by Laura Briggs
“What’s with the penguin suit?” she said.
“It’s a special occasion,” he said. “I thought I should dress up.”
“Really?”
“Well… I thought if you didn’t have plans… maybe we could do something,” he hinted. “It’s your birthday. You shouldn’t be hanging around your mom’s house. Some guy should, I don’t know, take you to dinner or something.”
“Look at me—do I look like I’m dressed for going out?” Natalie gestured toward her zippered sweatshirt and leggings.
“You look good to me.” Brayden blushed after saying this aloud, as if she didn’t know he was probably thinking it in secret lots of times. Dismay, however, did not bring a blush to Natalie’s face.
“I ate dinner already,” said Natalie. “Thanks, but no thanks, Brayden.” Now he could take her hint and go. Please don’t make me hurt your feelings, Brayden.
“So no Chad to take you to dinner, I guess?” said Brayden.
She sighed and averted her gaze. “Brayden,” she said, trying to be gentle. “You know how I feel already. You don’t have to… keep trying. ’Cause it’s not going to work.”
Brayden shrugged his shoulders. “I know,” he said. “Happy birthday.” He held out the cake.
Natalie stood there a moment. She could take the cake and close the door in his face, but even with Brayden at his nerdiest, Natalie wasn’t that heartless. She sighed. “Come in.” Begrudgingly she held open the door wider.
Death by chocolate indeed, with a molten chocolate sauce in the center and chocolate shavings on top. Definitely homemade—Natalie suspected that Brayden’s mom had baked this at his request.
She took a bite from her slice. “Did your mom make this?” she asked.
“Yup.” His fork cut into the slice she gave him, but he wasn’t really eating it. He was mostly watching her enjoy hers. “Is it good?”
“What do you think?” She took another generous bite. “Your mom’s a good cook.”
“Yeah, but she’s no professional,” he said. He noticed her textbooks. “Studying?” he asked.
“Big test,” she said. “Be prepared, that’s my professor’s warning. It worked out perfectly, having some extra time to study tonight.”
“I can’t imagine you need to study a whole night to know this stuff,” he said. “You know fashion like—like the back of your hand.” He turned the page of her textbook. “You were the only girl I knew who spent Saturdays at the fabric stores.”
She shrugged. “It was just my thing,” she said. “Like the kids who hung out at music stores.”
“I guess it was more than that,” said Brayden. “I always figured you’d become a big designer.”
“I didn’t, though,” countered Natalie. “That was presumptive of you.”
“Yeah, but you’re halfway there now,” he answered. “Give it a couple more years and you’ll be the next big name.”
“Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes as she swallowed the last bite of cake on her plate. Telling herself it was wrong to have another piece, although it was tempting.
“Bigger than the designer you used to work for, for sure,” said Brayden. “Rob showed me some pictures of the clothes she designed once. I saw some in the paper’s fashion page. Some pretty freaky stuff.”
“It wouldn’t take much to out-design Kandace,” said Natalie with a short laugh. “A talented rock could do it.” Thinking: He read the fashion pages? If he did, was it purely for the purpose of finding out what her workplace was like? He’d have seen the photos of the ugly dresses she sewed on Kandace’s behalf, probably including the ‘Easter Bunny Surprise’ faux fur coat, as Cal titled it.
Great. Even her unwanted admirer had seen her most humiliating work.
She placed the plate next to the sink, and snapped the top back on the cake carrier. “Tell your mom thanks,” she said. “For the cake and the card. It was nice of her to remember.” Not that Natalie wanted anybody to remember these days, given the number of marital hints from family members, which seemed to triple with every birthday—enough to make her wish that everybody in her life would just forget she had one.
“You didn’t open my card yet,” said Brayden, who held out a second envelope. “I got you something.”
Natalie studied it, reluctant to accept. His arm was weakening as he held it out as far as he could toward her, so the card wobbled slightly in mid-air as he waited for her to take it.
“Brayden,” she began.
“Open it,” he repeated. He looked pleased, excited, and embarrassed, all at the same time, like a kid watching his parents open some horribly wrapped Christmas gift, the kind that contained an unrecognizable artistic creation. Natalie lifted the flap and slipped the card out.
The figure of a tiny glamorous paper doll was on the front, slender and dark haired, wearing an evening gown with a plunging neckline. “Cute,” she said. Be polite. “It kind of reminds me of me.” She turned the card around to face the same way as herself in demonstration.
“I know,” said Brayden, bobbing his head in agreement.
Inside the card were two things. One was a snapshot of her and Brayden when they were teenagers, taken at an amusement park. Rob had been the photographer—it showed Natalie with a half-hearted smile, seated on the far side of the Ferris wheel seat from Brayden, who was grinning ear to ear. The point when Brayden’s childhood crush had become too much for Natalie, having gone from being the boy who always volunteered to put the wheels back on her Barbie’s car to one who tried desperately to play Spin the Bottle with her at Izzy Patelman’s birthday party.
“I found that in a drawer,” said Brayden. “Thought you might like it. That was the summer you spent your birthday at the park, remember? The one with the fortune teller, and the bumper cars—Rob got that big lump on his forehead when he fell over the safety rails?”
“Sweet thirteen.” The memory of coming of age, surrounded by the smell of roller coaster grease, stale peanuts, and the presence of her brother’s dorky friends—including Brayden—tormenting Natalie’s cool-as-ice girlfriends who were invited for the day.
The second item was a pair of tickets. She looked up. “Brayden,” she repeated, this time in a voice that said no, even without the actual word.
“I know what you’re going to say,” he answered. “But I thought—”
“I can’t. You know that I can’t.” She stuffed them back into the envelope. She didn’t have to see what musical act or coming attraction they were for. This was almost as bad as the realization creeping over her that Brayden might have made a restaurant reservation tonight, just in case she gave in and agreed to go out with him.
“It’s your birthday,” he protested. “It’s a present. You can’t say no to a present.”
“And yet, I just did.”
“If it’s because it’s me… you could go with somebody else. I didn’t expect you to take me, necessarily,” he answered.
He did—or, at least, held a tiny bit of hope for it, and was disappointed again. That was the worst part of this awkward situation.
“Don’t buy me stuff that costs real money,” she said. “I’m serious. So take these back and get a refund or whatever.”
“It’s tonight. I can’t get the money back. So see? You could still go. It’d be a good way to celebrate.”
“Not dressed for the occasion—remember?” She took his plate—the slice of cake only half eaten—and set it on the counter, too. For all she knew, it could be a roller derby rink just as easily as the classical symphony behind Brayden’s choice of a tux. At least it wasn’t the one he wore to the prom, she conceded. It was a little better than that.
“You know there’s a closet full of dresses upstairs,” he suggested. “Your mom says you must have a hundred dresses up there that you’ve sewed.”
“Not in my size,” said Natalie. Lying.
“We’re only talking about one time,” he said. “That guy Chuck or Chad or whoever stood you up t
onight, he wouldn’t mind if somebody wanted to give you a nice birthday.”
“He didn’t ‘stand me up’—he had a work opportunity,” she said. “He teaches rock climbing on the side.”
“If he liked you, he’d have said no to working on your birthday,” asserted Brayden.
She shook her head. “I’m not going on a date with you, Brayden. If I wanted to go to dinner with somebody tonight, I could have gone, but I didn’t want to. I don’t need concert tickets or a plate of chicken marsala tonight because I’m fine on my own. I’m an adult who doesn’t need entertainment.”
She tossed the fashion model birthday card onto the counter—gently—then handed the envelope of tickets back to Brayden, holding it out until he accepted it reluctantly. She turned and brushed the crumbs from the table, sweeping them into her hand, then onto one of the cake plates on the counter.
Having her back turned for a moment gave her courage. “I don’t like you that way, Brayden,” she said, although her tone was softer than usual, trying not to jab him with the painful truth of her words. Words that needed to be said, if Brayden was ever going to move on with his life and stop hoping for something between them. Knowing this was for the best gave her the will to turn back around as she told him, “You know that. Right?”
She looked into his face, although it was uncomfortable to do it, just as it was every time the issue of Brayden’s crush loomed between them. She waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. He just stood beside the table, hands in the pockets of his outdated tuxedo jacket.
Nothing had changed since they were kids, but he never saw it. Did she have to date every athlete or aspiring artist or globetrekker in town to prove he wasn’t her type? Did she have to turn these tickets into confetti and sprinkle them in his face, the way she had left those dandelions to wilt on the swing?
Brayden shuffled in place. “You could still change your mind.”
“About going out to dinner?” Natalie raised her eyebrow again. “After eating leftover lasagna and your mom’s cake?”
Brayden shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. “Or about me instead, maybe. Either one.”
That hopeful smile still wasn’t cowed. It cracked itself one more time, and that’s why another sigh escaped Natalie—one of exasperation and annoyance, followed by a laugh.
“You don’t give up, do you?” she said. “Brayden, you are… impossible.” No other word came to her. She brushed her hair back with one hand.
“I’ve got no reason to.” He grinned a little. Natalie didn’t crack a smile in return. Hands on her hips, she let a moment pass before she opened her challenge.
“Do you want to give me something I’d like for my birthday?” she asked.
“Sure,” he said, falling into the trap.
Natalie held out her hand. “Give me your phone,” she said. “I want to change that ring tone.”
She didn’t have to say which one: Brayden’s beet red blush returned, swallowing both face and ears in flame. “About that,” said Brayden awkwardly.
“Yeah, about that,” said Natalie. “I would prefer you to hear something else when I… very, very rarely… call your number. Something a little more appropriate. Is there a song somewhere in your music library about a girl being as cold as ice?”
“You’re not that cold,” said Brayden. Even being insulted like this, he still defended her?
She didn’t withdraw her hand. “Change it or I will,” she said. “Please, Brayden.”
The ‘please’ got to him first. Brayden reached into the pocket of his tux—which had a slightly greenish cast in this light from its poor fabric and bad storage, Natalie noticed—and pulled it out. He pushed a couple of buttons, scrolled through his menu, then handed it to her, so she could see that the ring tone beside her name was updated.
She clicked the button. ‘She’s So High’ from the nineties artist Tal Bachman played. Before it even reached the title line’s words ‘above me,’ Natalie’s lips were forced to smile.
“That’s actually the funniest joke you’ve ever made,” she said.
Brayden blushed again. “Thanks.” Maybe she was wrong, but she thought there was actually a little bit of pain buried deep in his tone. Brayden took his phone back, and turned off the song. “I guess.”
This would break anybody’s heart. Why was it only for Brayden that she managed this edge of steel, designed to cut apart his hopes? Even Brayden must ask himself that question sometimes, she thought. He just couldn’t see it as a sign.
Natalie opened the front door for him as she showed him outside again. She leaned against the doorframe as he crossed the threshold of her mother’s house and paused on the stoop.
“Why?” she asked him. “What made you think I would ever give in and say yes?” She was curious to know, really.
Brayden thought about her question. He shrugged. “I’m a good guy,” he said. “A guy who really loves you… who respects you… maybe he has a chance. I figure I’ll still be here when the others give up, ’cause they don’t really care. That’s pretty much it.”
The fire had gone out of Natalie’s reply. The honesty in Brayden’s had stripped away its fuel. Even if she didn’t like him, it was hard not to be a little touched by those words. They had taken more courage than she believed he possessed, even when scrambling over that rusty chain-link fence hung with ‘Beware of Dog’ signs.
She put her hand on the door to close it. “Goodnight, Brayden,” she said. At the last second, she added, “Find someone else to use those tickets with, okay? No reason to waste them just because it wasn’t the right gift for me.”
“Sure,” he said. “Someone else.”
He didn’t say who that might be, but Natalie hoped there really would be a friend available for him tonight. Maybe someone at the shipping service, for instance. She didn’t want him to spend a miserable evening alone, just because she had no wish to accept his romantic gesture. He was already walking away, though, so she could only take his word for it. Slowly, she closed the door.
She cut a second slice of cake and ate it while reading the end of her chapter on the history of silk. Each forkful melted in her mouth, although not quite as perfectly as her mother’s double chocolate cake; but she tasted the past instead, a memory of salted popcorn from that night at the park on her thirteenth birthday, a box of it split by her and her giggling friends before they rode the whip twice in a row. Brayden tried to win a stuffed Garfield for her at the milk bottles booth that night, failing with every desperate attempt, as Natalie tried to pretend to be too interested in talking to her friends to notice him.
At least he hadn’t been like Rob’s other friends, who had dumped the dregs of their popcorn boxes like confetti over Natalie and her friends from the topmost car of the Ferris wheel.
A rueful smile crossed her lips at the memory of the shrieks and screams that followed, Brayden offering to pick the little pieces of husk and kernel out of her hair—at least she didn’t make an awful face at that memory, although she had pushed him away at the time when he tried to help.
It all seemed a little sad to her now. Brayden had wasted his life pining for someone who would never love him back. And Rob was right about him. Awkward, physically plain, and hopelessly hopeful Brayden might always be, but he was a nice guy. A decent guy. That was the right word for him. He deserved better in life.
Could she ever fall for him? Natalie paused at this question, although she’d never entertained it in the past. A decent guy who really loved her, as Brayden suggested, and was willing to wait until she saw her shallower relationships for what they really were. But it was impossible, really impossible. He wasn’t her type in the slightest—not just because he wasn’t handsome like most of her other suitors, either. It was hard to explain, but she couldn’t see herself with him no matter how hard she tried. To be with Brayden it seemed as if she’d have to be a completely different person in some way, and that would take years to achieve. Brayden would be an idiot to w
ait around for her to metamorphose into some regretful, romantically reformed person who wanted something deeper in a relationship… besides which, Brayden would never give up on these cringe-worthy gestures of his that had made her hide from him since their teenage years.
She had never told him thank you for rescuing her doll from Bilbo the dog. She never said thank you for anything he tried to do. Anybody but Brayden would have noticed that, too.
Sixteen
Ama had created two different sketches for the cake, each with three layers. One was roughly frosted—not quite ‘naked,’ but Ama definitely let the chocolate show through. The top of each layer was accented with sprigs of frosted rosemary, dappled chocolate shavings, mini chocolate pinecones, and crystal sugar sprinkles mixed with shards of candy glass in pale blue. ‘Frozen Forest Floor,’ she titled the busy sketch.
Number two was simpler, and, to Ama’s mind, perfect for Nadia’s vision: smooth white fondant, encircled by a flurry of delicate candy snowflakes of varying shapes and sizes. Some were made of delicate translucent candy glass; others of white chocolate or candy bark, dusted with edible glitter or lightly frosted with edible silver paint. They were affixed to a silvery wire frame, inserted in the bottom layer and spiraling up and around the cake until it reached the very top, where there was room for a delicate white chocolate snowflake and several decorative truffles.
“Ooh, pretty,” said Tessa, leaning over Ama’s shoulder. “I like it. I think Nadia will really like it, too. Even if Paula suggests we outfit it in twinkle lights with a pyrotechnic edge.”
“I’m more worried about Cynthia’s sniff when she points out the traditional bride and groom cake topper is absent,” said Ama, suppressing a giggle. “But the important thing is, it works with Nadia’s theme. I can even use a little pale blue metallic sheen to decorate a few of these edible snowflakes, if she so wishes.”
She popped open the lid of the cake box on her desk. “Mini poinsettia cupcakes?” she offered. A row of tiny little cupcakes in silver foil wrappers were lined up inside it, each one decorated with a single green fondant leaf and a red marzipan poinsettia, with gold nonpareils for the center.