There's Cake in My Future
Page 30
I’m mad at myself for allowing the thought of Danny being my groom to creep into my brain. But it makes me smile. I look at him engagingly and say, “Okay. So let’s say you’re the groom. What china would you pick?”
“Something that matches whatever else you put on the table,” he says, glancing around the room. “Like this one.” Danny walks over to the Bernadaud section and takes a white and platinum plate from its rack. “This one is simple, elegant…”
“Boring,” I say, not bothering to suppress a mild sneer.
Danny gives me a pretend glare. “I see registering with you is going to require a lot of compromise.”
“Wow. I’m impressed,” I say, eying him flirtatiously and giving him my best kiss me face. “You managed to go from talking me into another date to registering for china with me.”
Danny smiles back. He puts his arms around my waist, flashes me a captivating smile, and tells me confidently, “It’s charming as Hell, you gotta admit.”
And he pulls me into another romantic kiss.
In the middle of the china department at Bloomingdale’s.
Maybe that cake charm was right—maybe it is my turn for a red hot romance.
I smile at the thought as Danny and I pull away from our kiss. “I’ve changed my mind,” Danny says seductively. “You want to go back to my place?”
Yes, I do. But instead of agreeing right away, I tease, “Don’t you want to get your shopping done?”
He moves his hand down my thigh and pulls me closer as he says, “You know, I really don’t right now. I want to…”
And he whispers into my ear, and my knees give out slightly.
Still smiling, Danny takes my hand and begins to lead me out of the store.
Then he stops dead in his tracks. “Oh, shit,” he says under his breath.
I follow his gaze to see a strikingly beautiful Asian woman looking in our direction. I say “striking” because right now I want to strike him.
My God, I am a fucking idiot. Of course he’s dating other people. I knew this would happen if I let my guard down even for a second.
The woman notices us for the first time. Her face lights up at the sight of Danny.
“Will you excuse me for just one second?” Danny says, dropping my hand like a hot potato and touching me lightly on the arm before he runs across the room to get to the girl.
As he runs toward her, I want to throw up. She’s so gorgeous, she makes Fred’s new girlfriend look like Cinderella’s wicked stepsister. Five-foot-ten, although six-foot-two in the five-hundred-dollar suede heels she wears. Impeccably dressed—the woman’s got money, and style … I’m definitely going to throw up.
I watch Danny as he kisses her on the cheek quickly and clearly tries to talk his way out of something. She looks over at me curiously.
I need to leave. Just put one foot in front of the other, walk purposefully out of the store in a self-righteous huff, and never see that motherfucking two-faced little weasel again.
Wait—she’s walking over to me. No, no, no! I will not have my hair ripped out and be in a catfight in one of my favorites places in the world. I clench my jaw, keep my hands down at my side as I ball them up into fists, and prepare for combat.
“Hi, I’m Scarlett,” the woman says to me cheerfully as she puts out her hand. “You must be Mel.”
I watch as Danny stands behind her with a pleading look. An apologetic look. A look that says, Yes, I’m sleeping with both of you. Can’t we all pretend we’re French and get past this?
“I must be,” I say, shaking her hand tentatively and having no clue about how to act. (I’m just not that cosmopolitan.)
“My brother has told me so much about you,” the embodiment of female perfection tells me, excitedly. “So are you coming with him to the wedding?”
My jaw drops slightly. I blink several times as I stare at her. I think maybe I can breathe again. “I’m sorry. What?”
“My wedding,” she clarifies, smiling brightly at me. “I know it’s last minute, and who the Hell wants to meet their future mother-in-law this early, right? But are you going?”
I look at her blankly. She turns to Danny. “You have asked her to the wedding, haven’t you?”
He glares at her. “I have. But I hadn’t quite gotten around to the family part—I was leading up to it.”
“Why? Are you embarrassed by us?” she asks.
“Constantly,” he answers. “By the way, thanks for the ‘future mother-in-law’ comment. Couldn’t have nailed that better myself.”
Scarlett waves her hand at him. “Please. You told me yesterday this could be the woman you want to marry. I’m just greasing the wheels. Faint heart never won fair lady.”
“I’m not so sure ‘Wildly obvious heart’ did much better…” he tells her, irately.
Scarlett grabs my hand, her face beaming. “I notice you were coming from the china department. What did you think of the William Yeoward?” she asks me.
“It’s pink,” Danny says, disapprovingly.
She turns back to him. “No one’s talking to you,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand. Then she pulls me back toward the china section. “Come on. Let’s go make him buy me a place setting. I think my man of honor should do that, don’t you?”
Forty-nine
Nicole
Some things never work out the way you thought they would.
Well, okay, probably most things. I mean, does anyone really plan to grow up to become a crab fisherman, a radiologist, or a Dancing with the Stars contestant?
And if we met the person we were going to marry when we were five, that would ruin all the fun we have making such bad decisions about dating.
Another example of things not turning out the way you thought they would—and I’m just pulling this out of thin air—pregnancy tests.
I’ve always had this I Love Lucy idea of what it would be like to tell my husband that I was pregnant. I’m not delusional—I never really thought the father would be a bandleader who could sing “We’re having a Baby, My Baby and Me” to me in front of a national audience. But, I have to admit, I did not think he’d be three thousand miles away either.
Or that he’d hear the news from my stepdaughter.
The week after Megan had her surgery was awful. The good thing about laparoscopic surgery is that a kid can go home the following morning and recover in the comfort of her own room.
The bad thing about laparoscopic surgery is that a kid can come home the following morning and spend the next week of her life driving her stepmother crazy.
I had never seen a person eat so much ice cream. Somehow, Megan had confused an appendectomy with a tonsillectomy and ate us out of house and home.
And she hogged my laptop computer for a week playing Club Penguin, refused to so much as bring a dish to a sink because she “needed to stay on the couch or in bed to recover,” and TiVoed so many iCarly episodes and Taylor Swift specials the she filled up our machine and I missed the latest episodes of 30 Rock.
And I could not have been more content, or felt more blessed.
So I did something I thought I’d never do. I asked Jason if I should go off the pill. We figured we wouldn’t be trying, but we wouldn’t be not trying either. I was in my thirties, I had read the statistics: it could take me a year to get pregnant, maybe more. Plus, I had been on the pill for over a decade. Who knows how long it would take my body to get back to being fertile after being chemically infertile for so long?
Plus, in October, basketball season officially began. My husband wouldn’t just be working long hours prepping for the season, he’d be in the season. Games until ten o’clock locally, plus the road games. We’d never have time to schedule sex, so keeping track of my ovulation cycle would be fruitless. (Pun intended.)
I should have known my plans would go awry. It’s been five weeks since I got off the pill, and I haven’t had my period.
So, I pee on the stick and wait three minutes.
I look at the stick to see my urine creeping through the white window and the first pink line starting to form. “Can you do it yourself?” I yell to her through the door as I watch and wonder if a second pink line will show up and tell me I’m pregnant.
“I can. But it’s the one-gallon milk, and the last time I did it myself…”
I’ve already raced to my door to open it. “Right. Don’t do that again,” I tell her gently. “I’ll do it for you.”
I quickly head downstairs, pour her some milk, throw the jug back in the fridge, slam the door, then start to head back upstairs.
“Nicole!” Megan yells from upstairs. “I can’t find your ChapStick!”
“Where are you looking?” I yell to her, as I start up the stairway.
“Your bathroom!” Megan yells back.
I pick up my pace and take the stairs two at a time. “Hold on!” I say in a mild panic. “Let me find it for you!”
I run into the bathroom to see Megan holding the stick and looking a bit confused.
“What is this?” she asks me, intrigued.
Crap. We have not talked to the girls yet about siblings. I figured we wouldn’t say anything to them unless something was definite. Otherwise, we’ll either get their hopes or their anxieties up. Either way, why do it? But I can’t lie either. “Um … it’s a pregnancy test.”
“Are two lines good or bad?” Megan asks me.
I smile.
Wow.
“They’re good,” I tell her. “They mean you are going to be a sister again.”
Malika, who has apparently followed me up to the bathroom, starts screaming excitedly. “I get to be a big sister!” I start screaming, too, and she and I dance around the bathroom like idiots.
Megan is smiling, but dignified. “Cool,” she pronounces.
The phone rings. Malika runs to get it while I look at the test.
Two lines, all right. Two very dark pink lines. I look at Megan. “So are you really okay with this?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asks.
“Well, a baby changes everything. You might wake up in the middle of the night when the baby cries. You may have to drive around with me doing baby errands. Plus, someone else might hog the TV when you want to watch something.”
“Kind of like what you do for us?” Megan asks me.
I smile. “Indeed.”
Megan shrugs. “Like I said: cool.”
“Nicole’s having a baby!” I hear Malika scream excitedly into the phone.
“No!” I yell, running into the bedroom. “Gimme the phone! Gimme the phone!”
Malika hands me the phone, then dances around the room yelling, “I get to be a big sister!” as I try to talk to her dad. “Honey…”
“You’re pregnant?” Jason asks me in a stunned stupor. “Already?”
“Um…” I stall, not sure how he’s going to react. “Yeah, but I’m really sorry she told you right before the game. I figured I’d tell you tonight when you got home.”
Dead silence on the other end of the line. “Are you okay?” I finally ask.
A moment later, I hear Jason’s choked-up voice. “Yeah.” And a sniffle. “I guess I’m crying.” And then I hear him yell to the locker room, “Nicole’s pregnant! I’m gonna be a dad again!”
And from the other end of the phone I can hear a locker room full of basketball players screaming, “Hooray!”
Fifty
Seema
“You should not be throwing a party in your condition,” Mel says to Nic, as we watch her finish frosting a chocolate cake with gobs of white buttercream.
“Women have been in my condition since … well, since there were women. I’m fine,” Nic insists, as she cleans off a white satin ribbon dangling between the two frosted layers.
Mel hands me a glass of champagne, then pours one for herself.
“You’ve got it straight this time, right?” I ask Nic dubiously, as I take a sip of my champagne.
“I have it straight,” Nic says, irritably. “Mel, you wanted the antique phone, it’s right here. Pull.”
“No, I didn’t want the antique phone,” Mel says as she pulls on a white satin ribbon and pulls out a sterling silver phone charm. “I wanted the passport.”
“But the phone means good news is coming your way,” Nic tells her.
“Not specific enough. I want the passport.”
“Fine,” Nic says, exasperated. She points to a different ribbon. “Passport’s right there.”
Mel yanks out the ribbon.
“Pull gently!” Nic admonishes. “You’re going to get the cake all messy.”
“Better the cake look messy than I get the wrong fortune again!” Mel insists.
“Was it really such a bad fortune?” I ask Mel knowingly.
Mel shyly turns away from me and shrugs. “Fair enough. But I still want the passport this time.”
As Mel carefully pushes the passport charm back in the cake, Nic points to me. “Seema, you want the baby charm, right?”
“Yes!” I say, admittedly uncharacteristically for me.
“It’s right here, under the four o’clock position from the heart cake topper,” Nic tells me.
As I pull out the baby carriage charm ( just to be sure!) Mel asks Nic, “Why do we need a cake topper?”
“It’s just another insurance policy against getting the wrong charms,” Nic says. “Not that we got the wrong charms last time, but this time I want to control my destiny a bit more. Based on the angle of the topper, I can point to each ribbon around the cake and know exactly what charm is hidden inside. Check out this ribbon. That’s mine.”
Mel pulls out a …
Actually, I have no idea. “What is that? An earring?” I ask Nic.
“No, it’s not an earring. It’s a picture frame. It means a future with a happy family.”
Can’t argue with that.
The doorbell rings. “Your guests are here,” Nic says. “Can you guys go greet them while I finish tucking these charms back in?”
“Okay,” Mel says, hopping off a seat in Nic’s kitchen to greet the guests in Nic’s front hallway. “Just remember the passport…”
“One o’clock position. After I place the topper directly in front of Seema!” Nic assures her. “Seema, you’re midnight.”
So an hour later I discover the problem with putting a cake topper on your circular cake as a marker.
If you turn the cake upside down, the cake topper looks exactly the same.
Which means the midnight position becomes the six o’clock position, and the six o’clock position becomes …
“What the Hell?” I blurt out after we have grabbed our white satin loops and pulled.
“No…” Nic groans.
“Okay,” Mel asks, upon seeing her charm. “Can we trade this time?”
ALSO BY KIM GRUENENFELDER
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Advance Praise for There’s Cake in My Future
“Charming, heartwarming, wry, and whimsical. Kim Gruenenfelder is at her very best. This is better than double chocolate fudge cake.”—Beth Kendrick, author of Second Time Around and Nearlyweds
“A delicious read! There’s Cake in My Future takes us on a great ride with characters who are easy to love. Funny and touching, Kim Gruenenfelder’s latest is her best book yet! You really can have your cake and read it, too.”—Jennifer Coburn, author of Tales from the Crib and The Wife of Reilly
“Kim Gruenenfelder has done it again! A laugh-out-loud book filled with warmth and insight, and women we can all relate to. This captivating cakewalk is not to be missed.”—Nancy Redd, New York Times bestselling author of Body Drama and Diet Drama
“A delightfully witty story about friendship and love, There’s Cake in My Future sparkles from start to finish!”—Liz Fenton, coauthor of I’ll H
ave Who She’s Having
“With sparkling dialogue and a fun-as-all-get-out story, you’ll want to grab the book, a glass of your favorite something, and settle in for a very happy night.”—Quinn Cummings, author of Notes from the Underwire
To Brian and Alex—as always
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
THERE’S CAKE IN MY FUTURE. Copyright © 2010 by Kim Gruenenfelder. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.stmartins.com
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Gruenenfelder-Smith, Kim.
There’s cake in my future / Kim Gruenenfelder. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-0-312-61459-1
1. Brides—Fiction 2. Female friendship—Fiction. 3. Magic—Fiction. I. Title.
PS3607.R72T47 2010
813'.6—dc22
2010037787
First Edition: January 2011
eISBN 978-1-4299-7341-0
First St. Martin’s Griffin eBook Edition: December 2010