by Becky Monson
So I can easily say that I was more shocked than I’ve ever been (ever), when I got a call from one of the show’s producers. They wanted me on the show. I, Julia Dorning, recently recovered spinster, am going to be on Cupcake Battles.
I can’t believe it.
“Believe it, honey! It’s happenin’!” my employee at the bakery, Patti, says with her thick Southern accent as she hugs me tightly. We’re standing in the middle of the industrial kitchen in the back of the bakery. Mixing bowls and a slew of ingredients are strewn around haphazardly on the counters. It’s been a crazy morning, to say the least.
“And you deserve it, darlin’. You really do,” Patti says.
“Oh, stop buttering me up,” I say as I pull out of the hug. “Of course you know I’m taking you with me.”
She clasps her hands together and does a little cheer. “Well, I’m about as happy as a dead pig in the sunshine!”
I’m not even going to ask what that means. I’ll just assume it means happy, although it didn’t give me a very happy visual. But, that’s Patti Farnsworth, with her big, blonde, back-combed hair and her crazy Southern sayings. I honestly don’t know what I’d do without her, even if I don’t understand half of the phrases that come out of her mouth.
I still can’t wrap my brain around it. I’m going to be on Cupcake Battles. Cupcake freaking Battles! It’s only been my dream since, well, since they started filming the show on The Dessert Channel.
Holy crap! I’m going to be on The Dessert Channel! I can’t even begin to grasp how much exposure it will give the bakery. I’ll be on national television! Millions of people will be watching!
Oh, gosh.
Cupcake Battles. National television. Millions of people.
Oh, gosh.
My stomach sinks as reality sets in. This is not me. This is not something I do. What have I gotten myself into?
If only Jared had answered his stupid phone. I mean, what’s the point of having a phone if it’s never on? And he’s far away too. I can’t just drive over and have him talk me down from this sudden ledge I’ve found myself on. He’s in Chattanooga. Or Chicago. Something that starts with aC. I don’t know. I can’t keep track.
To be perfectly honest, I hate his job. I mean, it’s his consulting company that he started and blah, blah, blah. But he’s always gone, it seems. And to be even more honest, it still has the teeniest, tiniest bit of sting when I think about it. That’s how we met, after all. He was secretly working as a consultant at the tech company I used to work for. Oh, and the fact that he’s the reason that I “used to” work for said company. He got me fired. Yes, I met my current boyfriend under very strange circumstances. My parents thought it was weird. They both love Jared now, but in the beginning it was a little bizarre. “Mom, Dad, meet Jared Moody, my boyfriend. We met at work. He got me fired.”
Anyway, none of that matters. It’s water under the bridge and all that. Jared was right to get me fired. I’m much happier now at the bakery. The bakery that I own. Julia’s Bakery. The bakery that will be featured on a national television show that I somehow have to work up enough confidence to pull off in fewer than two weeks. Twelve days. That’s all I have.
Oh, gosh.
“How’s the future winner of Cupcake Battles holding up?” my only other employee, Debbie, says as she walks into the kitchen. Her red hair is pulled up in a bun and she’s wearing glasses. She looks more like a schoolmarm than a baker.
“Feeling a little queasy, actually,” I say as I grab my stomach. I’m not exaggerating. I think I might barf.
“Debbie, fetch her a chair, please. Quick like,” Patti instructs as she comes over to me and pats me on the back. I must look pale. The way I’m feeling, I’m probably white as a ghost.
Debbie rolls my office chair into the kitchen, and they guide me into it.
“You’ll be fine,” Debbie coos softly as I sit down in the chair. She starts lightly rubbing my shoulders.
Will I be fine? What if I do something stupid like, oh, I don’t know, burn the cupcakes or the entire building? I wouldn’t put it past me.
I didn’t think this through very well, did I? I mean, I didn’t even bother to think about it at all, to be honest. Which is not like me. I think things through. I’m an over-thinker. But I didn’t think I’d even have a shot, so I didn’t consider how I might react if they actually called.
Now that they have called, and the excitement and shock have worn off, and I’m now realizing everything, thoughts of canceling start to float around in my mind. I want to say “I’m not a quitter,” but in all honesty, I sort of am. Events rarely happen to me of my own accord. I tend to have to be thrust by situations, or even people, into the direction I should go.
Take the bakery, for example. I would never have bought a bakery, nor would I have ever even entertained the idea, unless it just fell into my lap, which is exactly what happened. Okay, there was more to the story, but that is the gist of it.
Clearly, I’m not made to do this sort of thing. I think I should call the producer back and tell him I can’t do it. I’ve never been in front of cameras or done any type of performance in front of a crowd. This is something Brown could do, or even Anna. But not me. I might be passing up the opportunity of a lifetime, not to mention an incredible amount of exposure for the bakery, but maybe that’s the right thing to do.
No. I know this would be one of those things that I’d look back on in life and regret not doing. I have to do it. I have to. How could I even consider passing it up? This is exactly what Jared would say to me if he would just answer his stupid, stupid phone.
I need to pull myself together.
“You all right, darlin’?” Patti looks at me with concern as I slowly start to stand up from the chair.
“Yes, just my nerves getting the best of me,” I say. Not yet willing to give up my chair, I sit back down.
Debbie snorts out a giggle. “If your nerves are already hitting you, imagine how you will be with all those cameras around you.” Patti whacks her on the arm and gives her a look telling her to shut it.
“I mean, you’re gonna be great,” Debbie says quickly, trying to backtrack.
“Darlin’, you need to pull it together. We got ourselves a lunch rush coming up, real quick,” Patti motions her head toward the clock that hangs above the door. I do appreciate Patti and her non-sugarcoating approach. Even though I do love the sugarcoating, it’s probably better for me not to have it. I sugarcoat enough things in my own mind.
“You’re right,” I agree. Maybe focusing on the bakery will help me get my mind off of things.
We get to work, preparing for the lunch rush. And it works - I’m feeling much more at ease. Granted, I’ve totally pushed any thoughts of Cupcake Battles out of my head. That is until right now, at least.
Oh, gosh.
No, I must focus on lunch. I head out to the front to help Debbie as people start to trickle in.
“What’s wrong, Julia?” a sappy-sweet voice says to me as I concentrate on getting the sandwich toppings situated in their correct places. I look up quickly and find myself face to face with Lia, one of our regulars at the bakery. She comes in two or three times a week.
“Your aura is off. I can see it. It’s all a dark and muddy blue color. You’re fearing something.” Her large blue eyes are filled with concern behind black, thick-rimmed glasses. She has short, reddish hair and a plump, round face.
Oh, no. This is so not what I need right now. Lia . . . is a witch. A good witch, so I’ve been told. I wouldn’t know. It’s not like I’ve known a lot of witches in my life. Actually, she’s the first. Anyway, she’s always reading our auras and telling us how we are feeling. Okay, she’s right on most of the time, but it doesn’t mean I subscribe to any of her hokey stuff.
“I’m fine, Lia. Really.” I keep my tone kind, but my sentences short, so she knows that I don’t feel like talking right now.
“You want to talk about it?” Clearly Lia may not be as
intuitive as she thinks she is.
“No, really, I’m fine.” I slap on a big, forced grin.
“Well, I’ll be over at my regular table if you do.” She tilts her head toward the corner where she usually sits when she comes into the bakery.
“What can I get for you today?” I keep with the forced smile.
Luckily, she places her order and leaves me and my muddy blue aura to ourselves. Thank goodness.
The lunch rush goes fairly smoothly after that, and I keep sneaking peeks at my phone, hoping that Jared has heard one of my ten voicemails. That’s right, ten. Don’t even ask how many texts I’ve sent. But nothing. Nada.
I also can’t help but be that girl and feel a little insecure that he isn’t answering my calls or calling me back. I know he’s busy, I do. And I do trust him. However, my mind does tend to go off on crazy-tangent thoughts about Jared and some hot secretary he’s met and suddenly run away with. It’s totally unfounded. First of all, I have no idea if there is even a hot secretary in the vicinity. Secondly, Jared is not the type to run off with someone. He’s much more methodical about things.
“Well, now that the lunch rush is done, why don’t we get started on practicin’?” Patti asks me as I come back into the kitchen after things have calmed down in the front.
“Practicing for what?” I rack my brain, trying to figure out what she’s talking about.
“Cupcake Battles?” She gives me a strange expression, perhaps wondering if I’ve taken something. I probably would have, had I had something to take. A swig of some of the rum we have in the pantry did sound tempting at one point, but I needed to keep my wits about me to help with lunch.
“Yes, of course. Sorry.” I shake my head. “I was trying to push it out of my mind during lunch. I guess it worked.” The butterflies start creeping in again as I think about all we are going to have to do to get ready for this. And of course, the whole national television thing is looming over me.
Oh, gosh.
Anyway, my muddy blue aura and I don’t have time for the nerves right now. We have some practicin’ to do.
The deal with Cupcake Battles is that it’s separated into three parts. It starts with four teams, and for the first part of the competition, you’re given strange ingredients with which to make original-flavored cupcakes. The judges taste the cupcakes and eliminate the person with the lowest score, which will most likely be me, but I’m not going to think about that right now or the pukey feelings will creep back in. Let’s be honest, they never left, but they might get worse, so it’s best to just not think about that.
If you make it to round two, you have to make three different kinds of cupcakes. This round is judged on taste, but it’s also judged on décor, which, to be perfectly honest, I suck at. But that’s why I’m bringing Patti. She has a knack for that stuff. The décor usually has to do with some sort of theme that they tell you about in the beginning.
For the third round—which I obviously won’t make it to so I don’t even know why I’m explaining it—you get a team of assistants, and you have to make one thousand cupcakes in a two-hour period, and you get a carpenter to make a stand that you design, which also has to go with the theme. Oh, I hope I get the carpenter named Ryan. He’s seriously dreamy.
Patti starts our practicing by giving me strange ingredients and asking me what I’d do with them. At first, I’m totally at a loss and can’t think of anything. I start to think that I can’t go through with this, but then I begin getting into it, and suddenly my mind is working (surprisingly) and I’m now starting to feel creative rather than nauseated.
I might be able to do this after all. Yes, I will delude myself into believing that, pukey feelings be damned.
~*~
My phone rings, waking me up. I must have dozed off while watching reruns of Cupcake Battles. I was studying to help give me ideas.
It’s Jared. It’s about time. I guess he didn’t run off with a secretary after all.
“Where have you been?” I say, instead of the obligatory “hello” most humans use.
“Sorry. It’s been a rough day,” he says. He sounds tired. “What’s going on? I got all of your messages. Everything okay?”
“Well, I hope it is. I mean, I think it will be.” The butterflies creep in as I think about what I’m about to tell him.
“So what’s going on?” he says through a yawn. Nice. Glad I could keep him so interested.
“Well, you know that show Cupcake Battles that I make you watch sometimes?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well, in twelve days they are flying me out to compete on the show.”
“Are you serious?” Now he’s starting to sound like he’s awake.
“Yes, I’m totally serious.” I smile. The butterflies dissipate, slightly.
“But I didn’t even know you auditioned,” he says, sounding confused.
“I didn’t tell anyone. I didn’t think it would actually happen.” I still can’t truly believe it’s happening.
“Jules, that is . . . just . . . really great news.” I can envision him smiling happily. Even through the phone I know his exact expression right now.
“Is it? Because I kind of feel like running for the hills.” I throw out a nervous laugh, since I’m honestly only half joking. Okay, I’m like one-eighth joking. I could totally run for the hills. What does “running for the hills” even mean? What hills? I’m picturing myself running for the hills of Austria and spinning around like Maria from The Sound of Music, singing “the hiiiiiiills are aliiiiiiiiive” only not with Nazis chasing me. So maybe those aren’t the best hills to run for.
“Jules, listen to me. You will be great. This is an opportunity that you can’t pass up. Think of the publicity you will get for the bakery.”
“I knew you would say that.” I smile to myself.
“Well, it’s true. You would regret not doing it.”
“I knew you would say that, too.”
Even knowing exactly what he would say, hearing it from his voice is so much better. He’s right, of course. If only we had talked when it all first happened. He could have saved me a lot of internal turmoil.
He chuckles. “This is great news, Jules. I needed it after today.”
“Why? What’s going on?” I ask, feeling strangely relieved to be putting my attention on him and not having to think about the upcoming competition, even with my inner voice calming a bit.
He lets out a long breath, as if he’d been holding it in for a while. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you when I get home. I don’t feel like talking about it right now.”
“Okay,” I say, wanting to push him to explain, but also knowing Jared well enough to know that I should just wait and he will eventually tell me. Insecure thoughts creep in though, and my heart sinks a little at the possibility that it has to do with more than work.
“Miss me?” he asks, his playful tone squelching my stupid, girly inner-dialog.
“So much,” I say, goofily grinning. I really do miss him. I hate this long-distance junk. I think the only saving grace is that he gets to come home, sometimes for weeks, between jobs. If we had to do this on a permanent basis, I’m not sure we could, especially with my crazy dramatic thoughts.
“Are you coming home this weekend?” I’m afraid of the answer. I have a sinking suspicion of what it will be.
“I can’t. I wish I could.” His voice sounds apologetic even through the phone. It lessens my desire to slap him, but only slightly. “And I don’t know if I’ll be home next weekend either.”
“Well, that sucks,” I say bluntly. I want to be supportive, but it’s hard.
“Sorry, Jules. I wish I could be home with you to celebrate.” His voice sounds so tired but with a hint of something else. Maybe sadness? He’s trying to cover up something. I wish he would just tell me what’s wrong so my mind doesn’t take off running with the possibilities.
“How did the girls take the news about Cupcake Battles?” he asks, trying to c
hange the subject.
I oblige. “Patti and Debbie? Thrilled, of course. I’m taking Patti with me as my assistant.”
“I’d have picked her just for the comedy of it all. Who knows what she will say on camera.”
Oh, wow, I never thought of that. What crazy Southern expressions will Patti say on national television? I have no choice though. No one does gum paste décor like Patti. Even Debbie agreed, although I suspect she didn’t want to go. National television wouldn’t appeal to someone like Debbie. She and I are a lot alike, apparently.
We say quick goodnight and I go back to snuggling with my cat, Charlie, and watching more Cupcake Battles.
After a few minutes, my phone beeps signaling that I have a text.
I miss you too.
I text back an emoticon with a kissy face. I totally hate emoticons, but sometimes they just convey what I’m thinking so much better than actually saying it.
I guess one bright side to Jared not coming home the next two weekends is it will give me more time to prepare. Oh, and I also won’t have to shave my legs either. Neither of those sides are very bright - more like dim, at best.
CHAPTER 3
I have tried for weeks to get the word “amazeballs” out of my mind. I’d never even said it or thought it until Brown forwarded me an article entitled “Things You Should Never Say After 40.” Granted, I’m not forty, but for some reason she felt the need to forward it to me. Maybe because I went through a phase of saying “whatevs” and she really hated it. Well, the joke’s on her because “whatevs” has now been replaced by “amazeballs.” I don’t even know what it means. Like super-duper amazing? Or maybe something dirty. I have no clue.