Fiction River: Unnatural Worlds Page 7

  “We are not getting into this right now.”

  “Uh-huh. I don’t know why you just don’t make the doggone cake anyway. You make everything else.”

  Kesha was, well, Kesha; she never met a wig she didn’t like and it sometimes overpowered her tiny frame. Sometimes Cat thought that they looked like frick and frack. Kesha had the figure of a model. Cat had the figure of someone who was, well what she was, short plump and with, she thought, curves in all the right places. She liked her shape and knew that if she got too thin, Auntie would probably reign down terror on her for not being the “appropriate” shape. She truly believed that your shape and size could impact the amount of power like a singer who needed to be a big girl in order to blow those notes.

  Cat loved her aunt, but the woman did go overboard regarding things. Everything she said wasn’t true. Like the whole baking thing. You could bake but you didn’t bake for just anybody, and you certainly didn’t bake for a guy friend. You just never knew what would happen.

  Uh-huh. Yeah. Auntie could be a bit on the paranoid side.

  “Are you listening?” Kesha snapped her fingers in front of her. “He’s going to break your heart, boo.”

  “We’re just friends,” Cat said.

  “‘Uh-huh,” she said.

  Cat smiled as the lady came from out back. She wore a white blouse and black slacks with her long, black curly hair pulled away from her face.

  Maybe she should have gone to Publix. But no, this was special. Everything else was ready for the party. The cake was the last thing, and she even had little helpers to help her set everything up. This was it.

  Cat walked up to the counter. “I’m here to pick up the Falcons cake.”

  But the response was what concerned her; there was none of that immediate reaction or recognition.

  Cat kept smiling. “The cake that has the Falcons jersey on it. I’m supposed to pick it up today.”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, did you have an order for this?”

  “Yes,” Cat said, she dug in her purse for the order form and for the receipt of the deposit. “Here it is. I even sketched out what I would like.”

  The lady looked at it and rubbed her chin, all the while the bell rang announcing the entrance of another customer. “This doesn’t look familiar at all. We don’t have a cake that looks like that back there.”

  “Are you sure? The lady who I spoke to—”

  The lady peered closely at the receipt so that the paper almost met her nose and then put it back, “Ah, that’s the problem. Dolores took your order. She’s gone now. Well, we had to fire her.” She shook her head, “Precisely for reasons like this.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to be able to whip up a cake out back, would you?”

  “No,” she looked past Cat to the couple of women—a mother and daughter—that were behind her. Cat looked at the daughter’s hand. There was the engagement ring, but no wedding band. Then she looked at the shop. She had thought it would be a good idea to get the cake here because they made groom’s cakes and wedding cakes, and groom’s cakes in the South could be just about anything because it was supposed to represent the groom. Usually it was chocolate, which worked with Brad just fine because that was his favorite.

  “Excuse me,” the lady said, “I have an appointment.” She gave the paper back to Cat. “I’m sorry about that. Maybe next time you’ll keep us in mind.” She opened up the cash register. “Here’s your refund.” She squeezed Cat’s shoulder. “I’m really sorry about this.”

  “Sorry.” Cat looked at the cash wadded in her hand. It looked alien there along with the laughter of the two women with the baker.

  Kesha entered her view. Eyebrow raised.

  Cat held up her hand. “Don’t. All right? I can just pick up a cake after work.”

  “You? You’re just going to pick up any ole cake? From any ole bakery? You won’t eat mall chocolate chip cookies.”

  “I can make them better at home. It’s a waste.” The pat answer slipped out before she could take the words back. She shook her head. “Look. Don’t worry about it. Just show up tonight. Everything will be fine.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Thankfully there were no emergencies at work. She was out the door on time at 4 p.m. and made it to her car and out to the interstate headed home in record time. Just like the Waffle House, Atlanta had grocery stores with bakeries on just about every corner. If she could just go to any old bakery. Which she couldn’t. Because Kesha was right.

  Dang it.

  Hmmm. Berry’s Food City on Mt. Zion had good cakes. She’d attended a wedding where they made the wedding cake. Serviceable and on the way home. Just what she needed so that she would still have time to go home and start the cuteification process. Because she was going to prove to Brad that she was wife material and then everything would be all right.

  The bakery was located to the right of the store entrance, past the display of cards and the ready-to-eat section. It was empty with one lone man in glasses and a plastic hair net staring from behind the counter. The instrumental version of Culture Club’s Do You Really Want to Hurt Me? taunted her from overhead.

  “Excuse me,” she said. “You wouldn’t happen to have a cake, would you? I’m looking for a quarter sheet cake that is, uh, manly?”

  “Do you have a particular design that you’re interested in?” he asked.

  “Not really. This is just a last ditch effort because of something that was a mistake. I kinda need it for tonight.”

  “Well, that would mean that you would need to look at what we already have here.

  They looked at the ready-made cakes. All of the themes were way too feminine for a rugby player. Barbie. Pink and purple “Happy Birthday” on a quarter sheet cake. And then there was the round cake with yellow roses. Brad liked lemon, but—she shook her head. No, no this wasn’t going to work and every second that she spent here she was wasting time.

  She smiled. “Thank you,” she said and left. She glanced at her watch; it was the digital one that she used to work out. She only had about two hours of leeway. He didn’t necessarily need a cake. There was going to be plenty of food there. His roommate had already started setting up the decorations. He’d been very helpful planning the surprise party along with Brad’s friend Joe.

  She had this idea of how it would all play out in her mind. She would have some cheesy ’80s music playing because that’s what he loved, and when he was used to everyone saying surprise she would come out of the kitchen with her hair pulled back from her face, in a cute top that hugged her curves, fitted jeans and high heels. You definitely had to have the hooker heels and the hooker red lipstick. Because she was going after him. It wasn’t going to be just a cake, it was going to be a declaration.

  But all that took preparation. And time. Which she did not have. She could spend the next hour or so calling, hoping and praying and then winding up with who knows what. Or she could do what she knew she needed to do.

  In ten minutes, she was home and had turned on the oven. She made sure that her oven thermometer sat on the middle rack. Baking was a science. That was something that she and her cousins definitely knew and one thing that you learned quickly. It was basic and it was simple.

  Most people had a sweet tooth and would eat something sweet put in front of them. An easy way to spread goodwill whether you happened to be a hearth witch or not (Auntie would say that they were not witches being Christian and all. But you could say all kinds of things when you owned the church the family attended and paid the preacher’s salary.)

  She pulled the half-apron made from cupcake fabric from where it hung on the door of the pantry and tied it around her waist. She turned the radio to the R&B station. Luther Vandross was crooning a song that was one big pickup line. Perfect. It was the same steps she always took when baking. The ritual was comforting and anything done time after time could build the magic, which is what she was looking for.

  Then came the eggs and butter to be brought
to room temperature.

  She looked at her pantry. She had originally wanted a chocolate cake but she didn’t think that was going to work. You had to use what you had. That’s something that she believed in. Any self-respecting hearth witch would have lemon in her refrigerator. It was absolutely amazing what lemon could do. You could use it to season, to clean. And now that she thought about it, she knew what cake she was going to make. It was simple—just one step up from a box cake, which she had to admit were pretty doggone good. The problem was that a box cake was a box cake.

  She stopped as she felt the eggs. They had lost the chill of the refrigerator, but still not there yet.

  This was not supposed to be a special cake. She didn’t know if she could stop herself from infusing anything into it. She’d used that mixer plenty of times to bring cookies to co-workers and for special occasions when she had intentionally wanted to do something—when she was trying to throw in a heap of happiness, as Auntie would say.

  But she didn’t know about this one. It was a birthday cake. It wouldn’t matter this one time. There weren’t really dictates, they were just suggestions, right? She thought that as she took out the flour. Besides, no matter what Auntie said, something that she could not tolerate was a box cake no matter how delicious.

  You need to make things with love, she would say. Baking is very serious business and so was her heritage, her birthright.

  She looked on and worked. Once she knew what she was going to make, it was simple. She’d done it many times before. She carefully measured the flour. Whipped the butter and decided to add just a bit of lemon juice in the batter while she was making the lemon filling. Brad liked lemon so he would like that. Since she was making it from scratch, she decided to pull out an old favorite—coconut cake with lemon filling and fluffy frosting.

  It was intensive, but worth it and way better than something she could buy.

  Yes, in more ways than one, a voice popped into her head. She squashed it as she squeezed the lemon for the filling.

  This would be fine. It was just a plain birthday cake and who knows what would happen? It would probably be a blessing for the whole company. And if he did like it, what was the harm in that? Everyone knew that you had to prove yourself to men these days, and the most valuable wife was someone who was skilled at the arts of the hearth, who knew how to make a house a home.

  She looked down at her apron dusted with flour. This was love. Her cousins may have loved their sewing machines. Others, the garden, but she loved to be in the kitchen, with flour flying everywhere.

  Three layers should do it. Women would be invited and they would probably want to share a piece because it was so thick. Maybe a separate cake? No, she had doubled the recipe so she would have enough for cupcakes. Like the ones at the bakery.

  She stopped. Why hadn’t she thought of that before? They would be easy to transport and—no that would be an experiment for another time. She knew what she needed to do and how much time she had. The cake would be cutting it close as it was. She would have enough time to get the thing cooled down and frosted.

  She placed the batter-filled pans in the oven and when that was done, set out to make the filling and the fluffy frosting. She was humming along as the kitchen grew cozy as she liked to think of it when something was baking.

  And soon it was time and ready. She poked holes in the cake to let the filling seep through. She took a tester cupcake to experiment on; she would after all make notes for the next time. And she needed to know about the lemon. Hmmm, a bit lemony but he liked it that way. It would be a nice fluffy dessert with the frosting. She bet she could get some of his friends from the gym to try it.

  She pulled everything together and looked at the time. Just enough to stick it in the cake transport holder and make it over to his house.

  She texted Brad’s friend Joe—Need 10 more minutes.

  Return text—OK.

  She splashed her face, took off her apron and hung it up and looked at herself in the mirror. She was flushed and happy. It would have to be enough because she didn’t have time to get production ready. He would be so surprised. She giggled to herself and headed over there.

  She stepped into the apartment and there were already about ten people there, including Kesha. Joe had assured her that these were good ones, that he would be happy to see all of them. She didn’t know these people from his other life outside the office, but that was what it was about, after all. It was his party so he should have the people who he wanted.

  The only people he hung out with outside of work were her and Kesha anyway.

  And it looked great. Stealth, well, that was possible and Joe would tell Brad that he needed to borrow something at Brad’s apartment.

  She made the rounds saying hello to everyone and then ran into Kesha who ooed and ahhed at the cake.

  “You baked,” she said and her eyes narrowed. “And this is your special cake.”

  “Oh, it’s nothing,” Cat said eyeing the hummus and wanting to introduce herself to everyone.

  “Baby—”

  The ding on her phone sounded then. She looked down. They were coming.

  “Y’all everyone. They’re coming!” she said.

  Then turned the lights off and said, “We’ll all yell surprise, OK?”

  The guests nodded and got into position. She was so excited. She lived for times like this. So awesome.

  The door opened, the voices, “Brad, man, I’m sorry but I needed you to help with these.”

  “No problem, we’ll get them right now.”

  And then everyone burst forward. “Surprise!” they said in unison.

  And he did look surprised. He turned back to Joe who moved quickly out of the way and then to the rest of the folks assembled. When everyone else rushed forward, she held back. I mean, you could take a girl from home but you couldn’t disrupt home training. And what she really noticed now that she was looking for it were magical touches all over the apartment. From when she bought the decorations and how carefully Joe had hung them up and now seeing the cake on the table—she’d stuck candles in them but hadn’t bothered to go do a big reveal with someone bringing it forth—she saw that a haze of goodwill hung all over it.

  Even Kesha must have sensed it and she wasn’t even family in any way, shape or form.

  Brad broke out of the group and came toward her still smiling and gave her a big hug. She hugged him back.

  Joe broke in, “She’s the one who was the ringleader for all this. She’s the blame.”

  “Hey, thanks, Girlie,” he said.

  She smiled back. “Now let’s cut this cake,” she said, a bit overwhelmed by it. She’d brought the serving utensils, but they made do with paper plates. She knew that no one was going to clean up after all this and she wanted to make it as nice as possible.

  Between that and the alcohol, she was sure that someone was going to break out the karaoke. Food, friends and song. That is what made an event.

  Cat kept trying to catch his eye, but his eyes kept going to a cute strawberry blonde in the corner with the perfect makeup and standard cute top and jean uniform of the going-out crowd.

  Whenever he looked up from talking with someone, his eyes went to her. Cat served the cake, brought out sodas and kept everything going. By the time she came back to the main room they were singing a duet, the cake eaten on the side.

  In her mind came the voice again, that damned voice of reason. “They look like they would make a good couple.”

  And they did. Auntie had said that she had the touch, that she could see the invisible bond forming between people. But she always also said that Cat wouldn’t be able to tell who would bond her heart.

  And the cake that she had wished happiness and love into, it had given him the courage to go after the one he had really wanted.

  And it wasn’t her. At all.

  Joe stepped to her as he followed her eyes, “They look good together, don’t they?”

  She smiled because
what could you do? You never let them see that your heart is breaking, and he was a guy, so hopefully he wouldn’t see it anyway, “Yes,” she said, “they do.” She shook her head. “I think the kids are gonna be all right.”

  “How about you?”

  She pulled back at the question. She didn’t know what he meant by that. “I’m good,” she said, not meeting his eyes which were a little too dark and saw her a little too clearly. “I think that we’re out of napkins.”

  “I’ll get them,” he said. “You’ve done enough here.”

  But she didn’t want to stay there and watch everything that was going on. She wanted to hide, to feel useful as it became more and more apparent that these people were his true friends. Yeah they’d gone out a couple of times as friends, but if he were putting this party together the other ones belonged here, not her.

  At the end of the night Brad snapped up Strawberry Shortcake to take her home.

  She looked at the cake. Only a quarter of it was left. The damned thing had done its job. She shook her head. Auntie told her that her calling would sneak up on her like that, just like her future husband. It will knock out the blue, she said. And she’d been right. A matchmaker. Of all the nonsensical things.

  Joe was there, he’d helped her take down the streamers and everything else.

  “Great party,” he said.

  “Yep. All the work paid off.”

  When she took the cake to put it in the carrying cake holder he covered her hand with his. “Hey,” he said laughing, “Uh, where are you goin’ with that cake?”

  “Home. I thought everyone took what they wanted.”

  “Not me.” He looked at her closely. “Did you do something to your hair?”

  “Maybe flour,” she laughed. “I had to whip that thing up in no time flat. I’m not sure that I look equally presentable.”

  “You just look different.”

  “No, no. Same me.” She couldn’t take his gaze so concentrated on the cake again. “You really want it? You seem pretty in shape to want this.”