The Ingredients of You and Me

by Nina Bocci

  “Wow, that’s awesome, thanks. I’m sure the ladies will be thrilled to be on television,” I said, hoping that it would put focus on them and not on my involvement. As if he read the worry on my face, he pulled up the second folder. “And sure, you’ve been here every day, but never at the same time as me. I got the feeling that we were back to—”

  “Parker, I’ve just been trying to make it easier on the both of us. Sometimes I think it’s better if there isn’t a constant reminder of us. I didn’t know if it would affect your creativity to see me every day, and I certainly didn’t want to contribute to that. I just wanted to make sure you had some space.”

  I can’t argue with that.

  I kept my eyes down and nodded. “I get it. I just wish you conveyed that. My default is always to think the worst. Tell me more about the paper.”

  “I know you don’t want to be the center of attention but, Parker, it’ll ultimately help if people know you’re involved. So, I’d like you to rethink it.”

  I knew his argument was valid. I just needed to accept that me being in the mix would help.

  I sighed. “Okay, just something small and secondary to the big story, which is them.”

  “Deal,” he concurred, moving on to another folder filled with names and emails.

  “What’s this?”

  “Mailing list,” he said, pushing the top sheet toward me. “I started compiling it. You’d be surprised how many people want to keep up with the goings-on here. Everyone in town knows these ladies, and they’re thrilled you’re doing this. You’re going to have a great turnout for the grand opening.”

  “Speaking of, you’re coming, right?”

  “Nothing will keep me away,” he insisted, smiling. I turned, not wanting my face to show him how much I missed seeing him around.

  I almost said, Are you sure about that? What about the pint-sized brunette you always have following you around? but I kept that comment to myself. As long as he’s happy was the mantra I kept repeating to myself.

  As if the Golden Girls knew I needed saving, in they came.

  “Parker, this looks fantastic. I love the French feel to it. Very chic, very swag, very tight. I like it,” Gigi exclaimed, taking a turn around the shop. She expertly maneuvered around the white wrought iron tables and chairs with her scooter.

  As expected, we’d made quick work of remodeling the space into something that worked as both a bakery and a classroom. It had been surprisingly easy, what with the mountains of free time I had. Still, I needed to get the ladies’ opinions on the finishing touches. I couldn’t wait for them to see what I’d been working on.

  “What’s this?” Mancini asked as I met her in front of my favorite place in the shop: the wall behind the pastry shelving.

  I exchanged a smile with Nick. I looped my arm in hers and explained what I’d done to surprise them. “I have two surprises. First, there’s this shop I know in Brooklyn. They do all these printed keepsakes, and I was thinking that your recipes would look great on a tea towel. I was thinking I would get you one for each of your kids, and we can have some here to use too. The towels would be printed in the recipes’ original handwriting, so it would be really an amazing gift.”

  Everyone was silent and Mancini teared up and pulled me into a hug.

  “I love this idea. Please tell me how to reach them and I’ll order for the kids. I’d like one for myself too.”

  “Already ordered, for all of you. My gift for going on this crazy adventure with me. But that’s not all. The shop that we got the towels from had a bunch of other options that I didn’t know about. One of which was wallpaper.” I motioned the group over to the featured wall, which was covered in custom wallpaper.

  “Parker, this is amazing.” Mancini’s voice wobbled, and when she pulled me in for another hug, her tears spilled down her cheeks.

  On the wall, under a sign that said RECIPES FROM THE BAKED NANAS, were five individual panels of wallpaper, each separated by a wide gray stripe. Their original recipes were written on the wall in their ancestors’ handwriting, just like I’d promised for the tea towels. Below each panel was a picture of the recipe’s creator and a note indicating which of the Nanas they were related to.

  “I guess you like it?” I asked the group, all of whom were in varying stages of disbelief. “I knew it would be perfect. It wasn’t hard, or expensive, so don’t give me any lip,” I teased, and one by one they each gave me a hug in thanks.

  “You and Nick sure make an incredible pair,” Viola gushed. I refused to look at Nick, who quickly made an exit after the comment.

  “You ready for the rest?”

  The Baked Nanas had helped me create the menu, a tentative schedule for the shop, and four more YouTube videos all prior to today. This place was a living, breathing extension of them, and I hoped people would understand and appreciate that.

  “Overall, I think that we’re almost done. Just a few finishing touches here and there, depending on what you guys would like to see.”

  “Parker, you did an amazing job. Truly,” Mancini said.

  The ladies began prattling on about the chalkboard menu design, another Nick idea, and how clear and simple it was. I, unfortunately, was distracted.

  “He’s coming for dinner tonight, you know,” Mancini offered up without me asking.

  “Oh, that’s good. I hope you have fun,” I said lightly.

  “Are you doing anything for dinner? You should stop over and eat. Charlotte and Henry, Gigi, Emma and Cooper are coming too.”

  “Everyone is?” I asked, a part of me a little upset that I was only just told, which was silly because I knew I always had a standing invite.

  She nodded. “It just came up when I saw Henry at the store earlier this morning. He texted Nick, who texted Cooper and then Emma. I knew I would be seeing you, so I said I would ask you when we came by too. It’s stuffed shells night, and we could use some dessert if you’re up to it.”

  Mancini was the only one who knew that I was baking every free moment I had at the house. The process was coming along, and while I wasn’t back to my old super-creative self, I was getting better and had even managed to invent some new things. Still, I didn’t think anything was store-ready yet.

  I still needed to find my contribution to the shop. The ladies could handle a lot of it—the specials and the classics—but the daily staples fell to me until we found someone else to take over.

  “I made some cupcakes this morning. I’ll bring those,” I said, stepping over to where my laptop was set up. I turned toward her and the others.

  “Honest opinion time, what do you think?”

  On the screen were six different logos that I’d been playing with: three options for The Baked Nanas channel, and three for the shop. With the latter moving forward like gangbusters, we needed to lock it in and get the sign ordered as soon as possible.

  “Numbers one and five,” Mancini said quickly, the rest nodding in agreement.

  “I like the simplicity of them and how they match each other,” Clara offered.

  “You’re right. They look like they belong together,” Viola agreed.

  “You’ve got a great eye for detail, I’ll tell you that. Those are my favorites as well. Should we go ahead and order, then?”

  Mancini nodded but asked, “Who are we ordering from?”

  “Nick’s contact. He put me in touch with someone at Barreton University who will print flyers and order forms for you. They’re also going to get a website together, because while I’m okay with some coding, I’m not great with adding a shopping cart feature, and that’s all that you’ll need for taking online orders.”

  I paused when they looked at me nervously. Mancini mouthed the word online to Gigi and they both paled. Then it dawned on me what their fear was.

  “Relax. It’s not as hard as it sounds, and besides, I’ll be here for a while helping out until you are comfortable.”

  Mancini glommed onto my comment before I could reel it bac
k in. “Oh, you’re staying awhile. How long is that, exactly? Through to Emma’s wedding at least, right? After that? Forever?” She added the last bit with a giggle.

  “You’re funny. I don’t have a set plan. I guess that’s the joys of having the life of a shiftless layabout.” I sighed dramatically.

  “Yes, the first thing that comes to mind when I think of Parker Adams is shiftless layabout,” Gigi said, rolling her eyes at me. “You’re doing more in a day than most people do in a week. Between filming and editing and uploading the videos, getting this bakery together, plus trying to get your own bake on— Parker, you’re a woman of many talents. I just wish you’d take some you time.”

  I smiled and leaned down to give her a gentle hug. “I know it may not seem like it, but I’m getting just as much out of this as you.”

  Mancini interrupted. “Like what, dear? I’m curious, because to us, it seems like you’re just a genuinely kind person who’s donating a ton of time and money to a bunch of old ladies and getting nothing in return.”

  I frowned. “First of all, you’re not old. So stop it. Second of all, I am! You’re helping me help myself with the recipes. If I didn’t have your old family recipes to work on, I wouldn’t be testing and baking nearly as much as I am. Besides that”—I paused, taking the printouts of one and five from the green folder—“you’re teaching me a lot.”

  They didn’t look like they believed me.

  “For example, Mancini, I’m jealous of your tenacity. I wish I had that for myself or had you to look up to when I was younger. You’re a very grab-the-bull-by-the-horns type of lady, and I love it.”

  She preened. “You’re right there, but it took time. My husband passed away almost thirty years ago, but when he was still alive and my kids were still at home, I wasn’t this audacious and outspoken. It took years to build up my confidence after my honey died. Suddenly, I was a single mom with four kiddos. When that happens, you tend to grow a thick skin quickly, and over time—well, the experience turned me into the woman you see here today.”

  “Well, I’m not happy about the journey that you had to take to become this person, but I’m damn glad that I met you.” I pulled her into a hug. “I’m also grateful for the tips you’ve given me on my macarons,” I said, turning to Viola. “I’m hoping with your tips, I’ll be able to perfect my new salted caramel desserts.”

  “You will, it just takes time.”

  “Gigi, you’re one of the smartest and funniest people I know. The way that Charlotte always talked about you made me want to meet you so badly. I had always hoped that you’d adopt me as another granddaughter, because you’re genuinely amazing.”

  Gigi wiped a tear away, smiling. “You are my family, Parker.”

  “And while you might not have taught me anything about baking,” I said, laughing when she pretended to be offended, “I’ve never met a more willing taste-tester, and for that I’m grateful.”

  “Listen here, I can make a mean microwavable mug cake. They come in a box and they’re delicious,” she said, playfully slapping Mancini when she pretended to put her finger in her mouth to gag herself.

  I shared with the rest what they had shared with me, and what I had learned from them. Before I was finished, they were all a bit blubbery and so was I.

  “We’re grateful to have met you too, Parker,” Mancini said with a hiccup. “Now, let’s get moving. Clara, Vi, and Gigi have to run but I’ll stay back and meet the oven guy and the painters for the teaching space. After that, girls, we just need chairs delivered and then we can finish decorating, which is my favorite part next to the baking.”

  We said goodbye to the others, and I couldn’t scrub the smile from my face.

  “This is going to be awesome. I’m so excited for you guys.”

  “For us,” Mancini corrected, pulling me again into her side. She planted a kiss to my hand, and we stood side by side looking at the bakery case that had been installed that morning.

  “Just think, Parker. Very soon, that case will be full of delicious goodies.”

  “I sure hope so.”

  “Be confident in yourself. I believe in us—this is a group effort. Besides, I don’t just say that to everyone or anyone. They have to earn it. You did and I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks, Mancini.”

  “Now, tell me what else is going on in that amazing head of yours. I know something is bothering you.”

  I ripped off the metaphorical Band-Aid. “I’m going to pass on dinner tonight.” She began to interrupt but I stopped her. “Thanks for inviting me, but I really don’t want to make it awkward with everything going on. It’s clear Nick is avoiding me, and I’m not going to insert myself into his life and make things more difficult for him and Jillian.”

  “But he was here and things looked okay?” she said, hopeful. “I know it’s awkward, but don’t miss out because of her.”

  “I just can’t. It’s not because of her or him. It’s for my own self-preservation. I’m tired of feeling like crap. I have to get over it and move on… with everything,” I said, admitting to myself what I had been avoiding.

  She mumbled something that sounded like “Well, I’m not okay with that,” but when I asked her to repeat it, she just sang, “I understand. If you change your mind, dinner is at seven.”

  No one was making moving on easy. That included me.

  The following day I wasn’t in the best of moods and things were going south, fast.

  “What do you mean he’s not here?” I asked Mancini, who for the first time since I had met her looked dejected.

  “He hasn’t returned my calls. The student who was doing the work for us at the college said everything is ready, the website included, but that Nick hasn’t come or contacted him. The kid said he’ll meet me halfway so I don’t have to drive all the way to Barreton to get the flyers. But I’d have to leave now because he has something to get to.”

  “I can’t believe he would do this. Right before we open, no less. He promised he would be here with everything,” I said, furious. Nick and I had things squared away. The plan was simple. Nick was going to pick up any last-minute supplies, like the grand-opening flag sign, a project he said he’d handle, while me and the Golden Girls put all the finishing touches on the bakery.

  But then he decided to throw a grenade in it and not show up. Or return a phone call or a text. He wasn’t even ignoring just me this time. He was ignoring everyone.

  “Don’t call him anymore. I’ll go to Barreton and you stay here. Maybe Charlotte can come over when she’s done with whatever that giant flowery thing is,” I said, waving behind me to my friend across the hall, who looked like ivy was devouring her.

  Mancini was pacing and looking more nervous than I had ever seen her. “You can’t go!” she shouted, clearly aggravated. “You have to stay to work with the ladies on how to arrange everything in the cases. That’s not my forte. It’s faster if I run and you stay and get everything done that you can. I just hope he’s okay. I’ll stop by his house to check on the way back.”

  “You’re right, you’re right,” I said, with a combination of nodding and shaking my head. Nick was fine—I was sure of it in my gut. But he wouldn’t be once I got ahold of him.

  “Be careful. It’s cold and the roads are wet,” I said, pulling her in for a hug. “We got this.”

  “You’re damn right we do. I’m so proud of you, Parker. You’re like one of my own and I love you.” With a kind smile, she left the shop, the chime signaling her departure.

  I stood for a moment, relishing her words. I loved them too. This town as well. Charlotte wasn’t kidding when she’d said it grew on you like moss. It blanketed around you until you couldn’t tell where you stopped and the town started.

  I stepped to the counter and moved our little NO CELL PHONES sign to the side. I read over my checklist for what absolutely had to get done by the time we opened. The bakery wouldn’t open until noon for the first week, until we worked out the kinks,
and after that we’d run from eleven to five. Which were great store hours, considering that it was supposed to be a part-time operation. Then two evenings a week we’d be open for classes. If in the future the class side of things picked up, and had more eager teachers, we’d see what we could swing.

  We’d promised Cooper, and the council, that we would revisit the business hours in the summer when tourism picked up, but for now, in the dead of winter, this was more than enough. I didn’t want these women straining themselves.

  The lights were on, the tables and chairs were ready, and the décor was spot-on. It was the perfect combination of boutique French pâtisserie and small-town America. The highlight, though, were the recipe walls. I loved them, and they made for a great conversation starter. A few people who had come in for local press coverage had asked what the funny measurements meant, and the Nanas were always delighted to explain it. It added that final touch that said this belonged to them.

  “Okay,” I said, a bit weepy at the final product. I took a deep breath and I began running down the list.

  Cupcakes

  Vanilla

  Chocolate

  Éclair

  Cannoli

  Banana

  I crossed the last one off but cursed myself for being petty. Just because it was Nick’s favorite didn’t mean I had to take it off the menu. Other people, myself included, loved a good banana cupcake, and mine were damn good.

  I reluctantly erased the cross-out. I’d leave the banana cupcakes on there, but only if Nick had the gall to show his face after screwing us over today. I was pissed at myself for spending so much time on that recipe—especially considering how hard it was to perfect.

  I returned to my checklist to review the staples that each of the Nanas wanted to recur on the menu.

  Classics

  Clara’s Apple Cake

  Viola’s Carrot Cake

  Suzanne’s Chocolate Cake

  Pauline’s Red Velvet Cake

  Gigi’s Hummingbird Cake

  Checklist done, I walked to the back section of the bakery to straighten a photo of all the ladies and me that Nick had taken. We’d posed for it after filming our first YouTube video, and we were surrounded by equipment, both baking and technical for the shoot, and we looked deliriously happy. He had had it framed and dropped it off one morning when I was on my way out.