The Icing on the Cake (36 page)

Isaac began to walk away, and my mind filled with things I wanted to call out to him.
Wait! When will we talk? What do we need to talk about? Who’s the blonde?
But the only words that came out of my mouth were tiny whispers even I could barely hear.
I love you, Isaac. I still love you.

B
eep, beep. I was sitting at my parents’ dining room table, planning the menu for Carrie’s shower with Mom, when I heard the sound of my cell phone indicating that I had a voicemail message.

“That’s weird,” I said. “I didn’t even hear the phone ring.”

Mom shrugged her shoulders, and I casually got up from my seat and dug through my bag, which was sitting on the opposite end of the table. I located my cell and looked at the number on the Calls Missed screen. Isaac had called.

“No!” I hollered at my phone.

Mom raised an eyebrow at me, but didn’t say anything. She continued flipping through her Asian cookbook.

I checked the message. “Hi, it’s Isaac. I . . . I guess I’ll try back later.”

“No!” I hollered again.

My heart racing, I quickly moved into my old room, plopped onto the bed, and dialed Isaac’s number. As I listened to each ring, I began to imagine how our conversation might go.

I was so into my imagined conversation that I was startled when I heard the phone go to Isaac’s voicemail. “Hi, this is Isaac. Sorry I can’t take your call right now . . .”

As I listened to the outgoing message, I quickly started debating about whether or not I wanted to leave a voicemail. I had pretty much decided on not leaving one, when the tone sounded, leaving me no choice.

After a second of silence, I began to leave my message. “Hi, this is Isaac. I mean, uh, um, hi, Isaac. I’m just returning your call. So, call me.” Then, almost as an afterthought, I added, “Oh, this is Annabelle.”

I hung up the phone and buried my face in a pillow on the bed, wondering why I could never seem to leave a normal, regular, “Hey this is Annabelle, call me back,” message on Isaac’s phone.

“Annabelle?” Mom’s voice came from the doorway of the room.

I jumped a bit at the sound and sat up. “Yeah.”

“I have to go in for my volunteer shift at the library in about an hour. I was wondering if you could call Carrie and somehow find out what she thinks about the menu we’ve chosen for the shower. Without letting her know that’s what you’re doing, of course.”

Mom handed me the menu we had put together, and I looked it over.

1. Grilled shrimp with Asian flavors

2. Asian hot and sour noodle soup

3. Baby greens with orange-sesame vinaigrette

4. Asian stir-fried asparagus

“Sure,” I said with a grin. “I think I can figure out what she thinks of this.”

I punched the number for Carrie’s health food store into my cell. Mom leaned against the door frame and waited as I called.

“Fresh Food Fanatics, this is Moonbeam,” a perky voice answered.

“May I please speak to Carrie Fields?” I asked

“Oh, hi, Annabelle,” Moonbeam said. “Sure. I’ll get her for you.” If you haven’t guessed by now, I call Carrie at the store a lot. Probably more than I should.

Carrie’s voice came on the phone after a few moments. “Hello?”

“Carrie, is that you?” I joked. “I forgot what your voice sounded like.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, and I could hear her smiling. “Planning a wedding is hard work. I’ve never been busier in my life. Not even when I was opening the store.”

“Are we going to get together tomorrow for Paint and Popcorn night?” I asked.

“I don’t think so,” Carrie answered apologetically. “Miles and I just signed up for a couples’ yoga class that is only offered on Thursdays. It’s supposed to help relieve the stress of planning the wedding.”

“Okay,” I said, trying to hide the disappointment in my voice. “But we’re still going to Shrimpy’s on Saturday, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Good. How about I come and pick you up at your house and I’ll drive us over.”

I hoped Carrie would agree. Usually, Carrie and I would just meet at the restaurant, but that wouldn’t work this time, because we weren’t actually going to the restaurant.

You see, while we were shopping for decorations, Rona and I decided on a plan. According to the plan, I would say I was driving Carrie to Shrimpy’s for our already-planned Saturday outing. But I would actually drive her to my condo where—surprise!—her party would be waiting.

“Okay,” Carrie agreed. “If you want to drive, that’s fine by me.”

“Great,” I said. “So . . . speaking of Shrimpy’s . . . don’t you wish they had Asian shrimp? You know, grilled shrimp with Asian flavors.” I read the name of the dish straight from the paper in my hand.

“I don’t think they serve Asian food at Shrimpy’s,” Carrie said.

“Yes, but if they did, wouldn’t that be great?”

“Uh, sure. I love Asian shrimp.”

I flashed Mom a thumbs up sign, grabbed a fuzzy pink pen off the nightstand, and put a big circle around grilled shrimp with Asian flavors.

Onto the next menu item. “You know, I was thinking. When we go to Shrimpy’s, I think I’m going to get one of those yummy nonalcoholic specialty drinks.”

“Those things are like 90 percent sugar,” Carrie cautioned.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true. But you know what’s not 90 percent sugar . . . Asian hot and sour noodle soup.” I sounded like a very bad actor trying to read lines.

“I’ve never had that before,” Carrie said.

“Yes but do you think you’d like it?”

“Probably,” Carrie said slowly. “I love hot and sour food.”

“Cool.”

I circled Asian hot and sour noodle soup.

“I ordered my dress yesterday,” Carrie said. I think she wanted to stop my babble.

“Oh, Carrie, I’m so excited for you! I got the pictures you emailed me. It’s gorgeous. Call me the second it comes in.”

“I will,” Carrie promised, sounding like one very excited bride.

Silently, I tried to think of how to get the topic back to food. After all, I only had two items left to investigate. “You know how your dress has little flowers embroidered on the bodice?” I began. “Well, I think lettuce looks like flowers. Especially when it’s in a salad. Maybe a salad with, I don’t know, say, orange-sesame vinaigrette.”

“What are you talking about?” Carrie sounded seriously perplexed.

“I’m saying that I like salad with orange-sesame vinaigrette.”

“Sesame oil is really hard for me to digest,” Carrie said.

“Oh.”

“And it’s pretty gross.”

“Oh,” I repeated, this time making it a two syllable word.

I crossed off the salad.

“You know what’s not gross, though,” I said. Just one more menu item to go. “Asian stir-fried asparagus.”

“What’s with you and Asian food?”

“Well, it’s just that talking about Shrimpy’s made me get food on the brain. And I just realized that it’s been a while since I had some good Asian food. Like stir-fried asparagus.”

“I’ll make some for you sometime. That’s one of my favorite dishes.”

“Oh it is, huh,” I said in a weird voice as I circled asparagus on the list.

“Annabelle is something—” Carrie started to ask.

“Well, I better let you get back to work,” I said quickly. “Bye.”

I hung up before Carrie could say anything and let out a long breath. “Well, I think I pulled that off,” I said to Mom. “Now let’s get to work.”

“Oh, no. I just remembered I left something at my condo,” I said when Carrie and I were pulling into the parking lot at Shrimpy’s.

The plan had been for me to pick Carrie up and take her directly to my condo, but Rona had called and told me she needed more time to set up, so I had to keep up the pretense that we were going to Shrimpy’s.

“What did you forget?” Carrie asked.

“My, um, my . . .” I looked out my window and saw a middle-aged woman, obviously a tourist, wearing a tennis visor. “My visor,” I said.

“Your visor?” Carrie asked. “I’ve never seen you wear a visor.”

“That’s because it’s new,” I replied quickly. “I just got it to ... protect my eyes from the sun’s harmful rays.”

“But we’re going to be eating inside,” Carrie said.

“Yes, well . . . fluorescent lights are just as harmful, you know.”

“Really?” Carrie asked with interest. “I’ve never heard that before.”

“It’s true,” I said with feigned expertise.

“Can’t you just get a visor somewhere around here? I’m sure they sell them.”

“I know,” I began. “But it’s not just any visor. It’s a special visor. I got it from, uh, my eye doctor. They won’t sell them around here. It’s called a . . . Rayofilter visor,” I said, kind of proud of the little name I came up with.

“Okay, well if you really need it,” Carrie said. “I know how important it is to protect ourselves from the harsh environment.”

Carrie was so sweet and gracious, I felt terrible lying to her.

As Carrie and I drove back to my condo, I explained, at Carrie’s request, how the Rayofilter visor worked. As I made stuff up, Carrie frowned at me a couple of times, as if to say that what I was saying made no sense, but she didn’t say anything.

When I was within five minutes driving distance from home, I made a call to Rona’s cell. “Yes, hello, Blockbuster, I’m calling to see if you have any copies of
The Karate Kid Part II,”
I said into the phone.

That was the code Rona and I had set up beforehand. Because, you know, the movie is set in Japan and the shower had an Asian theme and . . . Anyway, we thought we were pretty clever, so just go with me on this one.

“Yes, we do,” Rona replied with a laugh.

“Great,” I said and flipped the phone closed.

“The Karate Kid?
You hate
The Karate Kid.”
Carrie looked at me. “Annabelle, what’s going on?”

“I just have a hankering to see it,” I fibbed.

After a few more minutes of Carrie questioning why I wanted to see
The Karate Kid Part II
and if I was going to make her watch it, we reached my condo, and I parked in the parking lot. When I started getting out of the car and Carrie didn’t follow, I asked, “Aren’t you going to come in with me?”

“Why do I need to come in?” Carrie asked.

It was a good question. It didn’t exactly take two people to fetch my fictional Rayofilter visor. “Well,” I stammered, trying to come up with something, “I need you to carry the . . . the battery pack. Yeah, the visor requires a battery pack, and I need you to carry it. It’s pretty heavy.”

“It’s so heavy that you can’t carry the visor and the battery pack at the same time?” Carrie narrowed her eyes. “I’m serious, Annabelle, what’s going on?”

“Nothing,” I said, trying my best to conceal my mischievous grin as I got out of the car.

I led a very reluctant Carrie to my condo and was practically bursting with excitement as I put my hand on the knob of the front door. I started talking really loud to let everyone inside know that we were there. “So, I’ll grab the visor and you grab the battery pack!” I hollered.

“Okay,” Carrie said slowly. She was definitely catching onto something.

My hand itching with anticipation, I flung the front door open. “Surprise!” eighteen women screamed the second the door was ajar.

Carrie stepped inside slowly, a dumbstruck look on her face. “You guys,” she said as her eyes settled on the huge “Congratulations Carrie and Miles” banner on the wall. Her voice was choked with emotion. “I can’t believe you did this.”

Carrie looked into the smiling faces of her closest friends and family: her mom, Miles’s sister Clarissa, my mom, Rona, Carrie’s friends from Fresh Food Fanatics, and other women of all ages who had come to know and love Carrie.

We all watched as Carrie moved around my living room enjoying all of the party elements. The décor. The scrapbook table where Rona had placed pictures of Carrie and Miles so all of the party-attendees could make scrapbook pages for Carrie. And of course, the food, which included everything I had asked Carrie about plus some extras, like the homemade fortune cookies Mom had made from organic ingredients.