Cookie Cutter

by Jo Richardson

  “What’d you do?”

  “I figured if the prosecution hadn’t brought it up yet they probably hadn’t checked the cell pings either. So I uh . . . sent them a highlighted copy.”

  Iris’s mouth gapes. “You did not.”

  “Yeah.”

  “This is straight out of one of those suspense movies”

  “Yeah, only unfortunately, I no longer play the role of lawyer.”

  In California anyway.

  “And the case?”

  “My father assigned another lawyer to it but it was too late. There was a mis-trial and after that he went with a different law firm.”

  “Holy shit.”

  “My Dad was so mad.” I remember his calling me into that conference room like it just happened an hour ago.

  Why would you do this to me, Carter? Why?

  I didn’t do it to you, Dad.

  After all the money I spent putting you through college . . . law school . . .

  I tried to talk to you.

  “Carter?” Iris looks worried.

  “Sorry.”

  “When was the last time you spoke to him?”

  “That day.” Oh, what fun that was.

  “Jesus.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know to be honest, Iris. He’s pretty stubborn.”

  “Well, from what I’ve seen, so are you.”

  I huff out some air. She’s got me there.

  “I bet you’re wondering what this all has to do with the way you feel today.”

  “Actually I’d forgotten all about it until you just said that.”

  “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “This brings me to my fiancé, who I met in college. We had a lot in common. I gave her my mother’s wedding ring the day we graduated. It almost seems like that’s when I started leaning more toward building things and not so much, the defending criminals thing.”

  Huh.

  “I left the firm the same afternoon my Dad and I duked it out and he pretty much told me if I didn’t get my act together, he didn’t want to talk to me again.”

  Iris’s face falls. I know the look of pity when I see it but she doesn’t need to feel sorry for me. Not these days. I know where I belong now and it’s not at Blackwood and Associates. Or in my Dad’s life, apparently.

  “By the time I got home that night, Cheryl had already heard the news. She was not only packed and ready to go, but she’d already managed to get her things moved out, including the sectional sofa we bought together.”

  You don’t mind, right? I mean you hated it anyway.

  “That’s . . . really shitty.” Iris looks disgusted.

  I know how she feels. “My world crumbled that day, Iris – or I thought it did. I didn’t get up for two weeks, under the realization that I’d single handedly not only disappointed my father, but ruined another important relationship in my life in one fell swoop.”

  “What changed?” She waits patiently and I smile.

  “A phone call.”

  “From your father?” She looks expectant, but I shake my head.

  “From Spence.”

  She nods slowly. She gets it.

  “That was all I needed to put things into perspective again. It’s also when I realized, I never really loved Cheryl, not like you’re supposed to. If I had, I might have stayed.”

  “If she had loved you the way she was supposed to, she wouldn’t have asked you to,” Iris says.

  Smart woman.

  “But your Dad and you . . .”

  I breathe in. I can feel the sides of my mouth drawing downward. “Still working on it.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.”

  The story is over. My old story that is. My new one, however . . .

  “I have no idea how this is gonna work out between us, Iris. For right now though, I don’t really care. I don’t want to. I want to feel what I felt the other night again. I want to be around you as much as I can and I want to---”

  “Carter,” she says, cutting me off.

  I manage to get my gaze to stop racing around the room, looking for the right words and when I finally lay them on her, she smiles. “Me too.”

  A kiss is my reaction. A long, steamy, inviting, deliberate kiss. At the end of it, the entire conversation we just had, including the events that spurred it, are gone.

  “I can’t tell you how glad I am to hear that.”

  I pull her back down into the couch with me and we relax there. We both deserve it. But when I can hear the ticking of a clock I know is an entire room away, it’s too quiet. “What are you thinking?”

  “A lot of things,” she says, softly.

  I take it upon myself to urge her. Just a little bit. “Like?”

  “Like, there are other ways to quit your job. That getting disbarred seems extreme.”

  I suck in some air. She’s got me there. “Yeah, well, hindsight and all that.”

  “That I’m glad you came to my door looking for a hammer that day, despite what I might have thought of you at the time.”

  I chuckle.

  “And I’m thinking . . .”

  Her voice dissipates again and while I might have otherwise let it go, she’s got me curious now. “And?”

  “And I’m thinking how glad I am that we had sex before I found out about James and Meg.”

  I pull my head back to see her better. “Why’s that?”

  Iris shrugs, embarrassed. “I would hate to feel like that was just revenge sex.”

  I relax again. “Yeah, me too,” I agree.

  Then I revisit my original question of the day. “So let me ask you again, Iris. Why are you home today?”

  She turns her head toward the front foyer like she’s looking through the door and outside. “They all know.”

  “So?”

  She sits up, tense. “Carter, I know what it’s like here when something like this happens. Hell I probably deserve everything I get but---”

  I sit up right along with her. “Iris, every person on the other side of that door is dealing with their own type of James.”

  “I doubt that.” She huffs.

  And actually, she’s right but oh so wrong. “Okay forget James. He’s got nothing to do with this.”

  “He’s got everything to do with this.”

  “Not if you don’t let him.”

  “I . . .” She tries to argue the point but she’s a smart woman. She knows I’m right.

  “Look all you have to do is---”

  My thoughts are lost when the front door opens and Ally enters through it. She heads upstairs but stops pretty quickly when she sees Iris and me on the couch together. I’m just now realizing, Iris is in nothing but a t-shirt under that blanket.

  Ally waves her hand, irritated. “Perfect.”

  “Ally,” Iris calls out to her as she stomps upstairs. “What are you doing home?”

  “I wasn’t feeling well,” she yells back down and Iris is up now, the blanket forgotten.

  Her ass is peeking out from the hem of her shirt. It’s probably best I go before I make this about me and my hormones and not about the deadly mother daughter dynamic going on all of a sudden. I get myself up and head for the front door.

  “Hold it,” Iris says and I think she’s talking to me so I stop with a hand on the door knob.

  “How did you get home?”

  Whew. Not talking to me. So I turn the knob to sneak out, when Ally answers her mom.

  “Blake.”

  I turn and look up at her, surprised.

  “Blake?” Iris and I both say at the same time.

  Ally crosses her arms and jets her chin out defiantly. “That’s right.”

  “Blake?” Iris repeats. “As in jerk Blake? The Blake who basically left you stranded at a party and you had to call around to try and get someone to come get you, Blake?”

  I won’t say the
additional descriptions I’m thinking right now based on the story Ally gave me that night.

  “Yeah,” Ally says. “If only my own mother hadn’t been passed out on the couch while her boyfriend was doing God knows what.” Her eyes well up with a mega waterfall of teenaged angst.

  Oh, boy, it’s definitely time for me to go.

  “I’m just gonna . . .” I hook a thumb over my shoulder.

  “Well,” Iris says, calmly - so calm that it scares me, “how soon we forget that we were once upon a time so very understanding.”

  “Well that was before the entire school was talking how loose my mother is and that that’s why my father left her!”

  Iris is stopped in her tracks. I’m confused and have no idea what to do. And Ally, after she sees that her mother isn’t coming up with anything else to say, turns and rushes off to her room, then slams the door behind her. Iris tries to breathe. It looks difficult. Any air she might have taken in comes out in shaky segments. I reach for her but, like she has some sort of crazy Jedi mind abilities, she holds a hand up, stopping me from trying to console her.

  “I’ll be okay, Carter, I just need to talk to my daughter for a while, if you don’t mind.”

  I pull my hand back. “No, yeah, sure. I get that. I’ll um . . .”

  “We’ll talk later.” She turns to me.

  “You sure?”

  She nods. “Yeah.”

  “Okay.” Despite her reluctance for some human contact, I lean in then, and kiss on her forehead. Then I remind her of something Frank told me repeatedly after I left Sacramento.

  “What they have to say is their problem, Iris, not yours.”

  Then I go, hoping I really hear from her later on.

  Chapter 17. Iris

  There’s a note stuck to the inside of my bedroom door this morning. I’m up before the alarm, but not before my daughter apparently. And she hasn’t only managed to get herself up on time, but she’s left for school already as well.

  Got a ride with Blake and Karen - practice tonight. Home later.

  It’s not signed and there’s no hearts, or x and o. It feels cold and although I try not to take responsibility for all of my daughter’s teenage angst, I can’t help feeling like it’s my fault. I should have made James leave as soon as he showed up. I should have avoided confronting him like that in front of everyone. Not that he didn’t deserve it, but Ally didn’t need to see or hear any of it. Hell I didn’t need to hear any of it.

  I’ll talk to her later.

  I begin my day by taking a shower and trying to regroup and forget about what a complete mess the past few weeks have made me.

  I’m better than this.

  I dry my hair then dress, and as I’m applying my make-up, the phone rings. When I check the caller ID, I’m a bit surprised and worried to see that it’s Ally’s vice principal calling.

  “Surely it’s too early for her to have done something that entails a phone call,” I joke when I answer the call.

  She doesn’t respond right away which sends me straight into panic mode.

  “Oh God, she’s not sick is she?”

  And then my mind goes even deeper. “She made it to school didn’t she? Gail? Tell me Ally made it to school.”

  Nothing. She’s saying nothing. That’s not good.

  “GAIL!”

  “Sorry Iris, I had someone walk in just as I was calling you.”

  “Jesus. You about gave me a damn heart attack.”

  Her deep, booming voice laughs from the other end, demanding that I relax, so I try to shake off the year worth of anxiety she just bestowed upon me. “Is everything okay?”

  “Fine, fine, Iris,” she says. “Great as a matter of fact.”

  There’s silence hovering over the phone line again and I stand there, waiting for a few moments to see if she’s going to add anything to that thought.

  She doesn’t.

  “Gail?”

  “Hmmm?”

  “Then why are you calling me?”

  “Oh!” She laughs. “I wanted to give you the great news.”

  “Great news?”

  “Teachers have been contacting the office all week, Iris.”

  “Okay . . .”

  Where in the world is she going with this and why do I care who’s contacting the office?

  “Seven at my last count – and do you know why they contacted the office?”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s safe to say no, Gail.”

  I can hear her excitement on the other end of the line when she says the word, “Cookies.”

  But why would that excite her?

  “Pardon?”

  “They love your cookies! They wanted me to give them your number so they could get you to make some for various events they have going on.”

  “Oh, Gail, it’s hard enough keeping up with what Ally volunteers me for and I just don’t think---”

  “I told them you didn't have the kind of time that would allow you to volunteer your services for seven teachers. I mean that’s ridiculous.”

  “Oh.” I breathe out. “Whew!”

  “But I did tell them you’d be happy to take their money for services rendered as a side job.”

  Well that’s at least good to . . .

  Wait . . .

  “You what? Gail, I don’t---”

  “I told them twenty-five dollars a dozen was your going rate.”

  “Think I can . . .” I do a double take. “How much?”

  “They each need a different amount but not one of them was less than five dozen. And not one of them so much as blinked at the cost. Of course the final pricing is up to you.”

  I do the math in my head. “That’s . . .”

  “Eight hundred seventy five dollars.”

  “Minimally.”

  How long would take to make that many cookies? And the cost?

  “Even after I buy the ingredients, which I think I can get at cost if I buy in bulk over at Sydneys’. . .”

  It’s never crossed my mind to sell my cookies but honestly, taking in some extra cash doesn’t sound like the worst idea ever right now.

  “So?” Gail says.

  I make an executive decision right then and there, without planning or plotting or figuring out the details this time, I’m winging it. “Do you have their numbers?”

  * * *

  As I leave for work, I see Carter across the street. He’s prepping some planks of wood in his garage. What’s he making today? I could simply wave and be on my way but he doesn’t deserve that. So I walk over to say hello. It’s a mistake of course, being that he’s standing there, working with his table saw in all his manliness. I may never leave.

  From his work shoes, to the ripped jeans he’s wearing because he probably has one pair of jeans he wears to work in, to the t-shirt that shows off every muscle in his arm while he guides the wood through the saw, to the way his hair is all jacked up from working for who knows how many hours today, already. Even safety goggles look good on him. Who knew? He notices me coming up the driveway as he finishes a cut.

  “Hey.” He flashes that boyish grin of his and sets the wood down then pushes the goggles up on top of his head.

  My cheeks burst with heat. “Hi. I was just on my way to work.”

  “Going in today then?”

  I nod. “Yes, Mr. Smarty-pants. I’m going to work.”

  “Not scared of what the world might think of you being . . .” He glances around once or twice, dramatically, then leans in and whispers, “divorced.”

  “Stop it.”

  He chuckles as he inspects the piece of wood he just cut. “How’s Ally?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know, she didn’t really want to talk last night and left today before I was up.”

  “Ouch.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, she’ll be alright.”

  His confidence calms me. “You think?”

  “Yeah, she’s a smart girl. It might take her a while to figure it al
l out because she’s got her mother’s stubbornness but . . . she’ll come around.”

  My heart swoons a little more every day for this man; especially when he obviously cares about what happens to my daughter.

  “How about you?”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah, everything copacetic in the land of Iris?”

  “Definitely copacetic,” I say but it comes out as more of a croon. And when Carter stops what he’s working on to give me a look of question, I add. “I’m gonna be okay, too.”

  He goes back to his saw. “Good, because I want to take you out on a date.”

  He cuts another piece of wood before I can answer. When he’s done, he insists, “A real date. Like dinner, movie, kiss goodnight on the porch.” He looks at me sideways. “Maybe more.”

  “Carter.”

  “I’m not taking no for an answer, Iris.”

  “I wasn’t going to say no.”

  “No?”

  “No.”

  “Then what were you going to say?”

  “I don’t like horror movies.”

  He winks. “Deal.”

  I lean over his makeshift work table and kiss his lips, then I take it a little deeper. I don’t want to leave just yet. Carter hums and I’m guessing he doesn’t mind that I want just a little bit more of him right now. Surprisingly, he’s the one that breaks us apart. “You better get going before I make you take another sick day.”

  I let myself get lost in his eyes for a moment. Oh how much nicer it would be to stay curled up in Carter’s futon with him all construction ready like this, but unfortunately, I know all too well, for now at least that I have a job to rely on for my income.

  “See ya.” I smile.

  “Bet on it.” He throws me a wink, and then I’m off.

  * * *

  For all intents and purposes, my day goes smoothly. There are no phone calls from James, no texts from Ally and no urgent matters going on at work, so I have plenty of time to second guess my commitment to baking four hundred and twenty plus sugar cookies over the course of a few weeks. I pull out a notepad and jot down what I would need to make this a successful ordeal.

  Shortening, butter, eggs, flavoring. Flour, baking powder, salt. Sugar. Icing.

  I tap the pen as I stare at the list. I cross off what I already have plenty of, like the flour and sugar, salt and shortening.