Amy toward a secluded corner by the coat check. “What do you think you're doing, getting all cozy with ‘Susan' and ‘Joan'?”

“Are you implying those are aliases?” Amy replied with mock solemnity. “Because I'm pretty sure those are their real names. They have badges. Very official.”

“You're not allowed to talk to any of the other contestants, remember? They're the enemy.”

“Oh my God, give it a rest.” Amy slugged back the rest of her punch. “Why does it always have to be you versus the world?”

A burst of microphone feedback reverberated through the room as a gentleman in a gray suit and a striped bow tie called their attention to the front of the room. With his bald pate, bushy white mustache, and short stature, he bore a startling resemblance to the Monopoly mascot in the top hat and tails.

“Good evening, everyone. I'm Snowley Millington, the official contest coordinator, and I'm here to congratulate you and give you a warm welcome to our Delicious Duet Dessert Championship. We had over ten thousand entries this year, and only fifty finalists, so you should be very proud of yourselves.” He paused for the audience to applaud themselves before glancing down at his notecards and continuing on. “This year marks the fiftieth anniversary of Delicious sugar, and we have some very exciting surprises in store for our contestants. But first, a few words about the contest rules and regulations.”

A tinny, electric version of “Particle Man” blasted through the silence. Amy unzipped her handbag, and Linnie opened hers, too.

“It's mine,” Amy murmured. “Same ringtone, remember?”

Brandon's name flashed on her caller ID. She knew he'd be calling during dinnertime only if he was in crisis mode, so she slipped out into the hotel lobby and flipped open the phone.

“Sorry,” he said as soon as she said hello. “I know you're in the middle of schmoozing and boozing, but Chloe can't find her Lovey—”

“—and your eardrums are bleeding from the shrieks?”

“Exactly. Where'd you stash the backup?”

“Linen closet in the back hall by the kids' bathroom. Should be on the top shelf tucked under the extra pillows.”

“Okay, hang on a second.” As Brandon walked over to the closet, Amy could hear her daughter's plaintive wails in the background, and a sharp pang of love pricked her heart.

“Got it,” Brandon reported a few seconds later. The wailing subsided. “Thanks, sweetheart. You're a lifesaver. Okay, go back to carousing. Sorry to interrupt.”

“No, I'm glad you called.” Amy felt simultaneously buoyant with freedom and tethered by homesickness. After she finished saying “I love you” and “bye-bye” to every member of her family, she rejoined the cocktail reception, where Mr. Millington had concluded his remarks and the participants were resuming their conversations. She made her way over to Linnie. “What'd I miss?”

Linnie held up a stack of white paper cocktail napkins, upon which she'd taken meticulous notes. “First they went over all the rules, most of which we already know from the handbook. But they elaborated on what the judges are specifically looking for, so I rated each item on a Likert scale of one to five based on relative importance.”

“A what scale?”

Linnie handed over the napkins so Amy could see for herself:

“Hold on, the judges are sequestered?” Amy looked up at Linnie for confirmation. “We're not going to meet them until the day of the competition?”

“We're not going to meet them at all,” Linnie corrected. “Their identities are top secret; they don't attend any contest events, and even during the competition, they'll be holed up in a separate area. The bake-off bunker, if you will. Runners bring our food from the competition floor to the bunker. No face time whatsoever.”

“But I was planning to dazzle them with my charm and bubbly personality!” Amy exclaimed. “Are you telling me we're going to have to win this on skill alone?”

“I would worry less about chatting up the judges and more about this little rule right here.” Linnie pointed to the “no plagiarism” policy.

“Oh, that.” Amy shrugged this off. “That's not gonna be a problem. I mean, we have an original recipe.”

“But we didn't come up with it.” Linnie reddened and glanced away. “It wasn't really our idea.”

“Somebody has a guilty conscience?” Amy paused a moment and watched Linnie squirm.

Before Linnie could reply, Susan and Joan flagged them down from across the room. “Amy!” cried Susan. “All the girls are going out to dinner. Come with us!”

“You must!” Joan said. “Everyone's going to love you. There's a little Chinese place a few blocks away; supposedly the dim sum is to die for. And then we might head uptown to Serendipity 3 for frozen hot chocolate—a bit touristy, I know, but let's face it: We're tourists.”

“Your sister is welcome, too,” Susan added as an afterthought.

“Sounds great.” Amy nodded. “We're in.”

“No, thank you.” Linnie slouched into the depths of her sweatshirt. “I'm going to go to bed early.”

“Oh, come on,” Susan coaxed. “Don't be a stick in the mud.”

Linnie whispered to Amy, “May I remind you that we've got orientation tomorrow morning at nine? We are here to work.”

“The accusation: being a stick in the mud. The verdict: guilty as charged,” Amy whispered back. “I'll be back before sunrise. Enjoy your sudoku and your Sleepytime tea.”

“I prefer Tension Tamer, for your information.” Linnie shoved her hands into the pockets of her hoodie and marched down the hall.

“Hey, where are you going?” Amy called after her. “The elevators are that way.”

“I'm taking a shortcut.” Linnie sounded a tad evasive. “Freight elevator.”

 

A
my drifted slowly into consciousness, her limbs stretching out against soft cotton sheets. The hotel suite was silent, save for the hum of the air duct. Judging by the frigid draft blowing across her face, the room's air-conditioning issues had yet to be resolved. She snuggled deeper into the airy down comforter and tried to savor the stillness.

The moment she'd been fantasizing about had finally arrived: No ravenous toddlers. No digestively disturbed dog. No impetus to leap up, shower, dress, and caffeinate now, now,
now
!

If she so desired, she could lounge around in bed for another half an hour. Read a book. Complete a thought.

Ahhh.
Peace. Quiet. Serenity.

She cracked open the door to the sitting area and peered over at the motionless mini–mountain range of blankets on the sofa. Linnie was still fast asleep.

Amy tiptoed toward the couch, perched on the edge of the coffee table, and listened to her sister's slow, steady breathing.

“Psst.”

No response from the mountain range.

She leaned closer. Through the shadows, she could see Linnie's eyelids twitching—maybe she was dreaming.

“Hey,” Amy whispered.

Nothing.

She leaned closer still, her nose almost touching her sister's, and then—

“Aigh!” Linnie bolted upright, clutching the covers to her chest. “What are you
doing
?”

Amy reared backward to avoid getting bashed in the forehead. “I was checking to see if you were awake.”

“I'm awake.” Linnie swung her feet to the floor, ready to spring into action. “What's wrong? Are you sick? Is there a fire?”

“No, no. Everything's fine.”

“How long have you been sitting there staring at me?”

“Just a few seconds. I—”

Linnie held up her palm. “What time is it?”

“Almost six thirty.”

“It's the middle of the night!” Linnie snatched up her feet and burrowed back under the covers.

“What are you talking about?” Amy snorted. “I haven't slept this late in years. Six thirty is positively decadent.”

“Some of us work the night shift. I'm used to going to bed at six thirty. Don't make everybody else suffer just because you spawned two children who have profoundly disordered circadian rhythms.” Linnie flipped over and nestled back into her pillow.

“Okay, okay, good night.” Amy backed off and left her sister alone. For about two minutes. “Hey, I'm thinking about going down to the gym for a little cardio. Want to come?”

Linnie folded up her pillow around her ears and emitted a little growl.

“I see you're still not a morning person.” Amy cracked open the curtains a few inches, hoping the sunlight might rouse Linnie. “Aren't you going to ask me about hell-raising with the baking brigade last night?”

“No.”

Amy gave up. “You are no fun at all.”

“I know.” Linnie yawned. “But you know what
is
fun? Going to the gym without me. Do a few push-ups for me; I'll be with you in spirit. Good night.”

 

O
ne hour later, Amy returned feeling refreshed and carrying a shopping bag.

“Are you awake now? I'm back, and I brought bagels.”

Linnie stirred under the covers. A few seconds later, her head emerged from within the pillow sandwich. “You're certainly in a good mood this morning.”

“Always.” Amy dropped to the carpet and started stretching out her hamstrings.

“Does this mean you've gotten past your outburst about the whole brooch thing?”

“No.” Amy closed her eyes and inhaled slowly. “But I met a couple of the other contestants down there, and one of them—Jill from Portland—is a yoga instructor, so we ended up doing a few poses and breathing exercises, and I feel much calmer about everything now. More centered. I am not going to let your negativity and self-destructive actions affect me. I choose to stay positive.”

“I can't tell you how relieved I am that you've decided not to wallow in the cesspool that is my life.” Linnie shivered as she slipped out from underneath her blankets. “It is so cold in here, I can practically see my breath.”

“Negativity,” Amy trilled.

“I'll be more positive when I can feel my toes again.” Linnie picked up her MIT sweatshirt from the carpet and pulled it on. “I called the front desk ten times last night, and they swore they'd have it fixed by tonight.”

Amy went from window to window, opening curtains and reveling in the bright morning sunlight. “You did not call them ten times.”

“Fine, it was more like fifteen.” Linnie reached for the phone on the end table. “And I'm about to go for sixteen.”

“A freshly baked bagel will warm you up.” Amy opened the bag and headed for the dining room table. “I bought half a dozen. We've got plain, nine-grain, poppy seed, cinnamon-raisin, onion and jalapeño, plus cream cheese and lox. What's your poison?”

Linnie shook her head and paged through the room service menu. “Thanks for the offer, but I'm going to call down and order some egg whites. Maybe steel-cut oatmeal, if they have it. I need to stay physically disciplined if I expect to be mentally disciplined.”