The Ingredients of You and Me

by Nina Bocci

  When the doorbell finally rang on the day we were set to record, my stomach bottomed out.

  I shouldn’t do this here. I should go to Mancini’s or literally anywhere else, I thought on my way to the door. My place had become something of a sanctuary. A home away from home that calmed me down and made me feel like I wasn’t so adrift in the ocean. And yet here I was, about to let the guy who made me feel anything but calm into my safe haven.

  On the other side of the door was Nick, looking too good for words. I hated myself for thinking it. “Come on in,” I said, trying not to remember his phrasing from the other night.

  “Working on this video is all I’ve thought about,” Nick said.

  “Same,” I said honestly. Something told me that we weren’t thinking about it the same way.

  “Are you sure this is cool?” he asked quietly.

  “I wouldn’t have done all this if I was having second thoughts, Nick.”

  Making my way into the kitchen, I stopped to be sure he was following me. When I turned, he smacked into me. He was closer than I had thought.

  “My bad.” He reached up and tugged on his dark hair, sending it flying in different directions.

  “We’re going to have to fix that if you’re going to be recorded,” I said, pointing at the waywardness of his hair.

  “I brought a couple things for that. I was going to have Jil— Never mind.”

  “Jillian fix it. I’m surprised she’s not here with you for your YouTube debut,” I said, proud I didn’t choke on the words.

  He shook his head. “She was going to come but I couldn’t get there to pick her up and then back here in time. I didn’t want to take up your whole day by having you wait around for us.”

  “How thoughtful,” I said, uninterested in hearing about the goings-on of Nick and Jillian. Who wanted a front-row seat to her ex and his current girlfriend’s show? Not me. “There’s a bathroom over there if you want to fix your hair. Thanks for wearing a dark color. It picks up better on-camera.” I motioned to his jeans and the navy dress shirt he wore. “Just fix your hair and I’ll be waiting in the kitchen.” He nodded and headed for the small half bath at the end of the hallway.

  While waiting for him, I futzed around rechecking the bowls of ingredients and fixing the setup, making sure that all the utensils were readily accessible and that I didn’t have any part of my spinach omelet from breakfast stuck in my teeth.

  My shirt was newly ironed, my hair was straight and pinned back, and I was wearing a new apron because I would be damned if I used the same one I did when Nick and I once baked brownies naked at two in the morning. I was as ready as I’d ever be for this.

  When Nick returned, he looked at the space in awe. “You did a lot of work to make this look like a studio kitchen,” he said, clearly impressed.

  The far end of the kitchen, across from the windows, was transformed into the “studio space.” I had a makeshift island in front of it and the equipment set up facing it. I had added homey touches, like flowers from Charlotte’s and some wintry Martha Stewart accents against the wall so it looked more studio and less home kitchen. I’d cleaned and polished all the equipment and bought new utensils so that everything looked as professional as could be.

  “Thanks. It’s all borrowed equipment, thanks to Henry’s friend at the high school. They’re not using the trusses or lighting or the camera this weekend, but we have to be careful because there are some faulty issues with the remote and connectivity. If the series and my channel pick up speed again, I’ll buy new equipment for myself and the ladies to use, but this is good enough for now.”

  He nodded. “So where do you want me, Chef?”

  “Over there is fine,” I said, waving a hand over to the corner where his apron was. I couldn’t look at him just yet. I needed to center myself to get through the next hour.

  He donned the apron, tying it crookedly. “Here,” I offered, retying it so it looked like a bow, not a knot.

  “Are you nervous?” he asked, touching my hand lightly. His skin was warm, rough against mine.

  “Yes,” I said honestly. “I’m afraid this is a terrible idea.”

  He looked down. “I’m sorry you feel that way. If you’d rather not do it…”

  “It’s fine.”

  He laughed. “I’ll be good, I promise.”

  That’s not what I’m worried about.

  Ignoring my fluttery belly, I put on my own apron and got the cue cards that I had made earlier ready. I didn’t want to leave anything to chance or have it run away with too much banter and no content.

  “Let me give the rundown of what we’ll be doing. The goal, like with any cooking show, is to have a completed display piece ready to show the viewers, so they know what the end result should look like. Even on YouTube it’s helpful because the videos should be informative, but not exhaustive with information. Should being the operative word. I already made the cake you requested this morning, and it’s ready for its debut. We’ll just use that one as the final product after I edit everything. Okay?”

  He nodded.

  “Nervous?” I asked.

  “Not at all. Is that weird?”

  “No. You’re wildly confident, Nick. I would be more surprised if you weren’t excited and ready to roll.”

  Nick laughed, and I caught myself smiling along with him.

  “Let’s get this show on the road,” he said.

  “I’m going to walk to the camera, hit record, and come back. I’ll edit that part out.”

  “Why don’t you just use this?” Nick asked, holding up a small black remote.

  “Henry said the record button doesn’t work and sometimes the other ones stick.”

  He shrugged, and I straightened my shirt for the umpteenth time as I walked to the camera. With an unexplainably shaky finger, I pushed record and slowly walked back into view. One more deep breath, and a smile and… we were on.

  “Hello, everyone, and welcome to Parker Phase Two. I’m with my friend Nick here. Say hello, Nick.”

  “Hello, Nick,” he said, and I chuckled. I’d be editing that out later.

  “Funny. Today, we’ll be making Nick’s favorite cake. It’s called a hummingbird cake, and while it isn’t difficult to make—”

  “It’s impossible,” he interrupted, looking directly at the camera and smiling.

  I shook my head. “I’m going to get you through this,” I said, patting his hand.

  Before I could pull it away, he laid his hand on mine, patting it quickly. It was so fast that I was sure the camera wouldn’t have caught it, but I did, and my reaction was to be stunned momentarily.

  That would also need to be edited out.

  I cleared my throat and continued trying to keep my heart from bursting through my chest. “Our ingredients will be listed on the site; the link is below. Nick, you’re going to point to the ingredients and drop them in order into the mixing bowl.”

  “Aye, aye, Captain!” He saluted, and again I fought back a smile. Damn him.

  The space against the pantry wall that I’d allotted for the two of us to film didn’t quite work. Maybe I forgot how broadly Nick was built, or maybe subconsciously, I wanted to be close to him, but needless to say, we were practically on top of each other throughout the entire recording.

  I would have to squeeze behind him to get a utensil that I needed, or he would have to lean over me to pick up a measuring cup. My fear was that the entire exchange would look intimate—which was the opposite of what I wanted, or needed.

  Thankfully or not, depending on how I looked at it, Nick added a comedic element to the process. For every slice of the banana that ended up in the bowl, Nick would eat one. “Nick, you’re not supposed to eat the bananas before you smoosh them up.”

  “Is smoosh a baking term?” he quipped, pointing the peeled banana he was readying to slice at me.

  Without a thought, I leaned over and bit it.

  And wished immediately that I could have spit it
back out.

  His nostrils flared, and inwardly, I kicked myself in the ass for not thinking before doing.

  I cleared my throat. “Now drop in the pecans, and fold them into the batter slowly with the spatula.”

  “Like this?” he asked, but he was mixing a bit too rough for the delicate batter.

  I shook my head. “Not quite. Here, a bit gentler,” I explained, putting my hands over his. One on the bowl and one on the spatula. “Like this.”

  We moved our hands slowly, and I hoped that I didn’t look as nervous on-camera as I felt. It wasn’t just being this close that was getting to me but having my hands atop his. It was almost like that scene that everyone swooned at in Ghost. Except instead of a pottery wheel bringing us together, it was a mixing bowl.

  Awkwardly, I backed away, slightly staying in frame and smiling at the camera and not at Nick. “Good, keep up with that for another few seconds.”

  I wanted to dab the sweat off my forehead. Or strip off my apron to be able to cool down. Both of which would give me away on-camera and which couldn’t be easily edited out.

  We continued the video, me using whatever small distance I could to avoid touching Nick, who, once again, seemed completely and frustratingly unaffected.

  Nick did everything I instructed. Well, almost everything.

  “You’ve got to be careful when measuring the flour,” I said, handing him a paper towel to wipe a smudge from his cheek.

  “Also, make sure the mixer is off when you plug it—”

  “Oops,” he said, looking around for a towel to wipe off the batter that splashed onto his apron.

  I had one draped over my shoulder, which I handed him. “Accidents happen.”

  Overall the mix looked great, and I was just glad that we hadn’t killed each other or burned the rental down yet. We put the cake in the oven and I said a little prayer that it would be fine even with all the hiccups.

  “Now we wait,” I said, hitting the remote on the camera to pause filming.

  “This is fun. I’ve never been a fan of baking, but this—thanks for letting me do this, Parker.”

  I nodded. “Come here,” I said, holding up a tea towel toward him. “You’ve got a little smudge of flour.”

  Taking my time, I dusted the flour off of his cheek. Even after it was gone, I swept the towel gently across one more time. Lowering it, I rubbed the splotches on his apron where the batter splashed up. Nick was closer than he should have been, making it difficult to clean off the spot.

  Abort. Abort. Abort.

  As I looked up at him, my breath caught. He was staring down at my lips. “Nick,” I warned. This was a bad idea.

  “Is the red camera light supposed to be on?” he whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear.

  I turned and squinted. Sure enough, the red recording light was still on and blinking. Damn it. If all of these moments were on video, I wouldn’t be able to edit everything out without leaving us with a two-minute show. I slid to the side and grabbed the remote, pushing pause two more times; it worked, and the red light finally turned off.

  “Come on, we’ve got to get ready for the icing.”

  “That’s it? Icing and we’re done? This wasn’t nearly as hard as I thought it would be.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, curious to know what he had expected.

  He looked nervous. “Well, and don’t get mad at Charlotte, but she said you were a hard-ass in the kitchen. Especially when instructing.”

  I smiled. “I take that as a compliment, not a fault. This isn’t an easy job, and if I’m going to show someone how to bake, I want them to do it the right way and learn something from it. If you were to have someone help you with your landscaping work, would you do it for them, or help them understand the tools they need to complete the task on their own?”

  Nick nodded. “I see what you’re saying. I’m glad you agreed to do this, albeit begrudgingly.” He snickered, but stopped smiling when I didn’t join him in laughter.

  “Sorry, I can’t seem to keep my foot out of my mouth with you.”

  I shrugged. “I get that. I don’t know that I’m acting right with you either. I guess natural banter isn’t an option.”

  “So…” he began, and I stepped back to focus on the task of cleaning up the mess. Luckily, he took the hint and joined me in silence.

  “So… any feedback? Need more equipment or need me to re-angle the lights? I can help if you think you need it,” he said, pulling out some paper towels and Clorox wipes.

  “Nick, you don’t have to help me clean up,” I said, avoiding the question. I didn’t have much by way of feedback other than I think I’ve made a huge mistake thinking I could work with you side by side without feeling epically confused over all of my feelings.

  “I do. It’s my mess too,” he said, and I wondered which mess he was referring to. The mess between us, or the mess in the kitchen from filming.

  “So, feedback?” he asked again, and I paused my towel-drying.

  “This space is too small for the two of us. Think about if it’s me, Mancini, and Viola or Pauline filming all together. We wouldn’t all fit. As much as I’d like to say it would work, it won’t. I have to figure it out. We need something bigger, but not an actual studio. I still want it to have that home feel but also show viewers that we know what we’re doing.”

  “True. It’s a tight squeeze,” he agreed, and I remembered that the last time we were in the kitchen together, a tight squeeze was perfectly fine.

  It seemed by the flash of fire in his eyes that Nick too was remembering it. He cleared his throat and stepped away. “So, what’s the plan for you and the Golden Girls, then?”

  I shrugged. “There’s the space next to Charlotte that would work. It would be perfect for both a bakery and a teaching space, which I’ve been considering too.”

  “Really?” he asked uneasily. “So, you’re going to stay?”

  “That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?” It was before as well, when Nick and I were still together. I knew if our relationship was going to move forward, coming here even part-time was something I was going to have to consider. It’s what we’d talked about before he stopped talking altogether. Selling D&V was supposed to make that decision easier, since I didn’t have any reason to stay in New York. Then things fell apart.

  Nick’s phone buzzed. Setting the bowl down on the towel, he stepped into the foyer to take the call.

  In the time he was gone, I made the icing, decorated the cake, and put it in the camera frame to shoot since the video would be too long if we took the time to have Nick do the work. He’d only have to show it off and bid farewell to the viewing audience.

  I looked over at Nick, who was just saying goodbye to the caller.

  “We’re good here. Just pop on, say how fun this was, and follow the script on the cards. Then wave goodbye.”

  He finished in one take and helped pack the cake away in the storage box for transport once we were all done. He was taking it home with him as his treat for agreeing to do the video.

  “Hey, are you busy after this?” I said, feeling guilty when he quickly slid the phone into his pocket. “Never mind. I’ll call Uber.”

  Nick was exasperated. “Don’t be silly. I’ll take you wherever you want to go. I know it may not seem like it now, but we can be friends, Parker. And I know we need to talk…”

  “Do we, though?”

  “What?”

  I motioned between us. “Do we need to talk? I don’t want to sound ungrateful for your willingness to explain yourself, but really, Nick. What good will it do us now?”

  He looked confused. “I thought you wanted to hash it out?”

  I shrugged. “I did, and maybe I still do, but honestly why am I going to put myself through hearing what happened? You’ve got Jillian now. Us discussing the past isn’t going to change what happened.”

  “But I don’t want it to be awkward when we’re together. I want us to be able to
be friends, Parker.”

  I nodded reluctantly. If I was considering staying longer in Hope Lake and we were going to be seeing more of each other with all of our mutual friends, I would have to get over things or at least put them aside enough to be civil.

  “I told you,” said Nick, “I have nothing to do today besides helping with the video. Let’s go for a drive. Talk through it. We have to sooner rather than later.”

  “But what about—” I began, but he cut me off, stepping closer and putting his hands on my arms.

  “She’d be fine with it. Relax. She knows I’m always eager to help.”

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded as we headed for the door. “I just want us to be able to be friends.”

  Easier said than done.

  I grabbed my phone from the small table by the front door and saw the no-battery sign flash when I tried to turn it on. Great.

  “Hey, my phone died when we were filming. Can I use yours to text Emma?”

  “Of course,” he said, handing it to me.

  As he walked outside toward the car, I realized that I should have had him open his phone first, since it needed a pass code or face ID. I glanced at his phone background. The photo that appeared was a simple landscape of the river with the mountainside in the distance and the sun setting behind it.

  The lock screen wasn’t him and Jillian, as I expected it to be. It was a photo that I had sent him, taken on my first clandestine visit to Hope Lake to be with him. I didn’t know how to feel about it. Touched that he kept it? Relieved that it wasn’t a picture of him and his annoying girlfriend? A mix of both?

  I headed outside to find Nick, who was sitting in his truck, and I walked around the car to slide into the passenger seat. Once inside his truck, I held up the phone. “Um, smile,” I said. Instead of a smile, he stuck his tongue out but the phone still unlocked.

  “Smartass.”

  He shrugged as he backed out of the drive. “Guilty. Where should we go, anyway? I probably should have asked that before we left.”

  I took a deep breath. “I have a suggestion.”

  “Hit me,” he said, smirking when I pretended to punch his arm.