by Talley, Liz
Hillary looked around as if she’d stumbled outside naked and photographers lurked in the bushes. “Uh, why don’t you go on ahead without me? I’m just not feeling very festive today, and I don’t want to ruin the whole cake-tasting thing.”
Disappointment thunked in Melanie’s stomach. Her sister wasn’t coming with her. “I don’t understand. I thought you wanted to do this with me and Emma? Is it because we’re tasting cake?”
“No,” Hillary said with a wave of her spidery hand. In the afternoon light, her sister’s gauntness seemed more pronounced. Her once luxurious hair was wispy frizz, her bones so prominent it hurt to think about how she rested upon them, and her once bright-blue eyes had sunken into dullness. Hillary had become a ghastly shadow of herself. It made Melanie’s heart squeeze so hard that tears threatened. “I want to go, but I just . . . I can’t, Melly bean. I know you don’t understand, but . . .”
Hillary seemed to not be able to find the words.
And Melanie didn’t have the words to make her sister feel better about her inability to show up. “It’s fine.”
But it wasn’t. It was just something Melanie said because being angry that her sister couldn’t put anyone else in front of her fears or being furious that Hillary was so powerless against her diseases wasn’t going to change anything. Her frustrations would serve only to drive her sister further away from her, and at present she felt as disconnected as she had ever been from her.
“I’m sorry, Mel. I am. I love you and Emma, and I thought I could go, but I . . . just can’t.”
Melanie swallowed down the gigantic lump in her throat, unshed tears still threatening. She’d been excited to have Hillary involved in some way, another buffer against Tennyson’s steamroller of “fabulous” ideas. She’d thought Hillary would be able to help her with the wedding, allowing them to connect, make memories, build something strong enough to ground her sister in wanting to get better. She knew it was stupid to think that, but she so wanted her old sister back. “I understand. I wish you could come today. But you’ll be at the shower next weekend, right? It’s at Tennyson’s house and . . . you know.”
Hillary nodded. “I know. Not going to be easy, but if I remember Tennyson, I’m sure there will be lots going on, so it won’t feel like you’re entering the enemy’s camp.”
“I better go,” Melanie said, glancing at the clock radio. “I’m going to be late as it is.”
“I’m sorry,” Hillary said, shading her eyes.
Melanie needed to talk to her mother about getting Hillary a complete health workup and ensure she was still going to her therapy appointments. Hillary had become an expert at hiding her “sins.” Melanie glanced at her sister’s knuckles for signs she’d been purging. From her angle she couldn’t tell.
“You’re okay, right?” Melanie asked as she put the car into reverse. “I mean, you’re still talking to Dr. Beth.”
Hillary’s expression shifted into one Melanie was familiar with. “Yes. Stop worrying. I’m just dealing with some anxiety, but I’m working through it. I should be fine by next weekend. I’ll be at the shower. Now go before Tennyson orders a monstrosity of a cake with edible sequins and live doves.”
Melanie managed a laugh as Hillary walked up the driveway. She gave a small wave as she shifted into drive, but Hillary was already closing the door.
Something that felt like guilt, grief, and ickiness waffled around in her gut. Something didn’t feel right with Hillary, and she wasn’t sure their mother was paying close enough attention. Another to-do item on her list. Talking with her mother about Hillary was never fun and always sucked the joy out of her life. Perhaps it could wait until she got back from the beach. Maybe Hillary would be looking better by the time the shower rolled around.
Fifteen minutes later, Melanie let herself into Marc’s odd little gazebo office.
“Where have you been?” Emma asked, looking up from a portfolio no doubt filled with wedding cake prices.
“I went to pick up your aunt Hilly, but she had a headache.” And so now she was lying for her sister. Great.
“Oh, well, I wanted her to come, but it’s fine,” Emma said, giving a half smile and shrug.
Marc wore white linen pants, a pale-blue button-down that was about as trim as a person could get a shirt without being indecent, a hot-pink bow tie, and a boater’s hat. He looked ridiculous but somehow also right. Tennyson sat with Andrew on the Victorian settee, looking sleek in a silk romper. Her son was in his characteristic T-shirt, gym shorts, and tennis shoes. Andrew’s shaggy hair needed a trim, but he looked every inch the southern frat boy he seemed to have become.
Tennyson’s forehead crinkled. “Is Hilly okay? You look worried.”
Melanie pulled on a fake smile. “She’s fine. Now where are we on cakes?”
“We’re just about to start tasting. You haven’t missed a thing, darling,” Marc said, sweeping his hand à la Vanna White over to the table holding samples of cake. “Donna!”
The tall woman emerged from the inner sanctum. “You rang, my lord?”
Marc gave her a flat look. “This is your show, Donna. I’m letting you take the reins.”
Donna winked at Emma. “Usually I’m pulling the damn cart. Calm your buns, Marshmallow.”
Marc affected an eye roll and overly dramatic sigh. “You can’t get good help these days.”
Donna ignored him, smiling broadly. Her short hair had been dyed purple, and the nose ring glinted in the sunlight streaming through the windows with the stained-glass transoms. “Okay, folks, let’s gather round because today we will be choosing the bakery that will create Emma and Andrew’s wedding cake, and we’ll do that by taste and flavorings. Before we begin sampling, do either of you have firm preferences?”
“Honestly, I’ve always liked the regular wedding-cake flavor,” Emma said, eyeing the varied samples on the table. “Just that almond-flavored one. I don’t need anything crazy like they have on Cake Wars.”
Andrew shrugged. “I want whatever she wants. I just came because there would be cake.”
“Good answer,” Donna said with a grin.
“Wait, so, like, the groom cake is always something fun, right?” Andrew asked.
Donna shrugged. “It can be. I’ve seen college football stadiums, duck blinds, and monster trucks incorporated into the groom’s cake, but we’ve also done some tasteful cakes that were simple and more focused on flavor and presentation.”
“Oh.” Andrew looked at Emma. “What do you want?”
“Well, he’s starting this marriage off right, isn’t he?” Marc said from his seated position in a nearby armchair. The tapestried fabric had been threaded with gold lamé. Marc’s throne.
“I want you to have what you want, Andrew,” Emma said.
“I like the outdoors. Hiking, rafting, and all that, so how about a cake that reflects the area where we met, the things we love to do. Remember that hike at Devil’s Den? We could do a river with little plastic boats? That sound good?” He looked at Emma for affirmation.
Emma smiled. “Sure.”
He looked back at Donna, and behind him Emma shook her head and mouthed no. Donna’s mouth twitched, and even Tennyson looked amused. Tennyson loved over the top, but Melanie was nearly certain she wouldn’t embrace little plastic boats. Or would she?
“So instead of being literal, how about we take a subtle approach, a cake that on the surface looks more elegant but utilizes elements that represent your love of nature?”
“That sounds cool,” Andrew said.
“Great. Let’s move on to the tasting for the bride’s cake. Represented here are three different bakeries. We have Gloria Jay’s, We Take the Cake, and Evelyn’s. These are the vendors we prefer because they are reliable, accommodating, and have the best cake quality. Ladies and gentleman, grab your forks.”
They all picked up their forks and started on the first piece. Melanie had been dieting for weeks, and she was nearly certain what she was putting in her
mouth was better than sex, a clean house, and a shirtless Chris Pine combined.
Donna pointed to the pale layer cake they were sampling. “This is a white vanilla bean with almond frosting. It’s the most traditional of the cakes we’ll be tasting.”
“It’s delicious,” Melanie said, scooping up the last of her piece and licking the fork, even though it was inappropriate. Her mother would have had kittens if she’d seen.
“Eh, it’s kind of boring, though,” Tennyson said, setting hers down.
Of course Tennyson would say that. Of course.
“It’s not boring. It’s traditional,” Melanie said, knowing that she was playing with fire but not caring. Her sister not coming for the tasting had frustrated her, and she didn’t feel like putting up with more of Tennyson’s crap today. The woman had already forced her into paying too much for a dress in Dallas by making her feel self-conscious about her wardrobe. Tennyson wasn’t going to bully Emma into a cake just because she didn’t like traditional.
Donna nodded. “Nothing wrong with a classic choice for cake. Okay, the next piece is strawberry with a berry puree and a fondant icing. It’s a versatile cake, but you will also have to consider strawberries are a common allergy.”
“Better,” Tennyson said, referring to the cake.
“But it’s true lots of people are allergic to strawberries. I know of two people offhand,” Melanie said.
Tennyson had the audacity to roll her eyes. Something ugly erupted inside Melanie. But she flattened her mouth and turned to Emma. “What do you think, sweetie?”
Emma made a thinking face. “I like it, but strawberry has never been my favorite.”
Donna seemed to make a mental note and moved on. “Next is a white-chocolate raspberry.”
“Not a fan of white chocolate,” Emma said, taking a small bite before setting the cake down. “Not what I want.”
Melanie thought it was pretty dang good, but she’d been going without her daily Snickers minibars for four weeks now. She’d probably think a Twinkie cake would work well. She polished off that sample piece, too.
“This next cake is unusual in that it pairs both vanilla bean and dark chocolate. There is a rosemary blackberry compote in the vanilla, while the dark chocolate has layers of an espresso mousse. It has a nuttiness without having nuts, and it’s definitely a different feel for a wedding cake. It’s one of the more expensive cakes, but worth every dime because the guests will be raving.” Donna nodded for them to taste.
Tennyson immediately brightened. “Now this is good. I love that it’s not as sweet and has great texture.”
Melanie wanted to roll her eyes. She would bet a thousand dollars that Tennyson O’Rourke had never baked a cake in her life. She’d probably heard these things said on the Food Network, and when Donna said unusual and expensive, she’d latched on to it because those were Tennyson’s requirements for everything. “I don’t know. Rosemary is a strong flavor.”
“But not in this cake. There is only an essence,” Donna said.
Melanie took a bite and had to admit it was good. But she still liked the traditional white better. It was so versatile as a cake, and besides, everyone liked vanilla.
“The next sample is a pink champagne wedding cake made with Chambord, featuring a passion-fruit compote. The texture is light, very summery, and one of my favorites in taste and appearance.” Donna tapped the plate with the light-pink confection.
“Ooh, I like this one,” Emma said, taking one bite. Then another. Her eyes lit up.
“It’s really nice,” Tennyson said, nodding.
They moved on to a lemon cake with lemon-curd filling, a praline cake with salted-caramel filling, and finally a vanilla lavender cake with blackberry compote and brown sugar buttercream frosting.
“This last one is a bit more intense and flavorful. It, too, is on the expensive end of the wedding cakes offered, but with berries and fresh flowers, it can be a stunning choice.” Donna pressed both hands onto the table and looked at Marc with a quirked eyebrow.
Marc moved over to the table. “These are the samples Donna selected. So what are our thoughts?”
Emma tapped her fork on the plate she was holding. “I’ve tasted a lot of good ones, but I really love the blackberries in this one.”
Tennyson nodded. “Pretty spectacular.”
Melanie shrugged. “I still like the first one. Almond buttercream is classic.”
“And boring,” Tennyson added.
Melanie narrowed her eyes. “What do you even know about cake?”
“Plenty. I’ve worked with caterers for decades, and I’ve sat at some of the best chef tables in the highest-starred restaurants in the world,” Tennyson said, her eyes sparking with fight. “Why do you always go for the most basic choice?”
“Because sometimes basic is basic for a reason. People like regular ol’ wedding cake. That’s why wedding cake is, duh, an actual flavor. God, you have a piece of cake in Paris somewhere and suddenly you’re a cake expert? Whatever.”
Tennyson sucked in a breath and started mouthing numbers. She was counting to ten.
Andrew and Emma slid alarmed looks at each other, glances that seemed to say do something.
“Some of us didn’t settle for Shreveport and a vanilla life, Melanie,” Tennyson said when she reached the number six.
Before Melanie knew what she was doing, she scooped up the remaining cake on her plate and hurled it at Tennyson. The blackberry lavender cake hit her former BFF right between the eyes.
Emma gasped, her mouth dropping open.
Tennyson drew back and blinked, like she couldn’t believe she’d been hit with cake.
Melanie couldn’t believe what she’d done, either. She looked down at her offending hand like she had no clue how it had automatically launched a piece of cake at Tennyson’s head.
Tennyson reached up and swiped the cake from her forehead. Then she gave a toothy smile that wasn’t actually a smile at all. “I’m guessing this means you are strongly against the blackberry cake?”
Melanie watched as Tennyson rounded the table, picked up the white-chocolate raspberry cake Emma had abandoned, and smashed it right into her face. “So try this one.”
“Oh my God, what is happening here?” Emma shrieked, grabbing Andrew’s arm. Her future husband looked shell-shocked. Marc and Donna looked like they had no clue what to do, either.
Tennyson stood next to her, looking a bit taken aback at herself. The woman had cake crumbs scattering the fabric stretched across her breasts and blackberry jam smeared on her forehead. She also looked ridiculous, angry, and somehow delighted by what she’d done. Melanie licked her lips, swiping the icing from her cheek. “I actually like this one better. Thanks, Teeny.”
Tennyson cocked her head, and then laughter burbled up. “Maybe you should try the praline again.” She picked up a hunk of that cake and shoved it into Melanie’s open mouth, making more of a mess. Tennyson dramatically licked her fingers while giggling.
That made Melanie start laughing. “It’s good. It’s really good.”
Marc had been frozen in place, his mouth opening and closing like a beached catfish gasping for air. Donna actually looked amused. She seemed like the kind of gal who could handle almost anything.
“What is wrong with y’all?” Emma said, stomping over to them. “You’re acting like children.”
Melanie would have said something, but she was too busy laughing. Tennyson was, too. She had no clue why they were laughing. What they’d done had been awful and, yes, childish. But even as she realized how totally inappropriately they’d both behaved, she also recognized how good it had felt to nail Tennyson right between the eyes with that piece of cake. Melanie had never, ever misbehaved like a maniac in front of either of her children, but maybe she should have. Because this felt cathartic.
“Stop laughing,” Emma said, trying valiantly to wipe up the icing and cake that had gotten all over the table. “Mr. Mallow, I’m so sorry. I don’t kn
ow what is going on. They’ve gone . . . crazy!”
Andrew gave an embarrassed chuckle. “It’s okay, Em. Just a little cake. We can clean that up easy.”
“Don’t take their side,” she snapped at him. “This is important. We’re trying to choose our cake here, and these two are turning this into a circus all because they have some kind of grudge.”
Emma glared at them, and Melanie stopped laughing.
Andrew curved a hand around her neck. “Come on, babe. It’s important, but our guests are going to eat cake whether it’s lavender honeycomb or something from a grocery store.”
Emma turned to him. “Are you serious? It’s our cake, our wedding cake. I don’t even know what is happening here. These two need an intervention.”
Tennyson stopped laughing and grabbed a napkin from the stack on the table. She handed one to Melanie. “We got a little carried away. Sorry. Things have been tense, and this was us just letting off a little steam.”
“I told you we should have just gone to Vegas.” Emma started toward the door, her eyes crackling and sheened with tears.
“Oh, stop,” Melanie said to her daughter’s back side. “We can still pick the cake and proceed. Don’t be dramatic.”
Emma turned. “Don’t be dramatic. Dramatic? I don’t know what’s gotten into you. You’re acting like someone I don’t even know, Mom. You just started a cake fight because someone didn’t agree with you. That’s . . . insane!”
Marc clapped his hands. “Ladies, ladies. Let’s have some tea and talk through this.”
“Tea? Don’t you have something stronger? Because I think we could all use a drink,” Tennyson said, wiping the remainder of the cake and jam from her face.
Marc nodded. “Donna, can you fetch the brandy to go with the tea?”
The person who looked the most delighted with all that had transpired was Marc’s assistant. Her eyes danced with delight. “Are you sure you just don’t want me to get the bikinis and baby oil and let them have a go at each other? We could charge admission and make a fortune.”
“Donna,” Marc said, with a warning in his voice.
“Brandy it is,” she said, leaving the table and disappearing into the back.