“We’re going to have about four hundred people. Between my guest list and my fiancé’s, it feels like we’re inviting half the town!” Her laugh bubbled out and echoed in the room.
Jack estimated the profit from a job of that size and mentally gave herself a high five. It was exactly the type of job the shop needed to survive. She smiled at the bride and said, “Not a problem. Do you want to split the flavors fifty-fifty or do more of the tiramisu?”
“Split evenly, I think.”
“All right.” She jotted down the quantity and selected flavors on the order form. “And when is it?”
The bride tugged and twisted her necklace so the gold pendant zipped back and forth on the chain. “The tenth,” she said.
“Of?” Jack asked.
“April.”
“As in next month?”
“I know it’s super-short notice. But my sister-in-law’s friend is a baker in Atlanta and she was going to do our cakes, but she broke her collarbone last week and had to back out. We’re in a bind, Jack. We’ll pay a rush fee or whatever you want. Just please say you can do it.”
“Of course we can,” Jack assured her.
By the time the bride left, a migraine had formed in the base of her neck. The pain licked its way up until even her eyes throbbed. She massaged her temples. That’s the fifth one I should’ve turned down this month. But we need the income. How am I supposed to stay in business if I can’t actually do business? She winced at having to tell Graham what their workload would look like for the next few weeks.
She just hoped the added fee would keep Graham from stabbing her with a spatula when she did.
Drumming her fingers up and down her neck as the headache continued to pulse, she calculated the hours of work ahead. When Harper walked in a few minutes later, Jack tried, and failed, to muster a smile. They hadn’t talked since Harper had moved in. In fact, hearing Harper’s footsteps upstairs was the first sign she’d had that her sister was even staying in the apartment.
“Hey,” Jack said.
Harper glanced at the stairs but stopped. “You’re here late.”
“Busy day. And they’re just gonna get busier.” She looked down at the numbers she’d crunched for the umpteenth time. She estimated close to three hundred hours of work over the next month. Sighing, she pushed the paper away.
Not knowing what else to say, she stayed quiet.
The scent of warm chocolate chip cookies was so immediate—so real—that Jack turned to see if she’d somehow missed Graham coming in with a new recipe. It took a second for the situation to dawn on her.
Harper used to like to test her, see how far her ability would work. One day in middle school, the desire for a chocolate chip cookie was so strong, Jack’s stomach growled and the whole class turned to find the source. She clutched her stomach. It gurgled again.
When she’d looked out the window, Harper had been sitting on top of a picnic table on the elementary school playground that separated their two schools. She was so still, if Jack didn’t know any better, she might have thought Harper had fallen asleep.
Jack ripped a piece of paper from her notebook, scribbled the word cookies in thick, black ink and tossed the paper out the open window before her teacher could see. She didn’t watch to see Harper run over and retrieve it. But when she turned back a few minutes later, there was a chocolate chip cookie sitting on top of the note.
She looked at her sister across the counter from her and wondered if Harper was remembering that day, too. “Sorry, we don’t do cookies,” she said.
Harper smiled at her. “Just checking.”
Jack returned the smile and offered a chocolate chip cupcake instead.
Harper peeled the lining from the cupcake and said, “Some days while I was gone, I used to think about wanting a bowl of ice cream or donut or something; anything really. I’d sit there and literally concentrate on it for twenty, thirty minutes as hard as I could to see if you’d pick it up.”
“I think a hundred miles is a little too far,” Jack said.
“Yeah, I guess.” She all but purred her enjoyment as she took another bite. “So what’s got you so busy?”
“A whole lot of large, we-want-it-now jobs and not enough hands. But I can’t seem to make myself say no.”
“I could help out a little here and there if you needed me to,” Harper said. “Figuring out the flavors and running the cash register can’t be that hard. And I could probably manage a whisk now and again.”
Jack toed a sticky spot on the floor. “I appreciate it, but Graham and I’ll figure something out.”
“But you need help. And I need a job. Sounds like a no-brainer to me.”
“Sounds like a recipe for disaster to me. You’d be miserable with me telling you what to do all the time.”
“Yeah, but I’m used to that.”
“I’m sorry, Harp. We need someone who knows how to bake and can handle customer service. I don’t think that’s you.”
Harper shoved off the counter and squared her shoulders. Her face set in tight lines, she looked ready for a fight. “Oh, well, at least you’re honest.”
“I didn’t mean that. It’s just—”
“No. I get it. I’m not good for a damn thing. What else is new?”
As her sister stomped up the stairs, Jack replayed the conversation trying to see what she’d said that could’ve been construed into Harper being worthless. She came up empty. So much for the brief moment of bonding. She rolled her neck from side to side to ease the tension, which roared back in full force.
***
“How’s the oven?” Thalia asked. “I’m guessing since I haven’t seen you that all is well this week?”
“Week’s not over yet,” Graham said, cradling the phone between his shoulder and ear as he removed two trays from the oven and set them on the table to cool. “But the latest fix seems to be holding for now.”
“Good. But I have to admit it was nice having you around the kitchen again. You and your un-ruffleable feathers have a very calming effect. I think it gave my staff boss-envy.”
“How’s that?”
“My restaurant might be named Zen, but I yell a lot. Sometimes in Korean. I can’t help it.”
“Oh, I remember,” Graham said, laughing. “You were also pretty messy, too, always spilling sauces and dropping your glasses or spoons or hunks of meat into pans so that whatever you were making splashed out onto whomever was working next to you.”
“Yeah, I haven’t grown out of that, either. Most of my staff are used to me and have stopped cringing by now. But I think some of them were shocked to see that it was possible to be in a kitchen and not only not be yelling, but actually having fun.”
“If I had to do what you do day in and day out, I wouldn’t be in a good mood, either.”
“That’s the thing though. I love what I do. It just doesn’t always love me.”
“Tell me about it,” Graham said.
“We should do it again sometime,” Thalia said.
“If my oven craps out on me again, you’ll be the first person I call.”
He heard the hesitation on the other end of the line. A slight hitch of breath. Something about it made him nervous.
Graham twirled the whisk through the vanilla icing to re-soften it. It was thick and formed peaks when he dipped the whisk in and out as the silence stretched on.
A light tapping echoed through the phone, like she was tapping her nails against the hard plastic of the phone. “Okay. You know what? I’m just going to go for it. I’ll put it out there and see where the chips fall, as they say. What’s the worst that can happen, right?”
Not sure if she was actually talking to him or just thinking out loud, he waited.
Thalia sighed into the receiver. “Okay. When I said we should do it again, what I really meant was that I’m launching a bakery to go along with the cafe. I’m looking at moving into this new development where we’ll have a higher profile and a wider cli
entele and Zen can really take off. But to make that happen I need someone who can bake better than God. Naturally you were my first—and let’s be honest, only—choice.”
The air in the kitchen turned thick. It tickled his throat and thrummed in his ears. He thought he heard the floorboards creak in the front room, but when he turned to look, it was dark and empty. He coughed to force the air out.
“You want me to come work for you?” he asked.
“We’ll work out terms and you can be a partial owner, at least of the bakery, if you want. I’ll give you free rein—well, mostly free rein—in the bakery. I’d want you to run the flavor combinations by me first, but other than that I trust you to do whatever you want. So yeah, you should work for me.”
“I have a job. And a bakery that I already partially own.”
“In some no-name town where your talents are wasted, frankly, with an oven you can’t rely on. I can give you stability and exposure. I can give you a line of credit to buy five of the ovens you want.”
Graham rolled his shoulders. The attempt to relieve the tension only knotted the muscles more. “I don’t need five ovens, Thalia.” Though he had to admit the ability to just go out and buy one without jumping through financial hoops would be a nice change of pace.
“You know what I mean. Please just think about it.”
“Do you really think cupcakes go with Asian-Southern fusion?” he asked in lieu of answering.
“Done the way I’d want to do them, yes. They’ll be irresistible, Graham. We’ll start a culinary revolution. How can you pass that up?” Thalia’s quick laugh radiated victory.
“I’ve got to give it to you, you’ve got one hell of a pitch,” he admitted. He traded the whisk for a spatula and a cupcake from a batch that had already cooled. “If I was looking for something new—and I’m not saying that I am—it would be very hard to turn down.”
“Then I’ll take it as a challenge to find a way to change your mind.”
“I wish you wouldn’t,” he said.
He hung up, wondering if there was anything she could offer him to make him leave. Minus the shitty secondhand oven, Crumbs had everything he needed and everyone he wanted. He looked up as someone moved in the shadows up front. For a second he thought that just thinking about Jack had made her appear. Then Harper’s pink hair caught the light as she walked into the kitchen and spoiled the image.
“Please tell me that wasn’t what I think it was,” Harper said. Her hair hung in loose pigtails. She scrubbed her hands over her face and glared at him. Still in her pajama pants and an oversized tee, she picked up the whisk from the counter and wagged it at him.
Graham tucked his phone into his back pocket and shrugged at her. “It wasn’t,” he said.
“Don’t lie to me.” She poked the end of the whisk hard into his shoulder, digging the arched metal into the fabric of his shirt. It left a white smear of half-dried icing when she pulled it away to gesture at him again. “Were you just talking to someone about a new job?”
He gripped the handle and yanked it out of her hand. “No,” he said. The thought of it getting back to Jack in some bastardized form had him rushing to explain. “Not on purpose anyway. A friend of mine is expanding her cafe and wants to add a bakery. While she’s a genius with most food, she’s not exactly good with pastries. We were just talking.”
Setting the whisk on the table, he turned away from her to the icing. He mixed in the pink coloring by hand, folding it in until the color was even and bright. He filled the piping bag and started on the first one as the silence dragged on. He kept his focus away from Harper, hoping she’d get the hint.
Harper pushed up on the opposite counter to watch him. After a moment, she asked, “Does Jack know?”
“Do you really think that out of the two of us I’m the one who’s going to hurt her?”
“Isn’t that what you think?” Harper countered.
The difference is, I’m doing everything I can not to. Shaking his head, he said, “I don’t mean this as harsh as it’s going to sound, but you don’t even act like you like Jack half the time. Why do you care if I tell her about Thalia or not?”
“She’s my sister, Graham. No matter how much she annoys me—and believe me, she drives me bat-shit crazy some days—I’m not going to let anyone fuck with her. Not even you.”
“Trust me, that’s the last thing I want to do,” he said.
***
By the time Saturday night rolled around, Jack was worn out. She was snuggled on the couch watching a show, which she’d recorded during the week, when Hutton called.
“We’re swinging by to get Harp in twenty. If you want we can get you, too,” he said.
It took a few seconds for Harper’s welcome-home dinner to register.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Jack said, rolling off the couch. She grabbed for the remote and fumbled with the buttons until she silenced it. She blinked in the darkness.
“I take it you forgot?”
The dinner had been rescheduled twice before falling off Jack’s radar altogether. “I kinda lost track of the time or day or something.” She pulled her damp hair out of a ponytail as she maneuvered down the hallway. She scooped up jeans and a shirt from the dresser while her brother laughed.
“Want us to come get you?” Hutton asked.
She tugged her shirt on one sleeve at a time, transferring the phone between hands so as not to interrupt the conversation. Her hair slapped against her back. The wet soaked through the thin cotton within seconds. “No. I’ll just meet you there,” she said.
They were all in the kitchen when she got to her parents’ forty-five minutes later. She set a bakery box on the counter. The room smelled like wine and grease and rosemary. It was warm from baking and the mass of bodies crammed into the small, enclosed space. Jack itched to open a window.
Doug Pace stood over the stove stirring the contents of a quart-sized pot. He pulled one hand through the air, wafting the steam toward his face. He breathed in and nodded to himself. When he looked up, his wire rimmed glasses were foggy. He rubbed them with the hem of his shirt.
“I think it’s about ready,” he announced to the room. He spotted Jack watching from the doorway. “Hey, sweetie.”
“Hi, Daddy.” She walked in and hugged him. “Smells amazing, Mama,” she said over his shoulder.
“Hey, now,” her dad protested. He tugged on her ponytail before releasing her.
As much as he loved food, her dad couldn’t follow a recipe to save his life. Not that he hadn’t tried, to disastrous results. After he made a chicken and pasta dish that shared more chemical properties with pepper spray than edible food, he wasn’t allowed to do much more than stir, strain, or remove a dish from the oven.
“That hurts, kiddo,” he said.
Jack stepped out of the way as her mom set a sizzling roast on the stovetop. The grease spit and popped in the pan. A few specs landed on the mosaic glass tile backsplash. The crisp greens, watery blues, and clear rectangular tiles were now dotted with russet speckles. A few spots oozed down the wall, leaving a dark trail in their wake. Her dad wiped them away with a sponge.
Her mom leaned in and kissed her cheek. “I know you’re still not on board with your sister being back, but would it have hurt you to have been on time?”
She stepped back from her mom and the reproach. “I’m sorry. I didn’t do it on purpose,” she whispered.
“Can you please just try to get along for one night?”
A crackle of grease popped out of the pan and burned her wrist. She pressed a thumb against the angry red dot that appeared. She wanted to defend herself. To remind them all that she was the good daughter, who always did what she was told and didn’t complain or whine or completely ignore everyone until she got her way. She held her tongue and settled for nodding her agreement.
Jack moved to the island with her siblings, who were having a sword fight with carrot sticks. Despite the savory scents of the beef and roasted vegetables
, she smelled carrot cake. The spark of ginger and cinnamon tickled her nose. “Where’s Aria?” she asked.
“Bathroom. I’ve learned if I ever lose track of her, that’s where she is.” Distracted, Hutton fumbled his carrot. It dropped to the floor and rolled under the refrigerator. He picked another one from the bowl and started dueling again.
As if on cue, Aria shuffled into the room. At seven months pregnant, she was all baby. Her heart-shaped face had rounded out some, but otherwise the only weight she’d gained was right in front. She didn’t just glow. She radiated happiness. She’d pulled her inky hair away from her neck and bundled it into a knot with a rubber hair band she had coiled on her thumb.
Jack pointed to the cupcake box she’d set on the counter. “I brought extra.”
Aria kissed her lightly on the cheek. “You are a saint,” she said, half laughing.
Hutton claimed victory over Harper with a booming shout. He tossed a carrot stick to Jack. It hit her on the arm and landed on the floor with a dull smack.
“No time for a rematch,” her dad said. “Dinner’s ready.”
He handed everyone but Aria a plate or bowl and herded them into the dining room. They all took their places around the table, except Harper. Growing up, she had shared a side with Hutton. Now Aria sat in her place.
Jack motioned toward the empty seat beside her. “You won’t be stuck with me forever,” she said when Harper sat. “When you bring a husband home we’ll rearrange again.” Harper stiffened beside her.
The mahogany table gleamed in the low light. Her mom had set out the good china—white with a silver leaf pattern. It wasn’t the full setting. Just the plates. Jack traced the chain of leaves that bordered the rim.
Bowls and plates were passed and filled. Silverware clinked with a high pitched trilling as it scraped up bits of roast beef and mashed potatoes and then plopped them down on the plates.
“Do you girls see much of each other around the shop?” her dad asked.
“I barely even know she’s there,” Jack said.
“I’ll work on that,” Harper said.
Love and Cupcakes Page 6