Frosted Kisses

by Heather Hepler

  “Ice cream,” I confirm.

  “Mint chocolate chip.”

  “Nice.” I shake my head. “Anyway,” I prompt.

  “It went well,” Tally says. “Or at least it will.”

  “Can you please stop talking in code?” I ask, exasperated.

  “I’m trying to tell you,” she says.

  “Well, try harder,” I say.

  “A few weeks ago, Poppy got the letter you saw. It was from my father’s attorney.” She frowns. “Basically it just meant that my father didn’t want to be my father anymore.”

  I nod. Even though I’ve had days to think about it, I’m still no closer to knowing what to say. “I’m sorry,” I say finally.

  “Yeah,” she says. “It stinks.” Tally kicks the ground with her sneakers, but not in an angry way. Just a sort of sad way like she’s trying to kick away the hurt. Then she looks at me. “That’s why I was acting so squirrelly and angry.”

  “I’m pretty sure that would make anyone act squirrelly and angry,” I say. “But you got ice cream,” I add.

  “Because there’s good news,” she says. “Since my dad doesn’t want to be my dad any longer, it means I can be adopted.”

  “Oh,” I say, still wondering where the ice cream is.

  “Poppy wants to adopt me.”

  “Wow,” I say.

  Tally grins at me. “The other day when I wasn’t in school, I had to go in front of a judge and tell her I wanted to be adopted by Poppy. Then your mom had to go and talk to her about whether she thought Poppy would be a good parent for me.”

  “Wow! Poppy would be a great parent,” I say. “Holy wow!” I stare out at the dancing polar bears. Then I look back at Tally. “This is huge,” I say, throwing an arm around her.

  She laughs. “Yeah, I got that.”

  A family climbs out of their car and is taking photos in front of Gram’s house. “You know,” I say. “You could have talked to me about all of this.”

  “I guess I was embarrassed,” Tally says. “I’m not sure what it says about a person when neither of her parents wants her.” Then she nudges me. “Besides,” she says. “It’s not like you were telling me everything either.”

  “Mean girls and boy drama aren’t in the same realm as what you’ve been going through,” I say.

  “What about your dad and Thanksgiving?” Tally asks.

  “Oh,” I say. “That.” I sigh. “It’s not the same.”

  Tally shakes her head. “Poppy told me that comparing pain is the old no shoes–no feet argument.”

  “I have no idea what that means,” I say.

  “It means that pain is pain. And there will always be someone hurting more and someone hurting less.” Tally shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket. “What about Marcus?” she asks.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “Dutch says I should tell him I’m sorry.”

  Tally nods. “Sorry goes a long way.”

  “Maybe not far enough,” I say.

  “You know,” Tally says. “This could all have been a lot easier if we had just talked to each other.”

  “You think?” I ask, bumping her with my shoulder. “So what now?” I ask.

  “The judge said it will take a while to be official, but that she doesn’t see any reason why our application will be denied.”

  “Wow,” I say again.

  “I know!” Tally says, grinning at me. The wind blows, sending the bells on the reindeer jingling. The snow globe starts playing “Jingle Bells.” The lights blink in time to the music.

  “My grandmother is so weird,” I say.

  “Not any weirder than Poppy. She said she’s going to have everyone over for dinner as soon as everything is official.”

  “Green?” I ask. “Or purple?” I’m imagining green bread or purple cake.

  “Neither,” Tally says. “She wants to throw a dark dinner.”

  “Dark?”

  “As in pitch-black.”

  “Well, that should be interesting,” I say. Marcus’s dad starts warming up on his bagpipes. I sigh. “I need to talk to Marcus. And then there’s Esmeralda and Charity—”

  “You worry about Marcus,” Tally says. “I’ll take care of Esmeralda and Charity.”

  “Can’t you talk to Marcus?” I ask.

  “Uh, no,” Tally says.

  “So, what did you come up with for the Evil Twins?” I ask.

  “I’ll tell you tomorrow at the pancake breakfast.” She stands up and pulls me up with her. “I need to borrow the projector you and your grandmother made.”

  I go in and retrieve the camera and come out and hand it to Tally. She’s off the porch and headed toward home before I can ask any more questions.

  I frown at the flock of festive flamingos. As horrible as Charity and Esmeralda are, I actually would rather deal with them than talk to Marcus. But then I remember Dutch’s advice. I just need to apologize and try to make it right. “Easy for you to say,” I tell the nearest flamingo. He just keeps looking at me with his big goofy smile. So not helping. I decide the flamingos have helped me as much as they can and I head inside.

  * * *

  Gram wakes me even before it’s light out. “Dutch is here. He said that people are already lining up for the Pudding Plunge.”

  I squint at the clock. “But it doesn’t start for four hours.” I sit up and swing my legs out from under the quilt. It’s cold. I can’t even imagine how cold the pudding is. “Is Mom still here?” I ask.

  “She’s already left for the bakery,” she says. “Come on,” she adds, handing me a sweatshirt. “I’ve got breakfast downstairs.” She walks to the door and then turns one last time to make sure I’m up. “You might want to brush your teeth,” she says cryptically on the way out of my room.

  I climb out of bed and pull on the sweatshirt. Then I creep to the top of the stairs and peer down, but I can’t see anything. I tiptoe down a couple of steps and try again, but from this angle I can only see the refrigerator. Gram’s suggestion that I brush my teeth hints that Dutch isn’t the only one at breakfast, but from what I can see, there’s no one else here. I hear Gram talking to someone in the kitchen. I step down the last few stairs. Gram walks to the dining room table carrying a plate of biscuits. Dutch is right behind her with a plate full of scrambled eggs. I shake my head. I’m sure Dutch couldn’t care less what I look like first thing in the morning. On the way to the kitchen, I redo my ponytail to get my hair out of my eyes. I step into the warmth of the kitchen.

  “Morning,” I say.

  Dutch looks up at me and smiles. “Good morning,” he says.

  “Hi, Penny,” a voice says from behind me. I close my eyes. Are you kidding me? This is twice he’s seen me in my pajamas. I open my eyes and see Gram shaking her head. She did warn me. Sort of.

  “Hi, Marcus,” I say, turning to look at him. He’s carrying a plate full of bacon in one hand and a jug of orange juice in the other. Even though he’s just wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, he looks amazing. As usual. He gives me a tentative smile. Of course he does. Last time he saw me I was covered in syrup and freaking out. Marcus walks over to the table, puts down the food he’s carrying, and sits. Gram pats the bench beside her. I walk over and sit, wishing I’d taken her advice to get cleaned up a bit.

  Dutch picks up a biscuit and places it on his plate. “So …” he says. Gram shakes her head at him. “What?” he asks. Gram passes Dutch the eggs. He spoons some onto his plate and then passes them to Marcus.

  “Why don’t we go eat in the living room,” Gram says to Dutch.

  He looks from me to Marcus and nods. “Good idea.” Dutch grabs one more biscuit before they head into the living room, leaving me and Marcus alone at the table. I straighten my napkin on my lap. Then I look up.

  “I’m sorry,” I say. The weird thing is that Marcus says the same thing at the exact same time.

  “Why are you sorry?” I ask.

  “I should have told you.”

  I shake
my head. “You don’t owe me any explanation,” I say.

  “Well, you’re going to get one anyway,” Marcus says. “My mom’s birthday was three days after Thanksgiving.” Marcus leans back and looks out the window. “It’s only the second one since she died,” he said. “I thought it would be easier than last year, but it wasn’t. It was harder.” He frowns. “Last year I was just so angry and my dad was just, well, he was gone. This year—” He shakes his head and sighs. He doesn’t say it out loud, but maybe it’s sort of like how I’ve been feeling about my dad. I was in denial about how much he was hurting me for so long. Now that I’m admitting it to myself, it’s hard to know what to do with it all.

  Marcus looks at me and I can see the pain in his eyes. Usually he seems so solid and okay that it’s easy to forget how much he must be hurting. “Pat’s Pizza was my mom’s all-time favorite. So my dad and I decided to go there. I guess to just remember.” He smiles a little, but it’s sad. “We got her favorite pizza: anchovies, tomatoes, and mushrooms.” I make a face, which makes him laugh. “Yeah, the pizza was gross, but it was great just being with my dad.” He looks back out at the ocean just visible in the morning light. “Afterward while I was standing outside waiting for my dad to pay, it just hit me that my mom’s really gone.” Marcus looks at me. “I ran into Charity and I guess she could tell I was off. And she gave me a hug. That was it.”

  “I shouldn’t have doubted you,” I say. And I shouldn’t have acted so mental, I think.

  “Blake told me about Esmeralda,” he says. He shakes his head. “That was an awkward conversation.”

  “I’ll bet,” I say.

  “She’s just jealous of you.”

  I laugh. “I don’t think so,” I say.

  He shrugs. I can’t imagine what would make him say that. Esmeralda is sophisticated and beautiful and exotic. Everything that I’m not. Marcus reaches for my hand. “Are we okay?” he asks.

  “We’re good,” I say. He gives my hand one more squeeze and then eats a forkful of eggs. I put some jam on my biscuit and take a bite.

  “Don’t fill up too much,” he says. “There will be pancakes later.”

  “A lot of them?” I ask, smiling.

  “All you can eat,” he says.

  “As long as they don’t have bananas in them,” I say.

  “What do you have against bananas?” he asks.

  “Nothing,” I say. “I just don’t think they belong with pancakes.”

  “What about blueberries?” he asks.

  I shrug. “I can take or leave blueberries,” I say.

  “Raisins?”

  “Ew,” I say. “Who puts raisins in their pancakes?”

  “I’ve been known to put raisins in my pancakes,” Marcus says.

  “They’re just rotten grapes,” I say.

  “Dried grapes,” Marcus says.

  “Whatever,” I say. “They’re still gross.” Marcus laughs at the face I make. “I’m serious,” I say.

  “I know,” Marcus says. “I’ve just never seen someone so passionately against raisins. What about carrot cake? Raisins or no?”

  “Ew. No,” I say.

  “Cinnamon raisin bread?”

  “No.”

  “I’m sensing a trend here.”

  “Nothing gets by you,” I say.

  We finish breakfast and help Gram clean up. Dutch says he’s going to run down and make sure the Pudding Plunge is ready. He kisses Gram’s cheek on the way out. Marcus tells me he’s going home to let Sam out. “How long do you need to get ready?”

  “Thirty minutes,” I say. “I want to take a shower.”

  “Why?” Marcus asks, pulling on his coat. “You already smell like maple syrup.” He’s out the door and pulling it shut behind him before I can say anything.

  Gram is standing at the sink looking at me. There’s a blue plate on the counter beside her.

  “What’s that?” I ask.

  “Dutch is under the impression that I ordered the blue plate special at the diner on our first date.”

  “Well, did you?” I ask.

  “Maybe,” she says. She takes a sip of her tea. “Things went well with Marcus,” she says.

  I nod. “Dutch was right.”

  “He may be right about a good many things,” she says cryptically. She sips her tea again and then looks at me. “You’d better get that shower.”

  “Maple syrup?” I ask.

  “There are worse things to smell like.”

  She’s right, I think as I head upstairs. Unfortunately, I’ve smelled like a good many of them.

  It takes me almost the full thirty minutes to get ready. I scrubbed with apple soap just to be sure that I don’t smell like syrup anymore. There’s a note from Gram pinned to the door, telling me she’ll see me at the Pudding Plunge. I pull on my coat and head outside. It’s cold and just starting to snow, so I dart back in and grab a hat. I pull it on and tuck my hair behind my ears. Then I head back outside. Marcus is waiting at the end of the driveway. “Hi,” I say.

  “Hi,” he says. Then he takes my hand. We walk into town and head toward the square. There are people everywhere. Gram wasn’t kidding. Hog’s Hollow really does love its festivals. We make our way toward the all-you-can-eat pancakes tent near the center of town. I look in and see Blake and Tally sitting together. I wave and Tally waves back. Blake waves his fork at us.

  We get into line. It’s long, but it moves quickly. The guy handing out plates tells Marcus it’ll be ten dollars. “Five for you and five for your girlfriend.”

  I startle at the words and I feel like the whole tent full of people gets quiet, waiting to see what Marcus will do, including me. Marcus just hands the man a ten and takes our plates. We move forward toward the griddle. I try to hand Marcus some money, but he waves it away. I don’t want to be like Esmeralda and just assume he’s paying. Marcus gives me my plate and leans toward me. I’m not sure what to do. Do I say something? Make a joke? Or do I pretend nothing happened? But clearly something big just happened. Or it’s about to.

  “Is that okay?” he asks.

  “Pancakes?” I ask, not sure that he’s talking about anything other than breakfast foods.

  “No,” he says. “What he said about you being my girlfriend.”

  “Oh. Yes. It’s okay,” I say, smiling. Because I am so cool like that. But inside I’m completely freaking out. I am Marcus Fish’s girlfriend. Holy wow!

  Marcus grins at me and I realize I literally can’t stop smiling. The line moves forward and then we’re up.

  “What can I get you?” the man working the griddles asks. Then he laughs. “Just kidding,” he says. “All we got is pancakes.”

  Marcus cuts his eyes at me. I wonder how many times the cook has used that joke in the last hour. He slaps a couple of pancakes on my plate. And then a couple more onto Marcus’s. They are so big, they hang off the sides. I guess Blake wasn’t exaggerating about them being ginormous.

  We thank him and head over to where Tally and Blake are sitting. Tally scoots over to make room beside her. Marcus sits down beside Blake. I see the light catching Tally’s hair out of the corner of my eye. I turn and look at her. In addition to the icy blue stripes, she’s added silver sparkle hair spray. She sees me looking and smiles at me.

  “How many pancakes have you eaten?” Marcus asks Blake.

  “These will make fourteen,” he says. “I’m not even sure I can match last year.” He shakes his head.

  “Yes, you are truly a disappointment,” Tally says.

  Marcus reaches down the table and snags one of the syrups lined up along the center of the table. Blake’s already emptied the one in front of us. Marcus hands me the syrup and I pour some on my pancakes before handing it back.

  “So, you guys made up?” Blake asks. He shoves another bite of pancake into his mouth.

  “Yes,” I say. “Thank you for asking.”

  “Well, I for one am relieved. The past few days have been a little too romcom for me
.”

  “Romcom?” I ask.

  “Romantic comedy,” Tally says.

  Blake puts his fork down. “I’m done.” I try to see what’s on his shirt, but his coat is zipped up against the cold. “So when are we—” He leans forward. “You know.”

  “Whenever they get here,” Tally says. “Charlotte’s already all set up.”

  “Is this about Chari—”

  “Shh,” Blake says. “C and E.”

  I roll my eyes. “Okay. Is this about C and E?”

  “Yep,” Tally says.

  “Are you going to tell me?”

  “It’ll be better if I don’t. That way your surprise will be authentic,” Tally says.

  “What she means is that you’re not as good of an actor as I am,” Blake says.

  “That’s not what I mean,” Tally says.

  “Okay,” Blake says. Tally rolls her eyes. Even over the hum of people talking and the hiss of the griddle, I hear Esmeralda’s laugh.

  “Let’s roll,” Blake says. We all get up and dump our plates into the trash can. Blake makes sure he gets his hand stamped on the way out. Apparently five dollars gets you pancakes all day long.

  “Where to?” I ask.

  “The Ice House,” Tally says. “It’s the busiest part of the festival. Also, the south wall is perfect.”

  “Perfect for what?” I ask.

  “You’ll see.” Charlotte is sitting on a folding chair about fifteen feet in front of the south wall. She has my grandmother’s projector in her lap. There are two wireless speakers on the ground in front of her.

  “Are they here?” she asks.

  “They should be heading this way any second,” Tally says. She checks her watch. “We need to do this quick. The Pudding Plunge starts in half an hour.”

  “Here they come,” Blake says. Charlotte reaches into the box and pokes the screen of her phone, and the image of Esmeralda’s face is projected onto the wall of the Ice House. Several people stop in the middle of the sidewalk to watch. Charlotte pushes the screen again and you can hear Charity laughing. The video goes wonky and then Charity’s face fills the screen.

  “Isn’t that the Hog Queen?” someone asks. More people stop. Some want to check out the projector we have, but most want to watch the show.