The Icing on the Cake (10 page)

After Isaac and Rona left, my parents and I cleared the chess set off the coffee table and set up a game of Scrabble in its place. Mom and I were in the process of telling Dad that
tonsilectomist
is not a word when the doorbell rang. Laughing at Dad, who was looking the word up in an online dictionary, I went to answer it. I swung the door open and the person on the doorstep immediately began speaking.

“Hi, Annabelle. I didn’t get a chance to say good-bye the way I wanted to with Rona around, so I decided to come back.” It was Isaac, and he was a sight to behold.

I blinked a few times. “You came back to say good-bye?”

“Not quite this second, but yeah, basically.”

I smiled a pleased smile and invited Isaac in.

Dad, spotting Isaac, called out, “Tell my girls that
tonsilectomist
is a word.”

Isaac looked at the board game on the coffee table and chuckled. “I definitely think I remember taking photos for an article about a tonsilectomist,” he said to Mom and me.

I rolled my eyes playfully. “Well, until you can settle this one, Isaac and I will be on the front porch.”

I led Isaac out onto the front porch where I sat down on the porch swing. Isaac sat down next to me. Quite close to me, I might add. “I couldn’t believe it when I saw you at church today,” I said because it was the first thing that I could think of to break the silence. “If you live around here, why haven’t you ever been to singles ward before?”

“I’ve been staying away from singles wards for a while.”

I raised my eyebrows as if to ask “why?”

“It’s too long of a story to get into now,” Isaac replied dismissingly. “But today, I don’t know, I just felt like I should go to the singles ward.”

“I’m really glad you did,” I said.

“So am I.”

Isaac and I peered out at the bay. The city lights of Monterey illuminated the shoreline, and flickers from a handful of boats looked like fireflies dancing on the sea. I closed my eyes and breathed in the sea air. When I opened my eyes, Isaac was looking at me. I turned my head away quickly.

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” he said.

“Okay. Well, I’m the youngest of three girls. Both of my sisters are married with kids, and I think my parents are wondering if I’ll ever get married and . . .”
Oh my goodness. Did I really just say that my parents are wondering if I’ll ever get married?
Swiftly I tried to recover by saying the first thing that came to my mind. “And I once ate grass because I thought if it was good enough for cows it was good enough for me.”
Grass eating?! Now I’m talking about grass eating?! Isaac’s probably agreeing with my parents about me never getting married!
I bit my lip in complete humiliation.

But Isaac just smiled. “I ate hay because I was convinced it would make me strong like a horse.”

“Oh good, so I’m not the only one who did something like that,” I mumbled, still totally embarrassed.

“Did you grow up around here?” Isaac asked.

“Yeah, I did. I’ve lived in the Monterey Bay area for my whole life with the exception of my four, well really more like five, years at college.”

“What did you major in?” Isaac asked with interest.

“Journalism,” I answered. In an act of self-censorship, I didn’t mention the rest of my long list of majors. “I think I was too idealistic about it though.”

“What do you mean, too idealistic?”

“Well, I had this crazy idea that I could make a difference in the media. Sort of counteract the junk that’s out there with positive stories. But I’ve discovered that things don’t work out that way. I mean, my boss is interested in glitzy stories about famous chefs and award-winning restaurants, not sweet little old ladies who make great stuffed French toast.”

Isaac looked at me in confusion, and I waved my hand in a never-mind gesture.

“I don’t think you should give up on the idea of making a difference in the media,” Isaac said. “I think it’s great.”

“Maybe someday . . .” I let my voice trail off. With the way my current writing assignment was going, I’d better get used to the idea of editing recipes for the rest of my life.

Feeling a bit discouraged, I changed the subject. “What about you? Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

“Actually, I think I need to learn a few more things about you first. You’re already way ahead. Your mom and her friends pretty much got my entire life story out of me.” Isaac smiled.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” I tilted my head downward, feeling suddenly nervous.

Isaac lifted my chin gently with his hand. “I like the Giants, though they’ve been letting me down this season, and I play a little tennis.”

“Thank you,” I said, feeling breathless at Isaac’s touch.

“In fact, why don’t we play tennis sometime,” Isaac suggested.

I thought for a moment. I once played tennis with Carrie and Miles, both expert tennis players, and suffice it to say, I can’t play any game that involves a flying object. Unless maybe it’s a Frisbee. But even that’s pushing it. “I don’t know if we should play tennis together,” I told Isaac. “After you see the way I play, you probably won’t like me very much.”

“Oh, I’ll still like you,” Isaac replied with a meaningful smile.

I returned the smile.

After that, Isaac and I talked the hours away. We talked about our favorite foods. I told him that mine was Mom’s lasagna, and he told me his was any and all pizza. I was sure it meant something that both of our favorites were Italian dishes. Pizza is Italian right? I’ve heard conflicting information.

Then we talked about the place in the world we want to travel someday. He said Barbados, and I said St. Lucia. Again, I was sure it meant something that both of our choices were in the same sea.

We even talked about our most embarrassing moments. His involved a Valentine that was meant for a girl in his fourth grade class, but was accidentally placed in the cubbyhole of a boy named Nathan Baxter, and mine involved a speech I had to give in speech class the day after I had my wisdom teeth removed.

Isaac and I were laughing about our embarrassing moments when I noticed the lights inside my parents’ house go off.

“I guess I should go,” Isaac said. “I’ll give you a call so we can get together for our tennis match.” He stood up from the swing and then helped me up.

I looked into Isaac’s tasty hazel eyes. “Thank you for coming back,” I said.

“I couldn’t help it,” Isaac said, his deep voice making me feel dizzy.

Then he leaned in toward me until his lips were nearly touching my cheek. “Goodnight, Annabelle,” he said softly into my ear. Chills ran up and down my spine.

“Goodnight,” I managed to say somehow.

I stood frozen in place as Isaac moved away from me, walked to his car, and gave me a wave before driving away.

A good night it was indeed.

I
really wanted to talk to Isaac. So, just before my lunch break on Monday, I sat at my desk and typed up a comprehensive list of excuses to call him.

I picked up my cell phone and dialed Isaac’s number—which he had given me as we talked on my parents’ porch. My heart rate increased with every ring.

“Hi, this is Isaac,” Isaac’s voice came onto the phone.

“Hey, Isaac, this is Annabelle, I was just calling to say—”

“Sorry I can’t take your call right now. Please leave a message, and I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.” It was Isaac’s voicemail, not Isaac.

Then, giving me no time to gather myself and come up with a message that made me sound irresistibly cute, the tone sounded.

“Um, Isaac this is Annabelle. I was calling for . . .”
Wait a minute. What was I calling for again?
I suddenly couldn’t remember. “I was calling to . . . I was calling to say I had a nice time on the porch swing.”
What?!
I hung up the phone in horror. Then I just sat there staring at it, willing an erase-the-message-just-left-on-cute-guy’s-voicemail option to appear, but no such option appeared. I knew I should have switched to Verizon.

I gathered myself and decided to call back and finish the message as if I had been cut-off by something other than my own panic. This time, though, I was careful. I took a minute to think about what I was going to say before I made the call.

Once I had a good monologue in my mind, I dialed the phone number again. After three rings, I heard Isaac’s familiar “Hi.” I waited for the rest of Isaac’s outgoing message, but strangely I only heard silence.
It wasn’t this long of a pause
, I thought.

“Hello?” Isaac’s voice spoke again. “Are you there?”

What in the world? Why was Isaac answering the phone? I wasn’t ready for a conversation with the real Isaac. I had a monologue for the electronic Isaac.

“Oh, uh, hi,” I stammered, sounding about fifty times more asinine than I had on the message I had just left. “I just left a message, but I got cut off or something.”

“I just listened to your message,” Isaac said.

“You did?”

“Yes, I did.”

“I really wish you hadn’t.”

“You don’t need to wish that. It was cute. A cute message from a cute girl.”

Did he just call me a cute girl?
“Oh,” I said, unsure of what else to say. “Well, I was actually calling to see what kind of shots you got at La Bonne Violette on Friday.”

“Why don’t I come to your office and bring the photos and we could look them over,” Isaac suggested.

I found myself extremely relieved that he wanted to see me even though I was obviously conversation-impaired when it came to him. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll be here all day.”

“How about two o’clock?”

“Okay,” I answered. I’d kind of been wishing he would say twelve-thirty, seeing that it was currently twelve-twenty.

“I’ll see you at two o’clock then,” Isaac said

“See you at two.” I was about to hang up the phone when I added, “Oh, and Isaac, I really did have a nice time on the porch swing with you last night.”

“I did too,” he said.

After I hung up with Isaac I tried to get some work done. But I was useless. I decided it was probably because I was hungry. So I called for a ham sandwich from a deli down the street and began flipping through the bridal magazine I had bought on Saturday.

I was imagining what I would look like wearing one of the flowing gowns in the magazine, and I was picturing Isaac standing beside me in a black tux, when I noticed an article entitled “Planning the Perfect Menu for All of Your Bridal Events.”

I skimmed the article, which suggested using an event planner to help set up the details for all kinds of bridal gettogethers. The text explained that event planners can negotiate deals and can take the stress out of the planning process. So, thinking that might be a good idea, since 1) I had no idea how to find a caterer and 2) I really needed to focus on my article over the next weeks, I searched an online directory for event planners in the area and made a list of the ones that looked the best to me.

After not too long, I had a pretty long list. I decided to narrow it down and maybe even call a few of the planners. Pen in hand, I went over my list.

1. Perfect Parties.
Nice alliteration, but no.
I crossed it off.

2. Anna Medici and Company.
Sounds classy, and kind of rolls off the tongue when said out loud.

3. Fun Guys Party Planning.
No, just no.
I crossed it off.

4. Gather Together Parties
. Hmm, it has a nice sound to it.

5. Beverly, Ross, and Alexander, Event Planners.
Sounds a little like a law firm.

I decided to call the first company I had circled: Anna Medici and Company. A woman with a smooth voice answered on the second ring. “Thank you for calling Anna Medici and Company. This is Lily; how may I direct your call?”

“I’m just calling for some information about catering for a bridal shower,” I replied.

“I’ll put you through to Brenna; she’s over bridal.” Lily patched me through.

“This is Brenna,” a voice that reminded me of a kindergarten teacher answered.

“Hi, I’m interested in finding a caterer for my best friend’s bridal shower,” I said.