The Icing on the Cake (12 page)

Dad smiled. “Yes, but you have a boyfriend now. I thought maybe you’d just go to singles ward and then spend some time with him.”

“What?! Dad, Isaac isn’t my boyfriend!” Although I did kind of like the sound of that. “You can’t go around calling him that, okay?”

“Okay,” Dad said, raising his hands in acquiescence.

Mom looked up from her cake and smiled at the two of us.

“Plus, the singles ward isn’t having FHE tonight,” I explained.

“Annabelle is going to come with me to Bev Stapleton’s house to drop off the cake,” Mom said. “We’ll be back at about eight o’clock. I know it’s a little late, but they asked me to do this cake at the last minute. I didn’t have time to plan as well as I would have liked.”

“It’s a beautiful cake, Marjorie.” Dad kissed Mom gently on the top of her brown curls.

Mom put the finishing touches on the cake and declared it finished. She asked me to put some frozen stew into the microwave for dinner while she changed out of her cake-making clothes.

Mom emerged from her room in a floral skirt and a short-sleeved sweater set. Her hair was freshly combed, and she had put on a creamy shade of lipstick. She looked lovely. Dad obviously thought the same thing because he whistled at her. Mom responded to the whistle with a grin and a “Stop, Walter.”

As Mom and I prepared to leave for the shower, I found that everything was making me think of Isaac. As we ate our stew I saw a carrot that was in the exact shape of Isaac’s Firebird. Mom and Dad didn’t quite see the resemblance, but I’m telling you, it was there. Then as Mom and I were loading the cake into the back of the station wagon, she said to me, “Watch out for this icing,” but for a split second I thought she said, “Watch and then kiss Isaac.”

Oh, man. I was falling fast.

I stepped inside the gigantic Carmel home where the final touches were being put on Elise Stapleton’s bridal shower. I helped Mom carry the cake through the marble-floored entryway and into a kitchen that looked much different than the bridal shower kitchens I’m used to. No stacks of dishes. No sauce spills. No hurried women bumping into each other as one pours bottles of Sprite into a punch bowl while the other stirs in the limeade. All I saw was a huge, spotless kitchen filled with gourmet foods and people with focused looks on their faces and neat uniforms on their backs.

Inside the kitchen, a woman in a cream-colored dress greeted Mom. “Marjorie,” she said. Then she glanced at the cake and gushed, “How lovely. Let’s take that out to the ballroom.”

On the way to the ballroom, which I thought was a room that only existed in old movies and the game of Clue, Mom introduced me to the woman in the cream-colored dress: Bev Stapleton. We exchanged greetings.

As Bev, Mom, and I entered the ballroom, my eyes grew wide. This was not a bridal shower, it was a bridal storm.

The first thing I noticed, probably because we were standing right next to them, were the cakes. Three of them. Mom and I placed our cake on the large table decorated with fresh flowers and greenery, and I stared longingly at the other cakes. One was a fancy chocolate confection complete with perfectly placed red raspberries. The other appeared to be a simple white cake.

Just as I was looking, and wondering if it would be rude to ask if we could stay long enough to have cake, a woman dressed in a sky blue suit whizzed by and placed cards written in calligraphy in front of the cakes.

I read the cards. The one in front of Mom’s cake read: Classic White with Buttercream Icing. The chocolate cake was labeled: Double Raspberry Mousse with Swiss Chocolate Icing. And the label for the third cake read: Low-Cal Vanilla with Low-Cal Icing. Low-calorie cake? It just didn’t seem right to me.

I should take notes
, I thought suddenly. But since I hadn’t brought anything to write on, I had to resort to the mess of receipts that had accumulated in my bag. I took out the receipt for
Today’s Bride
magazine and wrote: have a variety of cakes.

“Hi,” I heard a woman’s voice behind me. I shoved the receipt back into my bag.

“Hi,” I said back.

“I’m Olivia.”

“Annabelle,” I said as I looked into Olivia’s nearly purple eyes.

“Are you Elise’s friend?”

“Uh, actually, my mom made one of the cakes, so I’m just here to help her.”

Olivia looked around as if trying to find someone else to talk to. “Well I think I’m going to go take a seat,” she began, “though I hate to sit alone.”

“I’ll sit with you,” I said. Mom was chatting with Bev, so I could sit for a while.

“So, how do you know Elise?” I asked Olivia as we sat down. That was always a good question because it usually led to a long story, thus filling in the moments of otherwise awkward silence.

“I met her in . . . EEEEE!” Olivia let out an ear piercing screech as she looked at something over my shoulder. I followed her line of vision to the entrance of the room and saw two women—one petite with glossy brown hair, the other extremely tall and skinny—rushing toward the table. Olivia stood up to hug them. The three women sort of jumped up and down all talking at once. What I picked up from the conversation went something like this:

“You look so . . .” Tall and Skinny said.

“I know, I love your . . .” Petite and Glossy interrupted.

“Oh, no, you’re the ones who . . .” Olivia began.

“Have you seen the rock on Elise’s . . .” Tall and Skinny started to ask.

“My gosh, it’s like a . . .” Olivia tried to finish.

“I know, I saw it and just about . . .” Petite and Glossy said.

“Totally,” Tall and Skinny and Olivia said in unison.

“Totally,” Petite and Glossy added.

“Come sit with us,” Tall and Skinny said to Olivia. With a little wave in my direction, Olivia was off.

I peered over at the buffet table. Large china platters held fancy-looking food. I saw the back of the woman who had whizzed past me while I looked at the cakes. She was putting labels written in calligraphy in front of the platters. I waited until the woman was gone and then pulled another receipt out of my bag, making my way over to the buffet table.

I copied down the cards, well, minus the calligraphy. Beef Tenderloin with Garlic and Rosemary. Roast Duck with Port Wine Glaze. Steamed Leeks with Mustard Vinaigrette. Roasted Mushrooms with Thyme. Ancient Grains Bread. Whole Wheat Bread. And, of course, Low-Cal Asian Salad.

With my list tucked in my bag, I made my way back to my seat. I glanced around the room in search of Mom and noticed that the room was filling up quickly with chatting, giggling women. Three such women had taken seats at the table I had been sitting at. I smiled at them and lowered myself into my seat.

Just then, Olivia, who was standing in the front of the room, clanked a silver spoon against a crystal glass and the chatter in the room came to a hush.

“Before Elise gets here we need everyone’s help with a surprise gift.” At this, a collective “Ah” sounded in the room. “Sierra,” Olivia pointed to Tall and Skinny, “will be coming around with a camera to film your words of marriage wisdom for Elise and Dominic.”

Olivia surveyed the room. “We’ll start back there,” she said, pointing at my table. Then she put her glass down and disappeared from view.

I stood up to go find Mom. “Oh, no you don’t,” a redheaded woman seated at the table said to me. “If we have to be on camera so do you.”

“But I don’t—”

“So who’s first?” Tall and Skinny, a.k.a. Sierra, asked as she approached the table.

“She is.” The redhead pointed to me.

“Okay, when the red light is on, go ahead.”

“But I don’t even—”

“I know, I know, I hate being on camera too. But do it for Elise,” Sierra said, sounding slightly agitated.

I felt a whole bunch of eyes on me. I think I even heard someone whisper, “Who’s she?”

“Listen, I’m just here for the cake,” I said, trying to explain.

“Aren’t we all,” the redhead said with a laugh.

I opened my mouth to try to clarify, but Sierra spoke up first. “Listen, you’re holding up the program.”

“Okay,” I relented. I cleared my throat, and watched for the red light.

“Hey Elise,” I began. “The words I would like to offer are . . .” My mind went blank. I had nothing. Why did I have to go first? Or at all for that matter? I didn’t even know the girl. “I would like to say . . .”

My mind raced through some quotes. An apple a day . . . No. People who throw stones . . . No. Turn off the water while you brush your . . . No. I felt myself starting to sweat.

Then I saw Mom.

She was walking into the room with Bev. Her hair was brushed behind her ears and her smile was radiant. “Look Elise, I don’t think you even know me, but I can tell you this: I know two people who have been married for a very long time. And from what I can tell, love looks a lot like friendship. It’s sitting on the couch playing Scrabble together. It’s eating stew on a Monday night. And it’s sweeter than a big spoon of buttercream icing.” I smiled, feeling myself starting to tear up. “Okay that’s it,” I said quickly, before my blubbering was caught on tape.

Sierra turned off the camera. “Okay, who’s next?” she asked, moving on to the redhead.

I looked for Mom, but she had disappeared. So, interested in what was on the drink menu, I made my way to the drink table. Three silver fountains were flowing with frothy drinks. Tall glasses filled with ice cubes with raspberries frozen into them stood next to the fountains. And sure enough the drinks were labeled by calligraphy cards.

I took out another receipt, this one for a stick of deodorant I had bought before my dinner date with Isaac. I copied down the names of the drinks. They were probably alcoholic, but the alcohol could easily be omitted, making the drinks better for the body and taste buds alike.

After I wrote the names of the drinks on the receipt, I pulled the rest of my receipt-notes from my handbag. I was looking over them and fixing my t’s and i’s when I was aware of the whizzing woman coming up behind me.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m just . . .” I looked up and immediately recognized the woman. It was Brenna, the event planner.

Suddenly I had a flashback to getting caught writing a note to Melissa Mission during class in fourth grade, and though I’d like to think I am much brighter than my fourth grade self, I hid my receipt-notes the same way I hid my note to Melissa—I put them down my shirt. Unfortunately, although my ten-year-old self wore her shirts tucked in, my twenty-four-year-old self did not, and the notes went directly to the floor.

Brenna picked them up before I could. She surveyed my messy handwriting. “You’re taking notes? Why would you . . .” Brenna looked up at me. “Wait a second? Aren’t you that girl who came into my office earlier today? Did you follow me here so you could write down the food I was serving?” She looked at me like I was some kind of lunatic.

“No. Of course not. I—”

Just then, a girl wearing a crystal tiara atop her smooth blonde hair approached me and Brenna. I eyed the tiara.
Must be the bride
, I thought.

“What’s going on over here?” the girl in the tiara asked. Then she glared at me. “Who are you? I don’t know you.”

“I was just taking care of it,” Brenna said.

Elise eyed me suspiciously and stepped in front of Brenna. “Actually, Brenna, I just realized I know who she is. Why don’t you go make sure the DJ is ready to start? I’ll take it from here.” Her voice was menacing.

Brenna nodded and walked away, my receipt-notes still in her hand.

Elise put her hands on her hips and gave me a scathing look. “You’re Dominic’s ex-girlfriend aren’t you? The one who’s been sending me all those nasty emails.”

“What? No.” I noticed that a crowd had begun to form around us.

The redhead from the table I had been sitting at, through with her video appearance, walked over to see what the commotion was about.

“Hey, Scarlett, you’ve seen Dominic’s ex-girlfriend, haven’t you?” Elise asked.

“Yeah, once briefly,” Scarlett answered.

“Is this her?” Elise pointed at me in disgust.

Scarlett narrowed her eyes and looked me over. “It could be, but I think his ex-girlfriend was fatter.”

“She could have gone on South Beach,” a girl who had just joined the crowd chimed in, giving me a scathing look.

“Look,” I said, “I’m not Dominic’s ex-girlfriend on South Beach.”

“Then why are you here?” Elise asked, getting in my face.

“I’m here because my mom made the cake.”

“Oh, really?” Scarlett said accusingly.

“Yes, really,” I said, wondering why she was talking like she thought she was Nancy Drew.

I watched as Scarlett whispered something into Elise’s ear. Elise then turned her mouth into an angry shape and daintily removed her tiara and placed it in Scarlett’s hand. Before I knew what was happening, Elise grabbed the back of my hair and yanked. Then, the angry shape of her mouth intensifying, she balled up her fist and took a swing at me. I shielded my face and awaited the punch.