Sugar

by Karin Kallmaker

  Noor's eyes flashed. "Cut that out! Geez, I just hate that about you! Okay, your hair's a mess and you could use a facial and a man-

  icure. But you've got a body that women are paying thousands of dollars to have sculpted by exercise or surgery. Plus when you want to be, you can be funny and interesting."

  "Maybe I don't want to be. Maybe ... Oh, I don't know. Maybe I'd like to make a name for myself before I see if there's anybody who wants to share it. Bring something to the table in a relation¬ship."

  Noor rolled her eyes. "Conquer the world and then go looking for Ms. Right? That just seems so ... lonely."

  Stung, Sugar crumpled up her empty bag. "Maybe loneliness is better than heartbreak. Better than respecting someone and find¬ing out they're lying to you."

  "I never lied to you!" Noor stomped to the trash can.

  "I wasn't talking about you. Damn it, Noor. I'm sorry."

  "Then what did you mean by that?"

  "I'm talking about Rose—marriage number three. I'm talking about how the only real love you ever see is in a movie where nobody's fat, everybody's got a cushy job with assistants, and all the possible dating material has not only a fabulous sense of humor but a Lear jet. Sometimes I think it's not real. None of it's real. My par¬ents would have gotten divorced if they hadn't gotten hit by that truck first. It's not real."

  Noor stood staring at her, hands on hips. Sugar had always envied her the high metabolism that kept her almost too thin, but she realized that Noor's shorts were a little tighter than she nor¬mally wore, and her face was slightly rounder, fuller. She was about to tell Noor that the few extra pounds suited her when Noor said, "You want to know what's real?"

  "Sure. Enlighten me."

  "This is real," Noor said, as she moved within reach of Sugar. She lifted Sugar's hand and put it on her belly. "This is about as real as it gets."

  Puzzled, Sugar tried to pull her hand away. "So you're happy with Deenie and you've put on a few pounds. They look good. It suits you."

  Noor grinned. "Hopefully I'll lose it all again in seven months."

  Sugar's mouth hung open as she stared at Noor. Finally, she managed, "You're kidding."

  "Nope. Baby. I wanted a family, Deenie wants a family. She's through being a kid and so am I. We're not sharing space—we're making a life."

  "Wow. That's ... wow." Sugar didn't know what else to say.

  "I'm not saying a baby is the only way to do that, Sugar. The thing is that we both wanted something, the same thing. And we're trying to get there together. Doing it alone is too hard. Doing it with someone you love is still hard, but at least there's someone to cry and laugh with along the way."

  "I'm glad," Sugar said belatedly. She personally thought Deenie a case of arrested development, but Noor had never been blind to Deenie's faults. She thought Deenie had changed and, well, maybe Deenie had. Truthfully, she added, "I think you'll make a wonder¬ful mother."

  Noor dropped into the chair next to Sugar with an anxious look. "Do you really think so? I get scared."

  "I think being scared means there's a good chance you'll do it right."

  Noor's face crumpled and Sugar pulled her into a heartening embrace. "I hope so. I'm scared to tell my parents. Muslims aren't all that keen on anonymous sperm donors. This could be the final straw."

  Sugar patted Noor's back. "I hope that's not the case, sweetie. They should be proud of you."

  Noor sniffed. "I'll let you know. Deenie's folks were actually okay. They like me."

  Sugar brushed tears from Noor's cheeks with her thumbs. "They ought to. You're kind and generous and sweet, and a hard worker. Not to mention a good-looking femme."

  The compliment had its usual result. Noor grinned and batted her eyelashes. "Thank you. When I blow up to the size of a house you are bound by Robert's Rules of Lesbian Life to continue saying that."

  Sugar agreed. It was almost like old times, folding clothes together while Noor vented about work catastrophes and Sugar mused over what she ought to try to tackle next. Unfortunately, a long talk with Patricia about money and legal obligations was looking inevitable. Monday, Sugar thought. She wouldn't think about that until Monday. Clean clothes, a perfect cake for a very important client—that was all she could handle. Family matters and legal issues could just wait.

  Her resolve to avoid family discussion was immediately put to the test when she finished stacking her piles of fresh-smelling and neatly folded clothes on the bed. She was, after all, living in a family member's home and there were matters they ought to resolve. On the drive back to Gran's, Sugar hadn't been able to avoid giving her living arrangement with Gran some thought.

  Gran eased herself down onto the antique bench inside the doorway of the spare bedroom just as Sugar patted the last stack. "I've cleared out that bureau for you, and since the jumble sale was last month, there's nothing in that closet right now."

  "Thank you, Gran. I don't know what I'd do without you, really."

  "One of your sisters would have offered."

  Not likely, Sugar thought. Not for more than a day or two. And it would always have strings. Live here, live the life we pick out for you. Patty would say, "Get a real job." Quinn would say, "Find a good partner like I did." Rose would say, "Let's go get drunk." Right now Sugar wanted none of any of it.

  After a sigh, she said to Gran, "Perhaps. But I think I'll be best here if that's okay with you." She sank down onto the bed, sud¬denly exhausted. But she had given what she wanted to say a lot of thought while watching the dryers spin round and round and chat¬ting with Noor. "So we should discuss things in a businesslike way. I'm averaging two or three cakes a week so far. Today's e-mail brought a repeat customer who's spending quite a lot. I can pay for my keep, certainly the extra utilities and things like that. Groceries

  and gas and that sort of thing. And I'll be able to save for a deposit on a new place."

  Gran nodded. "I won't pretend it would have been hard to make ends meet, but we'd have done it. But you're very sensible, Sugar. You always have been."

  It was an assessment with which her siblings would have never agreed. "Good, I'm glad that's settled. That's leaves the matter of me disrupting your life, and I know there is no way I can make up for that."

  "It's no bother, child."

  "Yes, it is," Sugar insisted. "I hogged the oven this morning, and your favorite bowls were dirty, and little things like that can really annoy. It's one of the reasons I didn't want a roommate sharing an already small kitchen in some apartment. But we're roommates sharing a big kitchen and we ought to be able to work it out."

  "Well, we'll just speak our mind when we need to and every¬thing will be fine."

  "Okay, I promise not to bottle things up, too."

  It was a shocking agreement to have reached so easily. Gran was the in-house champion of speaking her mind about what other people ought to do to get right with family and the Lord, but she never admitted that anything actually bothered her. Her leg could be cut off and she'd say it was nothing. If she asked how you were and you said anything less than "great" her reply would be, "I'm sorry to hear that."

  The talk was going so well that Sugar went for broke. "I've given it some thought, and one way we can make a fair trade is if I help you out while you get that surgery."

  Gran's eyes narrowed. "Gantry's been talking, hasn't she?"

  Sugar shrugged.

  "Well, I can't say it was her business. I was just speaking politely. She's a good listener." Gran frowned as she fussed at a thread on her sweater.

  "So what do you say? If I'd known you needed someone to live

  in I would have suggested it. The place where I was living—it worked. But just barely. The refrigerator was a joke."

  It was a safe distraction. They moved to the kitchen to put together a light evening snack and talked about the importance of movable shelves and controls a person could see and reach. Only when Sugar had dabbed up the last crumbs of the best peach crisp she'd had in ye
ars did Gran return to the subject of her surgery.

  "I suppose, if you'll be here, you're right. I'd be a fool to pass up your help."

  Sugar stole a glance at her grandmother, pleased. But her smile faded quickly to concern. "Gran, it'll be okay."

  Gran frowned at her tea. "I don't like hospitals. People go there to die."

  "And to get well. They got one hundred percent of Quinn's husband's cancer, remember? I'll be with you the whole time. And anyone else from church you might like."

  "No!" Gran looked momentarily shocked at her own vehe¬mence. "I'd rather not have any of them near, except maybe Bridget. I'll think on that. Not when I'm feeling sick."

  "I understand," Sugar soothed. "Tomorrow is Friday and we'll call the doctor and get the ball rolling, okay? And I'll finish the order for Saturday. Oh, that reminds me, I've got to work the icing." She quickly moved their dishes to the sink, then got out the plastic-wrapped ball of fondant. She divided it into thirds, and set about the process of kneading the softball-sized lumps one more time to make sure the sugar didn't recrystalize. It was a matter of minutes until she put the rewrapped balls back in the refrigerator.

  "You're going to have to show me how you make that again. I can't believe icing for a cake can be treated that way."

  Sugar turned off the kitchen light as she followed Gran down the narrow hallway to the bedrooms. "Wait until you see the fin¬ished product."

  "Oh, I know what you can do, Sugar. Those layers I took out of the oven looked perfect. And I'll never forget that wonderful cake

  you made for your grandfather's memorial service, complete with his golf clubs leaning against the car."

  "That was a flat cake, Gran. Wait until you see a three-dimen¬sional one."

  "I'm looking forward to it. You get a good rest, child. It's been a long, stressful day for you."

  Sugar watched Gran lumber slowly to the hallway, one hand supporting her weight wherever support could be found. "You too, Gran. Don't let the bedbugs bite, now."

  It was early yet, but Sugar was barely able to stay awake long enough to make some order out of her clothing. She finally put the last two piles on the floor and crawled under the covers. She was nearly asleep when she realized that Tree had been being a buttin-sky mentioning a partner—she'd probably wanted Sugar to out herself. Annoyed, she turned over. She'd be glad to tell Tree she'd had no right when Tree called.

  Noor was having a baby—still a shocking thought. Noor had found something real. It all still seemed like an illusion to Sugar.

  The prospect of a cup of coffee with Tree wasn't unpleasant though. Just as she nodded off, Sugar remembered she needed to call Charlie about the order she'd alluded to. The prospect of seeing Charlie again wasn't unpleasant either. And Emily she'd see again on Saturday, but that was work, wasn't it?

  There's no room in your head for women and dating and babies and things like that, she told herself drowsily. No room for it at all.

  Fondant wasn't a very forgiving material, but so far the new premises and slight variation in humidity wasn't making a ruin of her project. Once again, Sugar found her jittery morning nerves settled by the focus of work. A trip to the restaurant supply store had provided new bottles of run-resistant food dyes and other things she needed for the difficult—but highly rewarding—task of tinting her European recipe.

  If she'd had her tints last night she would have worked some of

  the colors in then. The extra kneading would make the fondant a little tougher than her best results. But it would taste just as good and hold up through an evening just fine. She'd forgo a protective layer of marzipan because the cake would have achieved the perfect texture and moistness by die time she assembled the finished work.

  The smell of Gran's Friday-morning baking washed over her as she returned from the garage with another item removed from Gran's car. A bubbling apricot cobbler sat on the counter, cooling, while Gran was occupied with a tea towel, rubbing the skins off of still warm boiled potatoes. "That looks heavy, dear."

  Sugar gratefully set the heavy marble slab next to the sink. "That's because it is." She saturated the surface with deodorizing non-abrasive cleanser, then set about rinsing it thoroughly in the sink. Some people might use bleach but she always thought she tasted the chemical thereafter.

  Finally, she rubbed it down with some ice and dried it carefully. She snipped off a walnut-sized ball of fondant, which had been out of the refrigerator since she'd sluggishly crawled out of bed, and flattened it on the slab.

  "Do you think if I cover it with wrap and leave it for thirty min¬utes that would do it? That if there was going to be a smoke taste, that would pick it up?"

  Gran looked up from the bowl of potatoes. "Seems like long enough. Surely enough to tell if anything's going to transfer."

  Sugar nodded. "Let me help you slice those while I wait." She had just found a paring knife when her cell phone rang.

  "I just thought I'd check on how you were doing," Emily said.

  Sugar fought back a blush. She'd had a dream about a red-haired angel who had been deliriously unangelic. That was before she'd been awakened by the certainty that she'd heard a fire engine's wail. "Great. In fact, I'm going to tint the icing today and carve the cat. Where and when would you like it delivered?"

  "My place. Would it be ready by tomorrow afternoon, say, four? If you need another hour or two that will work, it's just that I'll be setting up—"

  "Four is fine."

  "Wow, you're fantastic. I sent a deposit this morning, by the way. I checked your site and wanted to make everything's on the up and up. Don't want to worry your accountant."

  Sugar chortled. "My accountant, whose name is Sugar Sorenson, worries about other things at the moment. But thank you for taking care of that."

  "I can imagine." Emily said her address slowly and clearly, then gave precise directions for finding the house. Sugar knew Mercer Island only slightly. Not like anybody she had ever known could afford to live there. "There's a stand of five old paper birch trees in the front. They're hard to miss."

  "Got it," Sugar assured her. "And I've got your number if any¬thing should go amiss. The cake will need to be kept in a very cool location before it goes on the buffet table. Otherwise the icing can bead up and it doesn't look as nice."

  "Understood. Look, about Seattle Eats, if we're going to fea¬ture you we'd need to settle that quickly."

  "Oh, I'm game to do that if you can work it out logistically. I'm afraid I don't know what that all entails."

  "For you it means a camera underfoot, I'm afraid. The category for event desserts, which is going to be the most exciting filming, has only five competitors."

  That was welcome news. She'd been worried that as an unknown she wouldn't be taken seriously. "That gives me a fight¬ing chance, doesn't it?"

  "It certainly does. I may be able to find out who the judges are and give you some tips on their favorite things. I know for sure one is Chastity McLain."

  "Wow. Seattle's own dyke diva." Abruptly, Sugar was aware of Grannie Fulton's listening ears. She doubted anyone had said dyke in Gran's house before.

  "She likes leather and pierced navels." Emily laughed. "But I'm not sure the other judges would go for a dog-collar cake."

  "I could do one. But I don't think I will." She started to tell

  Emily her idea, then stopped. She wasn't sure Emily was all that interested, and since it was a good idea for a contest theme of "the diversity of Seattle's culinary communities," she didn't know if Emily wouldn't tell someone else. It would be horrid if two people presented the same thing.

  "I look forward to talking over your plans," Emily said easily. "And we do need to get together again to discuss the Best of Seattle segment, which I still very much want to do, now more than ever after meeting you. Maybe we could get together next week for coffee or dinner?"

  "That sounds great," Sugar answered. Her dating vibe was jan¬gling again, and it was disconcerting to say the least. A dr
eam was just a dream, but actually going out with Emily? Goodness, two women had asked her out in twenty-four hours. Well, not quite asked out. Besides, she reminded herself sternly, Emily wanted to talk business, not romance.

  "Well, how about dinner, then? Next Thursday is the first time I'm free. What a week. Do you know where Malvio's is, in Redmond?"

  "No, but I can find it."

  "Let's say eight, and I'll call the day before just to make sure you haven't forgotten. Oh—what?"

  It took Sugar a moment to realize Emily was speaking to some¬one else. The phone was temporarily muffled, then Emily's voice came back loud and clear. "I'm sorry, Sugar, I have another call I have to take. See you tomorrow, okay?"

  "No problem. Until tomorrow."

  She hung up the phone slowly, then picked up the paring knife. Joining Gran at the table she said nonchalantly, "That was my client for tomorrow."

  "Oh?"

  Sugar didn't know quite how to interpret that. "She's a pro¬ducer at King Five."

  "Now that sounds like an interesting job."

  "They're going to do a feature about my cakes in an upcoming

  Best of Seattle episode. I was supposed to meet with her to discuss it, but the house burned down instead."

  "What a wonderful opportunity, though. All that free advertis-ing."

  "It is." Sugar finished her first potato and started her second. "She's one of those gay women, too."

  "So I gathered. Do you think you might go out with her?"

  "Maybe. I don't know. I don't date very much, Gran. I really don't have time."

  Gran's knife made short work of the potato in her hands. "I had fifty-three wonderful years with your grandfather, may he rest in peace. I might be alone now but I've got the memories of compan¬ionship and affection and that's all that matters at my age. You are not getting any younger. You need to make time."

  Sugar diced another potato, glad to have her hands occupied. Had Gran actually just encouraged her to date women? Was the sun going to rise in the west tomorrow, or what? "I know, but life just dealt me a setback."