Cake: The Newlyweds: Cake Series Book Four

by J. Bengtsson

  “Dad, I’m serious. I’m going to leave unless you can get to your point without further references to my mother’s body parts. You do have a point, don’t you?”

  “Relax. I do. See, I joke around about your mom being a drill sergeant and all, but the truth is, I want her to take control. The less I have to think about at home, the better. If she’s running the show, where am I? Relaxing. I’m not sure if you realize this, but we McKallister men come from a long and proud line of marital wimps. We do what we’re told and we’re happier for it. When your mom is happy, I’m happy. Get it?”

  “Okay, so, then why can’t she be happy when you’re happy?”

  “Oh, no,” he said, appearing completely shocked by my ignorance. “It doesn’t work in reverse.”

  I laughed. “You’re so full of shit.”

  “Am I? In three generations, not one McKallister man has divorced. You tell me who’s crazy.”

  I found my way to the kitchen, where Mom was pulling condiments out of the refrigerator. I’d been hoping to catch her alone so I could get the scoop on Grace’s boyfriend.

  “So what’s with this Rory kid?” I asked, plopping myself down into a counter stool.

  Like earlier on the front porch, my mother stiffened. Now I was more curious than ever. She walked around the counter and took a seat beside me.

  “You know last year when I asked you to donate to an organization that helps foster kids who’ve aged out of the system?”

  I wrote a lot of checks. Remembering specifics wasn’t normally a requirement. “Not really, but go on.”

  “Well, it was used to help purchase a 26-unit apartment complex that we then turned into a living facility for young adults who’ve bounced around the system for years until they hit the age of eighteen and were forced out on the street. Most of these kids don’t have any survival skills because they’ve never had anyone to teach them. Anyway, I volunteer there, and it’s where I met Rory. I know he looks a little edgy, but he’s really a wonderful kid.”

  Remembering that look in his eyes, I said, “That may be true, but something bad has happened to him.”

  Mom’s forehead furrowed. She seemed genuinely surprised by my assessment. “Why would you say that?”

  “I can spot an abused kid a mile away.”

  “Really? I didn’t know that. What are the signs?”

  “It’s nothing you can outwardly spot. It’s just a feeling. It comes down to his body language and that look in his eye.”

  “Huh. That’s interesting.”

  “So, what happened to him?”

  “I don’t know. They don’t tell me anything about the kids’ histories. I’m just a volunteer and not privy to their files. I help them learn life skills, help them with their studies if they’re going for their GED or are in community college.”

  “I didn’t know you did that.”

  “Well, I just wanted to give back a little. I have some experience dealing with kids who have been through traumatic experiences, and most of these foster youth have had rough experiences, even if it’s just being bounced around all their lives.”

  “How old is Rory?”

  “Quinn’s age. Eighteen, almost nineteen. Rory and I actually became friends a while back. He’s a drummer; quite talented, actually. That’s what caught my eye about him in the first place. Somehow he reminded me of you.”

  “I’m still not understanding how Grace fits into this picture.”

  “She’s been volunteering with me too. At first it was just to bolster her college application, but then she became very invested in the lives of these young adults and was making friends with them. One in particular stood out.”

  “He’s the total opposite of what I’d picture for her. I mean, he looks like a punk rocker, and Grace is more a preppy, frat-boy type of girl.”

  “No, actually she’s not. Grace has changed quite a bit over the past year. She has a compassion for others that makes me so proud. Maybe they are an odd pairing looks-wise, but Rory’s actually very similar to her in personality. I can see why she likes him.”

  “And it doesn’t worry you – them being together?”

  “I’ll admit, at first I tried to dissuade her, but then I realized how hypocritical I was being. Here I am volunteering to help improve these kids’ lives, and I’m telling them they can do anything, be anything – but at the same time, thinking they aren’t good enough for my daughter? What kind of message am I sending to Grace if I don’t allow her to see Rory when his only visible fault is the messed up childhood that he had no control over? And besides, compared to the other two boys that your sister dated, Rory is a dream come true.”

  I understood what she was saying, but something about Rory still troubled me. “All I’m saying is, be cautious. You don’t know what he’s been through. He might be more screwed up than you think.”

  “Thankfully, Linda and Dave didn’t think the same way about you.”

  I jerked my head up, gaping at my mother. Damn, that was brutal… but so undeniably true.

  “Sorry… that was… not nice,” she said, hesitating between words. “I feel a little protective of him, I guess.”

  “And I was being a hypocrite, so we’re even.”

  The two of us sat there quietly for a few moments before she changed the subject. “Did Dad find you?”

  “He did.”

  “Everything good?”

  “Mom, it wasn’t his story that caused the freak out, if that’s what you think. You know me well enough to know there’s a whole array of issues that could have been bothering me.”

  “But you worked it out with Casey, right?” she asked, sounding hopeful but resigned that I rarely, if ever, worked things out.

  “I mean, yeah. Sort of. We’re married.”

  She nodded, examining the ketchup bottle. I knew she wanted to press for more information but decided against it. “Well, you and Casey look blissfully happy.”

  “We are.”

  The tension drained from her face and a twinkle shone in her eye. “I love seeing you like this.”

  As if she’d heard her name being called, Casey entered from the backyard and slid into my arms so effortlessly that she felt like an extension of me.

  “Speak of the devil…” Mom grinned.

  “Uh-oh, what were you two discussing about me?”

  “I only have good things to say about you, always.”

  “Right back at you,” Casey said, smiling warmly at my mother. She then turned to me. “How was the session with Quinn?”

  “Well, other than the fact that I learned what a douche I’ve been for the past twelve years, we had a very productive session.”

  “Did he tell you that?” Mom asked.

  “No, I came to that conclusion all on my own.”

  She laid her hand on my shoulder. “I’m glad you finally talked to him. Quinn looks up to you so much. All he really wants is your approval.”

  “So then, why didn’t you tell me I was acting like a chump?”

  “Would you have listened?”

  The lie would be yes, but we both knew the truth to be no. I shook my head smiling.

  She laughed. “That’s why.”

  A lingering side-effect of the loss of power I felt with Ray was that I needed to be in control of every situation. I never wanted to feel the way I did with him, helpless and afraid, so I sealed myself off to all but a trusted few. Somehow Quinn found himself outside of the bubble. That was going to change from this day forward.

  “I don’t know what you are talking about,” Casey said, grabbing my jaw and kissing my lips. “Jake? Hardheaded? I find him to be very obedient.”

  Mom laughed hard at that, as well she should. God knows she’d come face to face with my disobedience more times than she could ever count.

  “I’m telling you,” my dad said, padding through the kitchen just in time to catch the tail end of our discussion. “It’s the McKallister man’s curse. Wimps, I tell you. The whole lo
t of us.”

  10

  Casey: Married Life

  Time flies when you’re having fun! And for four blissful weeks, I was having fun. Of course, most of the time was spent on my back with my brand spanking new husband right where he was supposed to be, but then I blinked and it was over. One minute I was preparing for the wedding of my dreams, and the next I was standing in the airport terminal hugging Jake goodbye. Those four weeks we’d spent together post-wedding were the happiest of my life, and that was saying something because on a regular basis, I was pretty damn happy.

  But then he left, and all I had to keep me warm and comforted were the incredible memories… well, that and bowls of ice cream, a furry creature, and a blue knitted mermaid blanket. In the month and a half that Jake had been gone, I hadn’t accomplished a whole hell of a lot on the personal front… unless you counted the multiple television series I’d binge-watched on Netflix. My productivity at work was another story altogether. I was killing it there, even bringing my work home with me because, in all honesty, I didn’t have anything better to do. Sure, I hung out with friends, and Kenzie had become a staple in my life since Kyle had also taken off on tour with Jake. But girlfriends were no substitute for my hot hunk of a husband.

  Every day, I thought of running away and joining the circus – Jake’s circus, that is – but then sensible Casey would pipe up and chastise me for wanting to throw away the opportunity of a lifetime. The opportunity I’m referring to was an entry-level position at a respected public accounting firm in downtown Los Angeles, offered to me soon after my engagement. It couldn’t have come at a better time, as Jake was still recovering from his medical crisis, so work and travel for him had been limited. He spent the break from touring working on a new album while I was learning the ropes in a new job. For months, the two of us enjoyed evenings out after work and lazy weekends just being together. That’s how I wanted my workdays to start and end every day of my life – with me in his arms.

  But it was never meant to last. By March, Jake had started a world tour, and I stayed home playing the nerdy numbers detective by day and the bored housewife at night. Even though we were apart for the months leading up to wedding, it hadn’t seemed as bad as now. Maybe it was because I had something to look forward to, and the planning took up all my spare time. But now that the wedding and honeymoon were over, the days apart seemed long and labored, and I was finding it more and more difficult to justify staying in Los Angeles while he was off touring the world.

  So I ate more ice cream, watched more television, and went to bed at old people hours. It was in this vulnerable state of mind that I met Lieutenant Dan. I hadn’t been looking for a man to fill Jake’s shoes, but sometimes fate just forced your hand. In my defense, I had been left unsupervised. You certainly couldn’t leave me alone for extended periods of time without risking me doing something stupid – like, say, bringing home a stray tomcat and naming him after my favorite character in Forrest Gump.

  I literally stumbled upon Lt. Dan while out on a jog. Running wasn’t my thing, but neither was the little ice cream pouch settling on my lower belly. I needed something more to offset the enormous amount of calories I was scooping into my mouth on a nightly basis, so I supplemented my exercise routine with a light evening jog. And that’s where I found him, dark and mysterious, a man of few words. He was the answer to my lonely prayers. And before I knew it, that surly tomcat had meowed his way into my heart. We could have been something beautiful.

  Too bad Lt. Dan turned out to be a grade A feline asshole!

  Believe me when I say I wasn’t looking for trouble when Lt. Dan wandered into my life. I’m sure when he first laid eyes on me he was probably thinking I was an easy score – a little extra kibble on the side. He wasn’t looking for a long-term commitment; but too bad for him, I wasn’t a one-night stand type of girl, and the moment I caught sight of that scrawny green-eyed boy, I was on a mission to save his furry little soul. Plucking up my new man, I took him to my nice warm house and fed him a wonderful three-course meal. You would have thought I was an award-winning chef the way Lt. Dan went on and on about the cuisine. If only Jake were that appreciative.

  Once I’d filled his tummy full, it seemed silly not to invite him to stay for a nightcap, so we settled in for the evening, watching a little TV, eating a little ice cream, and, because no one was around to judge me, retreating to the bedroom where we snuggled all night. So content was he with his new digs that Lt. Dan hung around all weekend. I could just feel the connection, it was so real – and dare I say, I was falling in love. But come Monday morning, the kitty Casanova couldn’t get away from me fast enough, bolting between my legs and out the door the first chance he got.

  I’d met these love ’em and leave ’em types before, so I really wasn’t that surprised when he abandoned me, nor was I expecting to ever see him again. But as it turned out, Lt. Dan’s belly had fond memories of our time together, and he was back a few days later, ready for a fill up. I know. I know. I was totally getting played. But I was lonely enough to welcome him back each and every time. And there were a lot of times.

  So went our one-sided relationship. Lt. Dan would disappear for days on end, no doubt sowing his feline oats to a steady stream of furry floozies, only to find his way back to me when he needed a good solid meal and a little heartfelt cuddling. And I, like the needy mistress I was, would wait patiently for his triumphant return.

  After a few weeks of this questionable behavior, I’d decided I no longer wanted to share him with other pussycats, so I made a commitment to adopt him and reform his wandering ways. First up, supplies. I bought them all, silently praying Jake wouldn’t come home for a surprise visit to find a four-story cat mansion in his living room. I needed to ease him into this ménage à trois.

  Second up was the vet. For being a stray, Lt. Dan was surprisingly healthy. He was given a thorough exam, followed by shots and a microchip embedded in his neck. During the visit, the vet strongly encouraged me to neuter him. I hated to do it, but with his Lothario ways, Lt. Dan really had forced my hand. And so, that’s how my poor tomcat left the pet hospital without his testicles.

  Wracked with guilt over my part in his decimated love life, I showered my guy with gifts, and I think he might just have forgiven me when I slipped the black studded collar around his neck. If he couldn’t be a stud in real life, at least he could be wrapped in them. But like the little traitor he was, Lt. Dan hid behind the couch, and when I opened the door one day, he bolted.

  Maybe we just weren’t meant to be. I comforted myself by reasoning that you could take a stray off the street, but you couldn’t take the street out of the stray. Bad boys could never be reformed. So the next time he turned up on my doorstep, I had half a mind to send him packing myself until I caught sight of a note tied to his collar… from his actual owners! Apparently my kitty gigolo was actually named Skittles, and he was no promiscuous alley cat – instead he lived in the lap of luxury in a two-story home down the street. And, as you might imagine, the people who lived there were understandably baffled as to what had happened to their cat’s balls.

  So that was the end of our unhealthy relationship. Skittles went home to his family, and I went back to my ice cream. It never would have lasted anyway because I needed a feline who put me first… and clearly that was not Lt. Dan.

  Jake returned the last week of October for a scheduled break before the North American leg of his tour kicked off. We fell right back into our comfortable love affair, and having him in my arms again sealed the deal for me. The decision was made. I was quitting my job. Life was too short not to live it to the fullest, and for me, a full life meant being by Jake’s side. I’d found a freelance job and planned to work on the side while touring in order to keep up my skills, but that would be the extent of it. Jake, of course, was ecstatic, and immediately made plans to move my things onto the bus so they’d be waiting for me when I arrived.

  As I’d already given my boss two weeks’ notice
, the only thing left to do was tell my co-workers. Dragging my feet something fierce, I decided to divulge that information after the Halloween office party. That way my friends could still meet Jake before I was gone. I owed them that much, considering my marriage had been the running joke in the office for an entire year. You see, according to my co-workers, I was but a delusional fan conjuring up a fake relationship with a famous rock star because, well, I was bat-shit crazy. After every office party Jake missed – four in all since I’d begun there – the conviction had only grown stronger.

  Finally I had the chance to prove my sanity, but only if he made a showing. I checked my watch again. He was forty minutes late and counting. I could almost hear the cackling come Monday morning. For the love of god, where was he?

  Jake’s absence might not have been so noticeable had I not made the ill-conceived decision for us to dress up in a couple’s costume. Jake hadn’t been too keen on the idea, but as always, had caved under pressure. Yet now, in hindsight, it might have been too ambitious for our first Halloween outing as a married couple. Perhaps I should have eased Jake into the whole new world of playing dress up by allowing him something simple and noncommittal to start out with, like a ghost or a whoopee cushion. Either that or I could have stressed the importance of commitment when it came to a couple’s costume. There was just no wiggle room. If you were dressing as a duo, both sides needed to show up. I mean, when was the last time you saw a Fred without his Wilma or a slice of bacon without his eggs? I’ll tell you when: never. Because these things didn’t exist as separate entities, and when one half of such an iconic pairing wanders into a party without the other… well, that’ll just result in prolonged moments of awkward silence.

  Currently, I was living in one of those moments, dressed as one side of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I’d chosen this costume for two reasons. The first was because of its convenience – it slipped right over the head, thus making it much less likely Jake would balk at the idea of wearing it, and in turn, keep my dream of complete couple cohesion alive and kicking. And the second reason was because, well, it was just frickin’ hilarious. Or at least it would have been had the peanut butter shown up on time. Sadly he had not, so now here I was just a sad slice of toast smeared with a healthy dollop of deep red jelly. It wouldn’t be so bad, I suppose, if my coworkers weren’t mistaking me for a soiled sanitary napkin.