Love and Cupcakes

by Susan Bishop Crispell

  ***

  It had taken Jack three days to convince her sister to go to dinner at their parents’. When Harper had finally given in with a grumbled, “Fine,” it was more out of desperation to get Jack to shut up than a desire to go. But she’d take it.

  “You look nice,” Jack said when she walked into Harper’s apartment.

  The black, three-quarter-sleeve dress hugged her curves and hit just above the knee. A lacy camisole peeked out of the deep V-neck. She hadn’t flat ironed her hair like usual so it hung in thick waves. The pink looked like a trick of the light.

  “What were you expecting? A ‘Fuck it All’ t-shirt?”

  “Well, kinda, yeah.”

  “It’s not every day you bring home a husband that no one knows about,” Harper said. “I figured it couldn’t hurt if I put in a little effort.”

  “It rarely does,” Jack said. She rotated the clasp on Harper’s necklace to the back.

  “Do you think they’ll like him?” Harper asked.

  “I’m still not sure if you like him, Harp.” Jack would’ve laughed if her sister hadn’t looked so broken. She put her arm around Harper’s shoulders and squeezed. Resting her forehead against Harper’s, she said, “Of course they’ll like him. I already told Daddy he would, so I think he’ll try. And Mama will, too.”

  “Please help me keep Hutton from—”

  The heavy knock on the door reverberated inside the apartment. Neither one made a move to answer it. It sounded again, a little faster, a little nervous.

  “We’d better get a move on,” Jack said.

  The second she was alone in the car with Harper and Mason, she wished she had taken Graham up on his offer to join the dinner party. The tension was suffocating. It pressed against the windows and seatbacks, filling every spare inch of space like toxic gas. Her lungs ached with the effort to not make a sound. Maybe if she pretended she wasn’t there, they would too.

  She could hear every intake of breath, each uncomfortable shift of weight on the backseat. Song lyrics rolled around in her head. They combined and tangled, creating bizarre mash-ups of hard rock and folk, rap and pop alternative. Anything to take her mind off of the silence radiating from the car’s other two occupants.

  When they arrived at her parents’, she led them up the sidewalk. Light spilled out of the windows and cast shadows on the lawn. The night was cool and clear. She took a deep breath and prayed they’d make it through the evening unscathed. Harper’s heels echoed on the stones behind her.

  Jack opened the door, and Harper whispered, “Last chance.”

  “Hello,” Jack called.

  Her parents walked down the hall hand in hand. They exchanged a worried look before their Southern manners kicked in.

  Jack gave them an extra squeeze when she hugged them.

  “Mama, Daddy, this is Mason Shaw,” Harper said. She put her hand on his arm.

  Mason returned the hug from her mom and handled what looked to be a death-grip handshake from her dad. He gave a half smile and said, “I’m sorry we haven’t met before.”

  The unspoken words hung in the air between them.

  “Well, you’re here now,” her dad said. “C’mon in, sit down.”

  They sat around the living room, everyone stiff and on edge. Jack eyed the white wine chilling on the bar and considered if it would be rude to start drinking that early.

  Backs straight, hands clasped politely in their laps, her parents exchanged a conspiratorial look.

  “So, you’re in a band?” her mom asked. She gave Mason a hesitant smile.

  Mason leaned back on the love seat, tried to relax. “Yes, ma’am. I’m the bassist and lead vocals. I also work for a home builder making custom cabinetry.”

  “And your boss and band mates are okay with you taking some time off?” her dad asked.

  “They know Harper comes first,” he answered. He put his hand on her knee, but she shifted away from him.

  Jack caught her sister’s eye, a silent be nice.

  “Mama,” Harper said, “I was telling Mason about the updates you wanted to make to the pantry. He had some ideas about what you could do to maximize the space.”

  “I made a few sketches I can leave with you. Just to give your cabinet guy a few options to start from.”

  Her mom smiled and stood. “Do you mind showing me what you’re thinking, Mason? It looks like we’ll have a few minutes before Hutton and Aria get here.”

  Mason looked at Harper, who got up to follow her mom. “Sure,” he said.

  When Jack could hear them talking in the kitchen, she slipped off her shoes and tucked her legs under her on the wingback chair. She traced the metal rivets along the front of the armrest.

  “He certainly looks like your sister’s type,” her dad said. He stood and walked to the bar. Holding up the wine, he gestured to her.

  She nodded. “You know you’d be disappointed if she brought home some boy in a three-piece suit.”

  “Only ’cause she wouldn’t be happy with that.” He handed her a glass and took a sip of his own. “Just like you wouldn’t be happy with someone who couldn’t bake you cupcakes.”

  “You can’t help what you love,” she said.

  “Or who,” he added.

  ***

  They’d all moved into the kitchen, where it was less formal, and were spread out at the table and island when Hutton and Aria arrived. If Jack had thought the ride down there had been tense, it was nothing compared to the silence that gripped the room when her brother and sister-in-law walked in. She counted the slow tick, tick, tick of the grandfather clock.

  Aria made her way around the room, hugging and kissing everyone, including Mason. Hutton managed to say hi to his parents.

  “Let’s eat before it gets cold,” Doug said.

  Jack squeezed in on the side of the table with Harper and Mason. The tension in the room was palpable, as if it were something that they could pass around with the bowls of au gratin potatoes and honey-glazed chicken. Spoons scraped and forks clanked as they filled their plates.

  Jack smiled when Mason handed her a biscuit. “Thanks.”

  Hutton kicked her under the table. He jerked his head for her to move over to his side.

  She rolled her eyes at him. “Don’t you think that would be a little obvious?” she whispered.

  “What?” Harper asked.

  “Nothing,” Hutton grumbled.

  Charlotte silenced him with an unspoken threat. Lips pressed into a firm line and one eyebrow cocked so far it was almost lost in her side-swept bangs, she simply waited for Hutton to look up and notice. When he did, her face melted into a puddle of calm again. She picked up her fork and started eating as if Hutton had been no more of a nuisance than a fly.

  “So, Harp said y’all have names picked out already?” Mason asked.

  Though the question was directed at Hutton, Aria answered. “Right now we’re leaning toward Timothy Shawn.”

  “Family names?” he asked.

  “Sort of,” she said. She rubbed her hand along Hutton’s back. A few back-and-forth swipes in an attempt, Jack knew, to calm her husband down.

  “She lost a bet to a co-worker and now has to name her firstborn after him. Hutton is a little resistant,” Jack clarified. She chanced a smile at her sister-in-law, knowing the topic was a taboo one on the best of days. In Hutton’s current mood, he very well may take someone’s head off.

  Better mine than Mason’s.

  “Kid’ll have a hell of a story to tell if you go through with it,” Mason said.

  Hutton glared at him. “Oh yeah, that’s a great reason to pick a name for our son.”

  “That’s not what I meant, dude.”

  “‘Dude’? That’s mature.” Hutton pushed away from the table, shaking glasses and plates so they clinked together like a miniature orchestra. His chair scraped against the floor.

  Jack stilled her wine glass so it didn’t slosh over the rim.

  Harper opened her mouth,
but whether she was going to snap at him or apologize, Jack didn’t know. She ended up doing neither and just watched Hutton leave.

  They sat in silence, trying not to look at one another. After another couple of minutes, Jack excused herself and followed her brother out.

  The porch swing creaked in the dark. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust. Hutton sat, arms crossed over his chest, pushing the swing back and forth. They had always been allowed to storm off, but in the Pace household no one was allowed to completely leave before an argument was done. Not even growing up and moving out could affect that particular rule.

  Hutton would talk when he was ready. And she would wait it out with him. She didn’t ask to sit, just plopped down, throwing his steady momentum off balance, then matched her kicks to his and rocked gently back and forth.

  The freesia at the base of the porch released their sweet scent into the dark. The petals stood out against the dark foliage in the pale output from the solar lights that lined the front walk. She listened to the cicadas sing their nightly opus. And she waited.

  “You’re not gonna make me feel better,” he said.

  “Who said I wanted to?”

  “I know you.”

  “Then you should know that I’m not exactly thrilled that our little sister got married and didn’t bother to tell us,” she said.

  “You hide it well.”

  Jack rested her head on his shoulder as much to seek comfort as to give it. “Did you know he thought I was a boy? Before he showed up to win her back, Mason thought she had two brothers. If she doesn’t care enough to talk about me a sufficient amount so that the man she married knows I’m a girl, why should I be surprised that she got married without my knowledge?

  “Hutt, I know it’s different with you because you’ve always been her favorite, but at the core Harper does what makes Harper happy. And if the rest of us fit into that, then great. If not, we don’t exist. Welcome to my world,” she said.

  She tucked one leg under her and continued to toe the floor with the other. After a few back and forths, they regained a steady motion.

  “I always just figured I’d be friends with the guy she married, you know?” he said. “That we’d have at least something in common other than her.”

  Jack sighed and slipped her hand from his. Crossing her arms over her chest, she didn’t respond.

  “Do you think she loves him?” Hutton asked.

  “No idea,” she said. “But if she does, you’re not going to change that. No matter how much you want to.”

  She waited for him to argue. When he stayed silent, she pushed up from the swing and walked back inside without looking back at him.

  sixteen

  She didn’t notice him at first. Even with the sunlight streaming in the doorway behind Graham, Jack and Harper didn’t look up. Their shrieks of laughter as they squirted icing at each other ricocheted off the walls.

  Graham watched them, transfixed.

  “Hey. Sorry,” Jack said. “Harp was showing me how to ice the cupcakes so I can help out some with the Twilight job.”

  “I can see that. Little tip: Next time, you might want to get more on the cupcakes than in your hair.” He reached out and ran his fingers through the dark strands now streaked with pale purple. “Don’t move. You’ll make me get it everywhere.”

  Jack stood frozen in place, not meeting his eyes.

  Graham grabbed a rag and wiped his fingers on it before removing a smear of icing from her temple. He let his hand linger. Trailing his thumb down her jaw, he cupped her face to make her look at him. Her breath hitched and her eyes fluttered closed. Her skin warmed at his touch.

  “I hate to interrupt, but y’all are gonna have to move a little faster than that if you’re gonna make it to the Capps’ rehearsal dinner in an hour,” Harper said.

  Graham pulled his hand away, but didn’t take his eyes off Jack.

  Free from his hold, she took a step back and bumped into the sink. “I think you should take the delivery with him,” she said.

  “No, you should—” Harper started.

  “Harp, please,” Jack said. Her voice was whisper quiet. She didn’t wait for a response.

  Graham watched her walk out front. Her footsteps were soft on the stairs then faded to nothing.

  Harper patted his cheek. “Lemme go get cleaned up and we can go.”

  Soaking the towel he still held, he wiped the splatters from the table. He scrubbed at a caked on spot, expelling his frustration in quick, harsh movements. Every time he talked himself into believing he could have a life with Jack, he seemed to push her farther away. He looked up, debating going upstairs and forcing Jack to talk to him. To tell him what had happened in the past few days to make her put this distance between them again.

  “So that was interesting,” Harper said when she walked back in a minute later.

  His back stiffened as the frustration knotted itself in his shoulders. “Don’t start, Harp,” Graham grumbled.

  She smiled at him, all innocence and charm. “What? I’m not allowed to comment on the fact that you and my sister just nearly burned down the damn kitchen from one little touch? I’m kinda impressed. I was beginning to worry that you two were never going to get there.”

  “We’re not there. In case you didn’t notice, she basically just ran away from me.” He pressed his fist into the tabletop, and his knuckles cracked. Stepping back, he let out a ragged breath. “Hell, at this point, I can’t even blame her. Who knows if being together is what’s best for either of us.”

  “For what it’s worth, I think y’all would be really good together,” she said.

  “Yeah, well that makes one of you.”

  “What are you talking about? My sister has been stupid-crazy for you for years. And if you tell her I told you that I will beat you senseless, got it?”

  Graham nodded.

  “And anyway, who cares about some stupid myth? I mean, that is what this is about, right?” Harper didn’t wait for him to respond. “That’s what you and Jack never seem to get. It doesn’t matter what other people think or expect from you. If you’re not doing things that will make you happy, what’s the point in living?”

  Picking up two boxes of wedding cupcakes waiting to be loaded into the back of his truck, Graham crossed the room and popped a kiss on the top of Harper’s head. “Thanks. I needed that,” he said.

  “I know,” she said. She opened the door for him and glared at the boxes left on the table. “Is this how you plan on transporting the Twilight cupcakes? ’Cause I’m telling you now that once I put them together, we’re not taking them apart just to move and redo it all.”

  Graham paused just outside the door. The sun was warm on his back. “Believe me, I don’t want to do it any more than you do. We’ll figure something out.”

  “I might have a solution.”

  “You’re all sorts of helpful today, aren’t you, Harp?”

  She glared at him before pulling a crumpled napkin out of her pocket. She flattened it on the top box, pressing harder than she needed to so Graham’s grip slipped. He readjusted his hands and hefted the boxes a few inches higher. She kept her hand on the paper as it fluttered in the breeze.

  “Mason could build some rolling carts for you. This is just one idea, but you can see these have hinged sides that would go flat so once we moved them into position, we could push them together to form one big table.”

  Studying the rough pen strokes, he considered. “That could work. But can Mason actually build them?” he asked.

  “When he’s not on stage, he’s a finish carpenter,” Harper interjected. The flush of pride made her face glow. “Usually it’s built-ins and bars and china cabinets. But cool rolling tables that make my life easier work, too.”

  “Seems like somebody needs to take her own advice and be with the person who makes her happy.”

  “Sometimes it’s not that simple,” she said, her smile gone.

  “Tell me about it,” G
raham agreed.

  ***

  With the girls off taking a delivery to a wedding, Graham was left on customer detail. It wasn’t so bad with Mason hanging around the shop though. They talked music and video games, raved about Harper’s designs, and invented new recipes to complement specific music styles.

  “Death Metal Dark Chocolate would be 80 percent dark cocoa with a dash of coffee grounds mixed in for a little extra jolt,” Graham said, as he wiped down the display case with glass cleaner and a coffee filter.

  Mason was perched on the front counter, facing the door. “I like it. What about Pop Country as a vanilla-bourbon with a mint leaf on top,” Mason countered.

  “I haven’t tried bourbon. Could work.”

  “I’m telling you, we could make a killing with these. We’ve got to write them down.” He grabbed a napkin and started scribbling.

  Though it started as a joke, Graham was half tempted to try them.

  Both of their heads popped up when the front door opened.

  The guy who entered was sickly thin. He wore a tight gray tee and skinny, black jeans that tapered down to show off plain black Converse. His forearms were covered in tattoos. The half sleeves were comprised of Day of the Dead–type skulls in bright blues, purples, grays, and reds. They laughed as he lifted his arm in greeting.

  “Seriously, dude. You bailed on us for fucking cupcakes?” he said. His voice was hard, but held a hint of humor. His face tensed as he tried not to smile.

  “I’m here for my wife. The cupcakes are just a bonus,” Mason said.

  Graham started filling the case while the two men clasped hands and bumped chests in a one-armed hug.

  “Graham, this is Mal, my lead guitarist and best friend since boarding school. Mal, Graham is my quasi-brother-in-law and kick-ass culinary genius.”

  Mason’s description made Graham feel more like the rockers they were than the guy who made pastries for a living. “Hey, man,” he said and shook Mal’s hand.