Authors: Mar'ce Merrell
Wicked Sweet (24 page)
Two Days. Two Cakes
.
.
I
t has been easier than I expected to disappear for several hours each day and to slip out of the house unnoticed after my mother has gone to bed. Altogether too easy. How could she not, for instance, hear me trip down the stairs right outside her bedroom at midnight last night? And she doesn’t even come into my bedroom in the morning to tell me to get up and start my day. Since she got home from her training she hasn’t once asked me what productive activities I have planned. I’m suspecting brainwashing occurred in Oregon. I’m not complaining per se; but I’m the type of girl who wants to know if it’s a category 3 or category 4 hurricane well before it hits land.
t has been easier than I expected to disappear for several hours each day and to slip out of the house unnoticed after my mother has gone to bed. Altogether too easy. How could she not, for instance, hear me trip down the stairs right outside her bedroom at midnight last night? And she doesn’t even come into my bedroom in the morning to tell me to get up and start my day. Since she got home from her training she hasn’t once asked me what productive activities I have planned. I’m suspecting brainwashing occurred in Oregon. I’m not complaining per se; but I’m the type of girl who wants to know if it’s a category 3 or category 4 hurricane well before it hits land.
I snoop. I look in her desk first. I find a card from my mother’s mother. Unopened. Birthday cards from three of her siblings are simply signed:
love, Bill; xox, Jenny; Happy birthday, Stephen.
I haven’t seen any of them since the summer after third grade.
love, Bill; xox, Jenny; Happy birthday, Stephen.
I haven’t seen any of them since the summer after third grade.
Her underwear drawers hold only underwear and bras, no love letters. The shoe boxes in her closet, only shoes. Her bedside table, a book, lip balm, and a square card, printed on one side with a complex labyrinth and on the other side, some words:
when you are truthful with yourself, you start to see everything as it is, not the way
you want to see it.
What the hell? I position the card exactly as I discovered it and close the drawer. I swear the temperature drops by at least five degrees. I almost leave, but I know one more place to look. The medicine cabinet in the bathroom where I find two bottles of medication. Google search reveals that my mother is taking an antianxiety medication and a sleeping pill. Bingo. That’s why she didn’t hear me, the elephant on the stairs.
when you are truthful with yourself, you start to see everything as it is, not the way
you want to see it.
What the hell? I position the card exactly as I discovered it and close the drawer. I swear the temperature drops by at least five degrees. I almost leave, but I know one more place to look. The medicine cabinet in the bathroom where I find two bottles of medication. Google search reveals that my mother is taking an antianxiety medication and a sleeping pill. Bingo. That’s why she didn’t hear me, the elephant on the stairs.
I transform into Nancy Drew on a bike as I try to solve the Secret of My Mother. What is happening to her? I lean over my handlebars and address the roadside grass. The grass does not answer. Cake might very well help the subject in question, but she would be resistant. I’ll have to call my dad tonight, after the worst night of my life, the date with Will. Maybe I’ll talk to my dad about more than my mother and the hot weather. Maybe I’ll tell him that his office kitchen is now a bakery of delicious revenge.
I’m fairly certain that while my dad would question the wisdom of keeping my secrets from my mother, he would find the idea of the Cake Princess amusing. Everyone else has. Except Will. Objective reached. We’re now a group of about thirty regulars and Annelise is in charge. No better way to keep the spotlight off me. She’s taken over my clipboard and I doubt I’ll see it again. Kids check in with her for their specific jobs: hockey camp support staff, Ollie duty, photographer, Twitter assistant, lunch preparation and cleanup, and of course, cake spotter.
I check the time. I’m five minutes away from the hill and about ten minutes away from today’s cake delivery. Annelise has requested that each cake recipient arrive at the lake at 10:30 A.M. to present Will’s cake. She even noted that she would be happy to pick up the cake and/or the cake recipient to get him/her to the lake on time. It makes me wonder if she’s just a little bit more excited about acting as the Cake Princess’s manager than in stoking Parker’s jealousy. He
is so busy with the hockey camp that he only joins us to eat cake or lunch. Which means I hardly see Jillian because the two of them are inseparable. I miss her.
is so busy with the hockey camp that he only joins us to eat cake or lunch. Which means I hardly see Jillian because the two of them are inseparable. I miss her.
I lock my bike in the stand near the snack shack, and start the hike up the hill. I can only stay for a couple of hours today—I’ve got to bake the next cake early. Ugh. My stomach aches at the thought of the date. The crowd has swelled to forty today and I’m glad I made a Bundt cake; it’s easier to slice. Tina’s not here yet, so I know the cake hasn’t arrived.
I sit on the blanket, making small talk with Annelise, even when I see Tina shyly walking up the hill. No one notices her yet; she’s not someone they’d expect since she just moved from the Philippines last year and she may have spoken to two or three people, tops. Since Mitch, I’ve decided that the quiet people deserve a spotlight. If I like getting attention, maybe they will, too. Sunday was Cheryl’s turn with the Puppy Love Cake (chocolate cake with a vanilla buttercream spotted with chocolate circles). Jason delivered the Bliss Is You and a Banana Cake yesterday.
Finally, the crowd parts and Tina stands in front of Will, who has remained seated on his towel throne. “I believe this is for you.” She holds out the cake. The crowd laughs at her careful pronunciation, at the way she sort of bows, at her shy smile. “I’m not late, am I?”
“No. No,” Annelise takes the cake from her. “You’re perfect. Hey, you’re the new girl, aren’t you?” I wonder if this nice Annelise has been hidden or if she’s been influenced by all the sugar love. “Do you have the card?”
“She can keep it.” Will’s intimidating eyebrows, his unmannered jaw, his thug posture tells it all. The frustration. The embarrassment. The anger.
“‘I’m Coconuts for You,’” Annelise reads. “‘Wear your specially made chest protector out to the floating dock. Get a picture of you, going coconuts for me, once you’re out there. From: Your Secret Admirer.”
“Chest protector?”
“Oh, yes, wait. I have it.” Tina reaches into her beach bag and takes out a bra made from coconuts and string. I’m so handy with a hammer and an awl.
“No way,” Will says. “I’ve done enough keeping everybody entertained.”
The crowd disagrees. They’ve enjoyed it too much, the price that I’ve been extracting from Will each day. On Sunday, he had to find a dog to lick him on the lips—and have a piece of cake in the picture. On Monday, he had to stand next to a tourist (he chose a gray-haired man in long black socks with sandals), strike a monkey pose, and stick a banana in his ear. I’m getting almost as much enjoyment from the pictures on Facebook each day as I do from delivering the cakes. Both feel productive; giving a quiet person a chance to shine and giving a jerk an opportunity to show he’s an ass.
Once we are down to the sole piece of cake that Will has to display in his photo of the day, he takes off his shirt and Annelise helps him into the coconut bra. The gray cloud that normally travels over Will’s head darkens to black with intermittent lightning bolts.
I break away from the crowd as they make their way to the beach; even Parker, Jillian, and the boys have joined in for the jeering. I wonder what Jillian thinks of the latest development in Will’s cakes. She’s been so busy with Parker and the boys we haven’t talked. Against all predictions, my life is Hollywood-starlet busy even if no one else knows: I have a cake to bake, a video to film, a mother to worry about, and the thing that any celebrity should not have to deal with: an obligation for a disaster date.
The Cake Bitch
.
.
T
his whole photo thing is about as funny as a fart at a funeral. I pull Annelise aside, after the photo shoot of me in the coconut bra, and demand that she cease and frickin’ desist.
his whole photo thing is about as funny as a fart at a funeral. I pull Annelise aside, after the photo shoot of me in the coconut bra, and demand that she cease and frickin’ desist.
She tells me it’s hot that I’m not threatened by a little fun. No more, I say. She says she doesn’t know who the Cake Princess is so she can’t do anything about it. Right.
We both know that making me the center of attention is all part of her plan to make Parker jealous enough to dump Jillian. I wonder how dressing up like a hula dancing monkey could make Parker jealous.
Parker sees me arguing and gets in the middle of it. “Relax, man. It’s just for fun. Look, the Hat Trick and Double Minor are lovin’ the pictures.”
“So why don’t you do it, dude?”
He comes right up into my face, just inches away and I know he’s trying to shut me down. I’m so close to shoving him away. “You’re the secretly admired, not me. Keep your eyes on the prize.” And he winks. The prize. I’ll be the top guy soon, the one that Annelise will put on speed dial. I want the next ten days to be over. Over.
Dilemma
100
100
T
he dilemma: I must pretend to like Will through an entire date at the Moose Hall to increase his stock value from his parents’ point of view.
he dilemma: I must pretend to like Will through an entire date at the Moose Hall to increase his stock value from his parents’ point of view.
The dilemma
3
: Meanwhile, I am on a private campaign, that will soon become public, to embarrass him. I can only imagine how angry he’ll be when I back out on this date and worse, when he realizes our original agreement was all a sham.
3
: Meanwhile, I am on a private campaign, that will soon become public, to embarrass him. I can only imagine how angry he’ll be when I back out on this date and worse, when he realizes our original agreement was all a sham.
The dilemma
100
: It’s 5:22 P.M. and I haven’t found a cake to bake. Accidental? I think not. It will be impossible, now, to bake a cake and meet Will at 6:30. Impossible. I have to give up one or the other. I need to make a decision.
100
: It’s 5:22 P.M. and I haven’t found a cake to bake. Accidental? I think not. It will be impossible, now, to bake a cake and meet Will at 6:30. Impossible. I have to give up one or the other. I need to make a decision.
And yet, I continue to read cookbooks. Here I am with
Nigella Christmas.
I flip to the index and toss out the idea, none too soon, for a yule log cake I would title I’m Burning Up for You. Some other Cake Princess will have to choose that one. I’m about to close the book when I stop at the introduction. Nigella’s cookbooks are so much more than recipes. I want to spend time with her. So I read.
Nigella Christmas.
I flip to the index and toss out the idea, none too soon, for a yule log cake I would title I’m Burning Up for You. Some other Cake Princess will have to choose that one. I’m about to close the book when I stop at the introduction. Nigella’s cookbooks are so much more than recipes. I want to spend time with her. So I read.
“Everything I believe in—essentially, that warmth and contentment and welcome and friendship emanate from and are celebrated in the kitchen …” she writes.
That’s the secret to solving my baking block.
Nigella’s words tell me, instantly, what is wrong. The kitchen is about warmth, contentment, welcome, and friendship. Here I’ve been focusing on Will, who brings the opposite feelings into my life. No wonder I can’t find a cake. When I think of the messenger—Cheryl loves dogs, Jason dressed as an ape for Halloween two years ago, and Tina, well she’s new and I thought this might help her break the ice—I find the perfect cake for that person. That’s why I’ve been able to do it. Today I’ve been so worried about this awful date that I can only think of Will, and he blocks out everything.
That’s enough of that.
Will is unimportant. I’m going to forget about him. Avoid him. Starting tonight.
Darling. You’ve come round to good sense now, haven’t you?
Nigella? I stare at the photo in front of me. She’s in her crimson sweater set holding a red bowl, about to scoop flour into her KitchenAid. I half-expect her to look up at me. I detect the smell of vanilla and a citrusy sweet perfume and, if I’m not mistaken, sugar carmelizing on the stove.
Sinking
.
.
A
s I’m hiding out in my bedroom, the fan blowing the last droplets of water from my shower dry, my body is sinking. I could talk to someone about this. Correction. I could listen to someone talk, let the wind of their problems paralyze my own and stop the spinning pinwheel in my head. The issue, of course, is that during the listening, I would be tempted to reveal the facts I’m facing. Better to wait. Usually things improve. The longer I do nothing, though, the lower I sink into my plaid comforter and the more I can feel the atmospheric pressure threatening to crush my skull. I could be depressed.
s I’m hiding out in my bedroom, the fan blowing the last droplets of water from my shower dry, my body is sinking. I could talk to someone about this. Correction. I could listen to someone talk, let the wind of their problems paralyze my own and stop the spinning pinwheel in my head. The issue, of course, is that during the listening, I would be tempted to reveal the facts I’m facing. Better to wait. Usually things improve. The longer I do nothing, though, the lower I sink into my plaid comforter and the more I can feel the atmospheric pressure threatening to crush my skull. I could be depressed.
I haven’t felt this lonely since before Chantal and I met in the third grade. We used to talk every night if we didn’t see each other, even when she went on vacations with her parents, but this summer, well, we’ve been busy. That’s what happens between friends, I think. It’s never happened between us before but it could be that it’s normal. Chantal was afraid this would happen if Parker and I dated, and I wonder if she knew the one who would be loneliest would be me.
And now Keith has all but moved in. Meeting Keith will confirm to Parker that despite his valiant efforts the kids in this family are bound to be screwed up.
I am also limiting my Parker time because I can’t get over the fact that he stood me up. I think about it and my skin starts to itch.
Chantal would say I might be allergic to being betrayed. And she might be right.
Chantal would say I might be allergic to being betrayed. And she might be right.
In my house you accept what you cannot change. That means I’m powerless to get rid of Keith, for one thing. Now that Parker has shown me that he has the potential to let me down, I’ve accepted it, too, but I’m not going to leave myself open. I am not my mother. I will not make the same mistake over and over and over and over. So, I sink.
The ringing phone rescues me. I check the caller ID and discover that Chantal must know even from across town how much I need her right now. After we say hello and tell each other that we are fine, she starts in on her not-so-fine status notes.
“It’s about my mother.” She adds that her mother’s back and that she’s got an issue at work. “She’s been asked to um … attend a work event … but it’s against her principles.”
I wonder why we’re talking about Chantal’s mother’s work, because it is not something we’ve ever talked about, but already I’m feeling relief from the pressure. I ask a clarifying question, “An event at the hospital is against her principles?”
“It’s sort of at the hospital. It’s actually at the Moose Hall but it’s to … uh … celebrate a guy who has always put her down, and other people, too. He’s never been a nice guy. And some people pretended that they liked him because, you know, he had power and he had powerful friends. My mother put up with him but she definitely doesn’t want to go.”
“Your mother is asking for your advice?”
“I know. Weird.” Chantal tells me that the strange behavior began with a rock from Oregon. “She told me it felt right.”
“Not a rock,” I groan. “That’s something my mother would do.”
“She feels that if she doesn’t go, this guy will for sure notice and he might even, you know, try to get back at her.”
“She shouldn’t go.” She’s an adult. She can do whatever she wants.
“Should she call him and tell him she’s not coming? He might talk about her to try to damage other people’s perceptions of her.”
“She could or she couldn’t call. That’s up to her, but she shouldn’t go.” This is all sounding a little too weird from Chantal and I wonder if we are really talking about her mother. “Why hasn’t your mom talked to your dad? He’s the therapist.”
“He’s in Saskatchewan at the Lettuce Loaf.”
Ah. That explains a lot.
“It’s that easy though?” Chantal asks. “Just don’t go?”
“It’s not easy. But you have to live with yourself. And it sucks when you realize you sort of hate yourself for going along.” Surely if Chantal’s mother can refuse to go to a family gathering every summer, she can say no to a retirement party. All this thinking about Chantal’s issues has me practically floating above my mattress. It’s possible that giving good advice is a small substitute for acting responsibly on your own behalf. I hear her sigh and I think that something else is going on. I’m on the edge of asking a probing question when she cuts in.
“Thanks. Um, my mom thanks you and I thank you for her.” I imagine her lying on her twin bed, across from the perfectly matched and made twin bed that’s mine. That’s where I want to be right now. Escaped from confusion central. “We’ve hardly talked,” she says.
“The hockey tournament.” I sigh and, like a submarine, I drop.
“A summer project that’s snowballed. Even Annelise is in.” She pauses. “Are you mad at me about that?” She must be feeling guilty that she was the one who asked my boyfriend’s ex to join the party.
“No. It’s not even an issue.” And because we’re talking about Annelise and not about me I can tell Chantal that all Parker is interested in is the hockey tournament and ensuring my brothers reach their full potential.
“Hockey potential, right? Like, he’s not going to parent-teacher conferences next year?” She laughs and when I laugh, my butt nearly hits the floor. Last year my mother sent me to the elementary school
as her “parent representative”; not even Chantal knows that the principal called me into her office the following week and drilled me about what was going on at home. It is possible that once the summer is over, Parker and I could be talking about Travis’s poor spelling and Josh’s temper tantrums at day care. He could be my partner in all of this. And I’m so close, so close to telling Chantal
I’m confused
but her words come first. “I was wrong about him, Jillian. I want to say this now. I didn’t trust him, but he’s turned out to be a good guy.”
as her “parent representative”; not even Chantal knows that the principal called me into her office the following week and drilled me about what was going on at home. It is possible that once the summer is over, Parker and I could be talking about Travis’s poor spelling and Josh’s temper tantrums at day care. He could be my partner in all of this. And I’m so close, so close to telling Chantal
I’m confused
but her words come first. “I was wrong about him, Jillian. I want to say this now. I didn’t trust him, but he’s turned out to be a good guy.”
“He really tries to do the right thing,” I say. That’s all. I change the subject, talk about the weather, it’s been hot; the cakes from the Cake Princess, amazing; and, finally, I say I hear Ollie crying. “Good luck with your mom,” I say.
“My mom? Of course. Thanks. Um … for everything.” We say our good-byes even though we both sense that a gust of wind would blow down the carefully constructed bridge between our secrets. And yet, this is enough. She is my best friend, after all, and I know that even though I didn’t tell her my worst fears, if I had she would have listened.
I scramble my way out of the middle of my mattress and pull a pillow and my comforter onto the floor. Tonight I’ll sleep without feeling like I’m suffocating.
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