Alexis's Cupcake Cupid (3 page)

Hmm. Not a bad idea. “Maybe,” I said.

“Listen. You just have to come to the skating party! You know, Matt will be there. . . .” Emma said tantalizingly.

“That's what I'm afraid of,” I muttered. “I don't know. Let me think about it. Now, come on—let's focus on the task at hand!” I said, like a strict parent. The others got the hint and we switched topics to discuss our process for today.

Katie had a cute idea for Valentine's Day cupcakes, and we were giving it a shot. First, you bake a thin red velvet sheet cake. Then, after the red cake cools, you use a very small heart-shaped cookie cutter to stamp out little red cake hearts. (Katie had made the cake at home last night and dropped it off at the Taylors' this morning, so we wouldn't waste any time.) Then you bake vanilla cupcakes. When
you fill the liners with the white batter, you sink a spongy little heart into each cup, standing it on its end. When the cupcake is all done, it has a secret red cakey heart, buried inside. Katie had e-mailed us a link to the online photo, and we all thought it was adorable. I couldn't wait to see how they came out.

If it was a fail, we'd just frost the white cupcakes in a cute pink frosting and add the decorations we'd be using either way—pink sparkly sugar, Red Hots, little piped red gel frosting hearts on top. Adorable, still. . . .

Katie busied herself with cutting out the hearts, and Mia—who is very good with her hands—stood them in the batter. We got the cupcakes into the oven and then watched TV for a bit while they baked. Naturally,
Ballroom Dancing
was running a Valentine's Day marathon, and it was great. Everyone was dancing to romantic songs, and people were in pink and red costumes, and everything was sappy and lovey-dovey. It made me think of Matt, even though we have rarely danced together, and certainly not ballroom style—nor do we ever dress in pink and red together. But still . . . it reminded me of Matt. At least the romantic part.

I didn't want the show to end, but after the
baking timer called, and Katie set out the cakes to cool for a bit, it was time to get hopping. At this point, Matt was due home, so I was getting excited and nervous. How would I decorate my cupcake valentine for him? Would it be too much that there was a little heart in it? Was that too pushy?
Ugh!
Love is stressful!

I needed to help get all the cupcakes we were selling done first, so I focused on that and busied myself slathering on pink frosting. Mia was in charge of artfully sprinkling on edible pink sparkles, and then Katie would pipe on the red heart. Emma would carefully place some Red Hots on each one.

In their candy-cane–striped papers, the finished product looked adorable! Almost too cute to eat.

I slathered the frosting on the final cupcake and licked a splotch of it from my finger. Yum. With my work done, I could focus on the cupcake for Matt.

Should I make it very fancy, like I had put a lot into it, like
Hello, valentine, I slaved over this just for you?
Or kind of plain and off-hand, like,
Hey, we had an extra cupcake, so you can have it?
Worse, I had to ask the others if they minded if I took a cupcake for myself.

“Hey, guys? Would you mind . . . uh . . . Is it okay if I take one of these? I can repay the club. I just
want one, please. I'll pay the club back tomorrow.”

Emma looked up and raised her eyebrows suspiciously at me.

Uh-oh. I gulped. I didn't want to have to explain it to her, in case she vetoed it, saying it was too “mushy” or a bad idea. I didn't have another plan, and I'd be back to square one.

“Sure,” she said. “Are you eating it?”

“Oh, no . . .” I waved my hand breezily and gave a forced laugh. “Just . . .” I let the word trail off. I couldn't think of anything to say and didn't want to lie to her.

Mia smirked at me and said, “Go for it.” She obviously knew why I needed it.

Katie said, “Oh, Alexis, you never have to ask us for a cupcake. And you certainly don't need to pay for it, silly!”

“Thanks.” I took the largest, fluffiest one I could find, and then I set about decorating it as best I could. I did a flowery petal design with the red gel frosting, and then I filled in the “leaves” with pink sparkly sugar and added a Red Hot at the center. It actually looked really good.

Katie leaned over my shoulder and said, “Wow! Who knew you had such decorating skills?”

I felt faint with relief. “Is it good? Do you think?”

“Awesome,” said Mia, coming over to look.

Emma glanced over. “Cute!” she said, kind of casually. Hmm.

I set it aside on a napkin, waiting for just the right moment to run it upstairs and leave it on Matt's desk. We took a photo of all the party cupcakes for our website and then packed them to be delivered to the luncheon the next day.

Just then we heard a car pull in the driveway. Emma groaned. “Here come the boys. Thank goodness we finished packing everything up or there'd be nothing left!”

Emma's little brother, Jake, came bolting through the back door. “I gotta go to the bathroom, and Dad needs help! Save me a cupcake!” he yelled and then raced upstairs.

“None left!” Emma called after him.

Then Emma went out to see what her dad needed, and I knew my moment had come. I grabbed the napkin and the cupcake and then bolted up the stairs to Matt's room, narrowly missing Jake as the bathroom door closed behind him. I felt like I was invading Matt's privacy, so I didn't even look around his room, really. (Well, okay, just a little bit. And I was thrilled to spy a photo of all of us in costumes from Halloween on his bulletin
board. Maybe he did care!) I placed the napkin on the center of his blotter, where he wouldn't miss it, grabbed a felt-tip marker from his pen jar, and wrote “Happy Valentine's Day. From, Alexis” on it. (“Love, Alexis” seemed really too much, so I didn't do that.) I placed the cupcake on the napkin, turned on my heels, and raced downstairs. I wasn't even gone thirty seconds. Phew.

Soon after I returned, Emma and Matt trudged from the mudroom carrying armloads of firewood for their woodstove, and the rest of us raced to help. I'd just made it! But now . . . I was too scared to look Matt in the eye! What have I done? What if he thought the cupcake meant I loved him? So what if it does? Ugh! I considered running back upstairs to grab it, but I'd certainly be caught. Now I was stuck.

We passed each other in the doorway, and I looked up and smiled a little. He smiled back. “Hey!” he said brightly, like nothing was weird at all. And it wasn't.
Yet!
Oh boy. I felt my face begin to burn. I was embarrassed. But a part of me was also excited. Like maybe this would take things to the next level, whatever that was. Or maybe he would give me something too! Maybe he already had something for me, right this very minute, that
he got at the mall! That would be so awesome!

The firewood was inside in no time, and we girls went back to the den. Matt disappeared upstairs to shower, and I waited, on pins and needles, for him to come downstairs to say thanks for the cupcake. Would he do it right away, before his shower, or wait till he was clean? Would he do it in front of the others (embarrassing!), or would he find a way to pull me aside? My palms were actually sweating, and I fluctuated between mortification and excitement. A few minutes went by, and he didn't come down. Okay, so he ate it, and now he's showering. I craned my neck to see if I could hear the water running, but there was nothing.

Jake appeared in the doorway with a funny grin on his face.

Emma looked over at him. “What's up, Jakey?” She looked at him again and narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “Did you touch our cupcakes in the kitchen?” she demanded.

Jake shook his head vehemently. “No! I didn't even see them there!” He looked like he was telling the truth, but there was definitely more than met the eye. We all looked at him for an extra few seconds, and then he yelled, “I'm not lying, Emmy!” and took off out of the room.

“Weird,” Emma said, shaking her head and turning back to the movie that started playing.

Mia turned out the lights and an oldie but goodie began to play—
Casablanca
. I usually don't care for old black-and-white movies, but I couldn't help from getting swept away by the love story a little bit. Suddenly, I noticed almost half an hour had slipped by, and no Matt. I told the others I was going to the bathroom, and no need to pause the movie for me, and then I went into the downstairs hallway to crane my neck again and listen.

Silence.

No shower running, no music playing, no footsteps moving around upstairs. Weird.

Feeling deflated, I happened to glance down at my tablet on the chair as I went back to the den. It had a clump of pink frosting on it. That was weird. Had I touched it after I frosted the cupcakes? I didn't think so.

I went back into the den. “Anyone get frosting on my tablet? I don't care. . . . Just, it's in a weird place.”

Everyone was engrossed in the movie, so they looked at me, shook their heads, and turned back to the TV. This day was turning out oddly, and I was not happy about it. How could Matt walk past
a gorgeous cupcake valentine on his desk and not even come downstairs to thank me? He always made a big deal of it when we gave him cupcakes—swooning over them and saying how good they are. He must've seen it! He must've eaten it! Right?

At first I was annoyed, like how rude can someone be? But then doubt became stronger than annoyance, and I began to realize I'd made a mistake.

Duh!

Matt didn't like me like that. I was just a friend. Giving him a cupcake valentine was creepy and pushy, and he was too weirded out to even come back downstairs, so he was hiding up there. How could I be so dumb? Mortification—much deeper than embarrassment—took over. I began to sweat and my face burned, and I was just itching to get out of there. I couldn't even hear what they were saying in the movie, I was so distracted. Finally, my nerves got the better of me and I hopped up.

“Guys, gotta go. I'm sorry. I just . . . remembered I have some more work to do for the Future Business Leaders of America summit, so . . .”

“Wait! Why? Hit pause!” said Emma to Mia, who had the remote. “Why do you have to go? Weren't we maybe thinking about a sleepover?”

Ugh. I knew they would be suspicious because I never forget about work, but I couldn't even imagine having to spend the night there, not when I felt like this! Not when he was here too! And my big, beautiful cupcake just hanging out there, unacknowledged!

I had to go. “Oh, not with this . . . I . . . can't. I'm so sorry. Rain check. Thanks! Talk to you guys later.”

And I ducked out of the room, grabbed my tablet and messenger bag, and then my coat, and raced out the door.

I never saw Matt again.

That day, I mean.

W
ell, actually, it really did feel like I never saw him again. On Sunday I just camped out in my room. I checked e-mail and texts a million times to see if he'd maybe had a change of heart or even if he wanted to get in touch to tell me to stay away. But there was nothing. And I was too distracted to do much else. It was boring and stressful all at the same time.

My mom came up to my room a couple of times that morning to try to chat or entice me downstairs. I kept saying I was working, but it was obvious I wasn't doing much. Later, I ate my lunch and went back up to clean my closet (already neat) and sulk.

The third time she came up, she asked, “Honey,
what's the matter? And please don't say nothing is wrong. I know something is bothering you.”

I sighed. How could I begin to explain it all to her, and without making myself sound even worse?

She sat on my bed and folded her arms and legs. “I am not leaving until you tell me why you're holed up in here all day. It's unhealthy, and it's not like you. Spill it!” She wiggled her foot and waited.

Hmm. I was so embarrassed, honestly, that I couldn't even face telling my own mom. I'd have to just tell her part of it.

“I just was thinking about Valentine's Day tomorrow and not having a valentine.”

“Oh!”
said my mom. I could tell she was hugely relieved. She'd probably thought I'd failed a test or something. For her, this was not a big deal. “Okay. So you mean like a boy valentine?”

“Yes, Mother,” I said in annoyance.

“Sorry. Okay. Of course. Well, do you still like Matt Taylor? He'd make a nice valentine.”

“Mom, it's not like you just decide who you like, and then they're your valentine!”—even though that was exactly what I'd done!—“You have to have cause to believe that the valentine will be well-received and that you'll get one in return!”

My mom smiled, and it looked like she was
going to laugh for a second, but then she got all serious again. “Well, I don't think you should put too much stock in Valentine's Day,” said my mom. “It's a holiday made up by candymakers and greeting card manufacturers just to sell junk. Of course, as a marketing idea, it is really rather clever—anyone who doesn't participate feels left out, so it has created a kind of urgency whereby people must buy their products or suffer, as you are doing right now.” She is the CFO of a company so is always thinking of the business angle of things. (Ahem, like me.)