Love? Maybe. (7 page)

“Hmm, something smells good,” Jan says. He walks over to where our concoction is still steeping in its bowl. Jan slides a spoon from the drawer and dips it into our potion. He puts it in his mouth and tilts his head to the side. “Good,” he
says. He coughs once. “Spicy.” He laughs. “I think we have a winner,” Jan says. We help him mix a big batch of the new flavor and pour it into the molds. We slide the full trays into the refrigerator.

Jillian scoops what’s left of our potion into a large glass jar, which Jan caps and slides into the refrigerator. He runs water into the bowl and adds a squirt of soap. “So, how’s
The Plan
going?” Jan asks. Claire’s cheeks go pink and my heart starts beating too fast. Only Jillian seems calm.

“Right on track,” she says, smiling. Jan looks at me, one of his eyebrows raised. I look away, pretending to be intent on untying the strings of my apron.

“Hey,” Jan says, turning off the water. “I almost forgot.” He walks out the back door and comes back in carrying a big box. He puts it on the counter next to the bin of Consternation Hearts and uses a knife to slice open the tape. The three of us crowd around Jan and try to peer over his shoulders. Inside are hundreds of flattened pink boxes, each with a heart-shaped window covered in plastic on the front.

“Perfect!” Jillian says, pulling one out and folding it. She holds it up.

“It looks really good, Piper,” Claire says.

“They do,” I say. I didn’t really think they’d look this good, this much like the real thing.

“Okay, now we just have to fill them all,” Jan says. I take a deep breath and look at the thousands of pastel hearts
jumbled together in the bin. That is going to be a huge job. A horn beeps out front.

“That’s my mom,” Jillian says.

“I’ll come back tomorrow and fill boxes,” I say.

“We’ll help,” Claire says. I look over at Jillian, who nods, although with slightly less enthusiasm than Claire.

“Okay then,” Jan says, putting the top back on the bin of Consternation Hearts. “Until tomorrow.” We gather our backpacks and coats and follow Jan through the darkened store to the front, where Jillian’s mother’s car is idling. “Thank you for the new flavor,” Jan says, unlocking the front door and following us out onto the sidewalk. “It’s going to be huge!” His exuberance makes us laugh. He waves at Jillian’s mom as we get into the car. She waves back, smiling more than I think I’ve ever seen her smile. You can’t
not
smile around Jan. All three of us push into the backseat, despite protestations from Jillian’s mom that it makes her feel like our chauffeur. Just as I’m about to close the door, I hear Jan call my name. I peer out.

“What should we call the new flavor?” he asks. I don’t even pause.

“Love Potion Number Nine,” I say. Jan laughs.

“Perfect,” he says.
If only he knew
. I wave again and pull the car door shut.

The three of us are so quiet that Jillian’s mother tells us it’s making her nervous. I wonder if Claire and Jillian are wondering the same things I am. What if the blackout wasn’t
an overloaded fuse as Jan suggested? What if it really was magic? What if our potion does work? I smirk at the ridiculousness of what I’m thinking. No way, I think. But then why does my heart do a little bump when I think of what might happen when I give Ben Donovan some of our chocolates? Thank goodness the backseat is so dark. At least no one can see me blushing.

I
t’s after ten
A.M.
by the time I finally force myself out of bed. It’s so rare the house is quiet enough to sleep past dawn that I decided to take advantage of it and not set my alarm. Usually by about six thirty either Dom or Lucy or both have been in here half a dozen times to see if I’m up yet. Since they’re at Beau’s for the whole weekend, it’s quiet—almost too quiet. I pull on this hideous, old sweater I found at Jump! over my pajamas. The sleeves are so long I have to roll them several times to even see the tips of my fingers. I pull my hair into a sloppy bun on top of my head as I walk downstairs.

Mom is sitting at the counter sipping from a mug with her calendar spread in front of her. She glances up and smiles at me as I walk into the kitchen, but then looks right back at her calendar, making a notation off to one side with a
pencil. It’s no mystery where I get my organizational skills.

“How many?” I ask, pouring myself a mug from the coffeepot.

“Well,” she says, without looking up. “Plus the four orders I just took off the voice mail, it’s two thousand one hundred and forty-eight flowers.”

“Whoa,” I say.

“Whoa indeed,” she says. She frowns at her calendar. “It’s going to be tight this year. I just don’t have the cooler space I need.”

“No luck with the expansion?”

She shakes her head. “They just won’t budge. I mean, honestly. Jersey Mike’s Subs doesn’t need
another
dining room.” She has been trying to get the sandwich shop next door to release their hold on the space between them, but so far they won’t.

“It’s not the greatest location anyway,” I say.

“I know, but the thought of finding another location and then moving and…” She trails off, frowning at her calendar again. I take a sip of the coffee, grimacing at the taste. I forgot how strong my mother makes it. It seems like it just keeps getting stronger and stronger the longer we’re in the busy season. By the time the June weddings finally end, I almost need a fork to drink it. My mother’s cell rings. Just a normal ring, not the dog barking that Charlie just put on my phone to replace the bees. She puts the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

I open the fridge and peer in, trying to find something decent for breakfast. Something other than the acai juice my mother is currently hooked on. I push past a banana with too much brown and grab a quart of strawberries. I take them over to the sink and flip the faucet up to wash them. Nothing. I keep forgetting. The sink is
still
broken.

“Today?” my mother says into her phone. “Oh well, if that’s the only—” I look over at her to see her looking at me. She glances back at her calendar and frowns again. “No, no. This afternoon will be fine.” She clicks her phone closed. “That was a plumber.”

“And—”

“And they’re willing to come take a look at it, but it has to be today.”

I’m not sure why she’s frowning at that information. It’s been nearly a week without water in the kitchen. We’ve been making do with the downstairs bathroom, but even with the lid closed, there’s something disturbing about putting the dish drainer on top of the toilet. “But, that’s good right?” I ask. She bites her lower lip. “Oh,” I say. “Someone needs to be here to meet the plumber.”

“Piper, I am so sorry,” Mom says. “I know I have been asking so much of you. I mean, with Mrs. Bateman out sick and unable to babysit and with Valentine’s Day right around the corner—”

I hold up my hand. “It’s okay,” I say. “I didn’t have any plans.” I feel my pulse start racing as I say it.

“Really?” she asks.

I nod, not trusting my voice to the lie. My palms get clammy and I can feel my cheeks start to get pink. “Well,” I say, before any more symptoms hit, “nothing I can’t change.”

My mother gets up from where she is sitting and comes around the counter. “Thank you, Piper,” she says. “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“I’ll make a list,” I say, smiling. She gives me a hug before closing her calendar and heading up the stairs. I dig out my cell phone and dial Jan’s. I tuck the phone between my shoulder and my ear as I walk toward the bathroom with the container of strawberries in my hand. I’m trying to decide which is worse, eating unwashed strawberries or washing strawberries in the bathroom sink, when Jan’s voice mail clicks on. I quickly run the berries under the water as I explain why I can’t be there to fill boxes of Consternation Hearts.

After inhaling the last of the strawberries, I open the pantry door to put the empty plastic container in the recycling and find it already overflowing onto the floor. I take the whole box outside to dump it in our recycling can, but it too is overflowing. I peek over at the Wishman’s can just across the small strip of lawn between our houses. I decide in the interest of saving the planet that it’s okay to dump our recycling in their bin. Besides, with only Charlie and his dad living in the house, how much could be in there?

The front door opens just as I’m shaking out the last can. Mr. Wishman steps out onto the porch.

“Morning, Mr. Wishman,” I say.

He glances in my direction and offers me a weak smile. “Morning, Piper,” he says. I start to thank him for letting me use up some of their recycling space, but he turns and heads back inside before I can.

Charlie’s dad has always been a little eccentric. He’s a great artist and a really nice person, but things like clean clothes, haircuts, and mealtimes seem to fall off his radar when he’s painting. I’m guessing he must be in the middle of something huge.

The good news is that I’ve gotten almost all of my homework done. The bad news is that the plumber, who was supposed to show up “sometime after lunch,” doesn’t even make it to the front door until nearly four. The worst news is that it’s already after five and all I can see is the bottom half of him still sticking out of the cabinet under the kitchen sink. He keeps complaining to me about the “old pipes” in this house, like it’s my fault they are all corroding and breaking down. My mother’s called half a dozen times from the shop, each time expressing her thanks more and more earnestly for staying here with him. My cell barks at me. I look over at the legs sticking out from under the sink and surmise that the bits of pipe scattered all around them mean it’s still going to be a while.

“Hey, Jan,” I say. I can hear “The Way You Look Tonight” through the phone.

“Just calling to let you know that as of tomorrow your Consternation Hearts are officially on sale.”

“You finished?” I can’t stop grinning. I couldn’t figure out how I was going to get all those boxes filled and still actually attend school this week. “Thank you so much, Jan. You—”

“Whoa,” he says. “Don’t thank me. All I did was fold up a few boxes between customers. Your friends did all the work.”

“Are they still there?” I ask.

“Nope,” he says. “They just left. Something about
The Plan
.” I roll my eyes. No telling what Jillian has Claire doing now. Bleaching her teeth. Getting a facial. Balancing her chi. “I sent them out of here with a few of boxes of Love Potion Number Nine and a bag of Morning Madness Granola about ten minutes ago.”
Here we go,
I think.

“How does everyone like the new flavor?” I ask.

“It’s not officially on sale yet,” Jan says. “Although Jeremy tried it when he came in early to help me open up. He said it was good.”

I smirk at the thought of Jeremy trying the new flavor. He doesn’t need any help in the falling in love department. “Jeremy is working there now?” I ask. Man, that guy is unstoppable.

“Just here and there,” Jan says, laughing. “Don’t worry. Your job isn’t in jeopardy.”

Just then plumber guy starts griping again from under the sink, something about flanges and crimping. “I better go,” I say.

“Drop by after school so you can see your new creation in all its glory,” Jan says. “I have them right in the window along with a sign advertising the new truffle of the month.”

“Thanks again, Jan,” I say before clicking off and going to deal with more talk of flow meters and fill gauges. I sigh and put the phone on the counter. I would rather pick bubble gum out of Dom’s hair than talk about copper piping anymore.
Just keep thinking about the nice running water.
I put on my nicest smile and head around the corner.

The plumber finally leaves just as Beau’s truck pulls up in front. Mom isn’t home yet. She’ll be sorry she missed him, I know, but seeing him isn’t helping her actually get over him. I know they say it takes half as long as you were in a relationship to get over the relationship, but I’m not sure I can take any more of this. When I open the door, Beau is standing there with Batman and Cinderella. Sort of. Dominic looks normal from the waist down—cargo pants and sneakers—but from the waist up, he’s Batman. Lucy, on the other hand, looks like she went through a war where they used lipstick instead of bullets for ammunition.

“Don’t I look pretty?” she asks, sliding past me.

“Very,” I say. Beau looks like he’s also been through a war,
but one I’m not sure he’s going to survive. “Long weekend?” I ask. There, a tiny piece of me that’s glad he’s gotten this glimpse of what it means to be a single parent, but most of me wants their visits to go well. Because whether I like him right now or not, he is Dom and Lucy’s father. And whether I’m mad at him or not, he is officially my father too, since he adopted me when I was seven.

“They are very high-energy,” Beau says. I look up at the ceiling above our heads, which is actually the floor of their bedroom and where they must currently be training elephants to jump through hoops. “So,” Beau says, leaning against the doorjamb. “How are you?” I’m surprised at his question. It isn’t like him to actually attempt a conversation. Usually he’s all about the drop-and-bolt.

I shrug. “Okay, I guess. Busy.” He nods and keeps standing there, so I try again. “You know, school, candy making—”

Something in his pocket beeps loudly. He pulls out his phone and looks at it. “I have to go,” he says. His voice sounds sad, but maybe he’s just tired. I nod. He stands there for a moment, like he’s unsure whether he should hug me or shake my hand or something. I just lift my hand as if to wave. He gives me a tired smile and turns to walk down the sidewalk toward his truck. I take a deep breath. My mother isn’t the only one who has a hard time seeing Beau. I close the door just in time to hear something very large and very heavy hit the floor above me.

“Dom! Lucy!” I yell in the direction of the stairs. I hear
two sets of feet running toward the hallway, so I reason they are both still alive and at least still have the use of their legs. I decide that I need some food in me before I tackle whatever mess there is upstairs.

I quickly fix a few grilled cheese sandwiches and pour three glasses of milk. I add some apple chunks, knowing that they probably lived on takeout and sugary cereal all weekend. I call for them as I slide the sandwiches out of the frying pan. Lucy comes careening into the room first. She slides into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. The hem of her princess dress catches on the edge of the chair, and I hear a ripping sound as the tulle gives way. Dominic, close on her heels, jostles her briefly. Even though there are three other chairs pushed up to the table, they always want the same one. I plunk a plate of food in front of Lucy and another in front of an empty chair on the other side of the table.

Dominic takes the other chair and immediately starts tearing the crusts off his sandwich. He sneers at the apples, or at least I think he does. The Batman mask makes it hard to tell. “Why can’t we have Lucky Charms?” he asks. I resist the urge to pour the glass of milk over his head and instead set it on the table beside his plate.

“Where’s Mommy?” Lucy asks, dribbling milk down the front of her princess dress.

“She’s at the shop,” I say. Dominic tries to push scraps of sandwich through the mouth slit in his mask. I slide the
mask up onto the top of his head. He frowns at me, but starts eating his sandwich with his own mouth.

“When’s she coming home?” Dominic asks.

“Soon,” I say.

“That’s what you always say,” Dom says. I can’t argue with that. He takes one last bite of sandwich before pushing away from the table. His movement upends his glass, sending a river of milk flowing toward Lucy. She screams and tries to get away from the table, tilting her chair so far back that she ends up on the ground and her dinner ends up on top of her.

I decide to move bedtime up about an hour. It only takes me ten minutes, four washcloths, and a round of toothbrush wrestling to get them in bed. They are nearly asleep before I’ve even gotten them all tucked in. I pull their door closed and head back downstairs, checking the clock on the way. Nearly seven.

I’m about halfway through the dishes when Jillian calls to tell me about the
kickin’
earrings she and Claire found at Jump! I bite the inside of my cheek as she talks. I feel a funny twinge of jealousy at all the time Claire and Jillian have been spending together, but I tell it to be quiet. I’ve just been busy and Claire needs the company. Jillian starts in on The Plan again, talking about something called a mani-pedi, which I figure out has to do with having our nails done. I just listen and um-hum. At one point I even put the phone on the counter so I can dry the dishes with
both hands. When I pick it up again, she’s moved on to talking about the truffles. She doesn’t even seem to have noticed that I was gone.