“Really?” Jillian says, drawing the word out so it sounds like it has eight syllables instead of two. I squint at her. She smiles at me like the Cheshire Cat.
I look around to make sure Jeremy isn’t listening. “What about the hottie who sits in front of you in chem?”
She just waves her fingers at me. “Piper, do you realize that there are only nine more days until Valentine’s Day?”
“Um yeah,” I say, thinking of the big sign in Jan’s window where he’s been counting down to V-Day since the beginning of the month.
“Then you can understand why I’m keeping more than one plate spinning.” I nod, but something about her calling Charlie a plate that she’s spinning makes me feel slightly protective of him. I start to tell her that Charlie isn’t just some plate, but she already has her phone to her ear.
“Mom,” she says. “I want to go.” She pauses, listening. “I just changed my mind. That’s all.” She looks at me. “How many badges can I have?” She listens again. “I need five, including me.” She smiles at me and nods, listening again. “Okay, I’ll ask.” She pulls the phone away from ear. “Can we do three hundred?” she asks, pointing to the truffles.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I’ll have to ask Jan.” I walk to the front of the store where Jeremy is helping Jan refill the bins of hard candy. “She wants three hundred,” I tell Jan.
He rolls his eyes then smiles. “Okay, but it’s going to clean us out.”
“You should start packing up the Love Potion Number Nine truffles,” Jeremy says.
Jan smiles at him. “I knew there was a reason I pay you the big bucks.”
“You don’t pay me,” Jeremy says.
“Right,” Jan says. “I guess we should fix that.” I shake my head and walk back into the kitchen, leaving Jeremy and Jan to negotiate. I nod at Jillian, who relays the information to her mother, then hangs up the phone.
“We’re in,” she says, smiling at me. “You can bring Ben Donovan, and Claire—well, we’ll figure out something for Claire.”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I mean, I’m not sure I—”
“Piper, look. Maybe the irony of all this is lost on you, but I think it’s the least you can do for Claire and me.”
“The irony?” I ask.
Jillian rolls her eyes at me. “Don’t you think it’s a little ironic that the one person who couldn’t care less about romance or anything vaguely love-related is the only one of us that has a solid prospect for Valentine’s Day?”
I sigh and start folding another one of the truffle boxes and affixing the silver seal to the top. Why is it that the more I try to duck the whole Valentine’s Day thing, the more everyone around me seems to be conspiring against me? “Fine,” I say. “I’m in.”
Jillian smiles at me. “I’m going to call Claire right now.” She pokes at her phone. I decide that I need a little fresh air. I push open the back door and walk out to the alley. I lean against the wall and close my eyes. Jillian’s wrong. It isn’t that I don’t care about love. I do. It’s just not for me. I mean, I like the idea of love. I know it makes you feel warm and sort of floaty, but I know what’s on the other side of that floaty feeling. I’ve seen it in my mother’s eyes when Jack left and when Beau decided he’d rather have a girlfriend than a wife. I saw it in Claire’s eyes when Stuart thought he needed someone new to hold hands with. I saw it in Charlie’s dad when Mrs. Wishman decided she needed to have a new life three thousand miles away from her husband and son. And even though I’ve never had my heart broken by a guy, I’ve felt enough of that empty, hard feeling you get in your stomach when someone who you believed in and trusted and loved just disappears. So, no thank you. I’ll just keep my heart where it is, where it’s safe.
I take a deep breath. It’s going to be a long night. There are hundreds of truffles to make. There are Consternation Hearts to box up. And apparently there are at least two people counting on me to pull it together enough to keep their Valentine’s hopes alive. I push away from the wall, taking one more look out into the quickly darkening sky. It’s too bright here under the lights to see the stars, but I say a wish anyway. “I wish…” I whisper, but I don’t know how to finish.
I walk back into the kitchen, where Jillian is trying not to laugh at Jeremy, who has donned a headband with flashing heart lights sticking up from it. Jan has on an identical headband. Jillian is fiddling with hers. Only one of the hearts will stay lit.
“Hey, Piper,” Jan says. “Where’s your Valentine’s Day spirit?” He hands me a headband and I turn on the lights, watching them blink. I slip my headband on my head, feeling the hearts bouncing on their springs.
“I think my heart’s defective,” Jillian says. I have to force myself to smile when Jan looks at me. I get the joke, but for some reason it just isn’t funny right now.
“I can fix that,” Jeremy says, taking Jillian’s headband from her. He pulls out the battery and looks at the wires that run from it. He twists one of them a little with his fingers and reinserts the battery.
“You are so nerdy,” Jillian says. I look over at her. It’s not what she said, but how she said it. It almost sounded like a compliment. “Yay,” Jillian says, when he flips the switch and both hearts stay lit. Jillian takes the headband from him and slips it on. She wobbles her head, making them clack together. “Jeremy,” she says, grinning at him. “You fixed my broken heart.” Both Jan and Jeremy laugh. All I can do is give that same half smile. Jan looks at me for a long moment, but I just shake my head at him. I know I already have a reputation for cynicism in all matters of love. I don’t need to state the obvious.
Claire comes by after helping my mom close up the flower shop. She rolls up her sleeves, dons a pair of plastic gloves, and starts helping stuff truffles into boxes. As she does, she tells us about all the weird orders that she’s been taking at the shop.
“Some guy ordered twelve dozen roses for his wife. That’s one hundred and forty-four roses,” she explains, as if we can’t do the math.
“Now that is romantic,” Jillian says.
“Seems desperate to me,” I say. Everyone looks at me. “Oh, come on. Twelve dozen? That’s a little over the top.”
“I once bought six dozen roses for my wife,” Jan says.
“Why only six?” I ask. “Why not twelve?” I smirk at him, but he just looks at me for a moment before going back to stirring the bowl of chocolate he has melting on the stove. Suddenly the kitchen feels really small.
Jeremy looks from me to Jan then back at the truffles he’s packaging. “I think sending some chick one hundred and forty-four roses is a bold move. As I always say: Go big or go home.”
Jillian snorts. “Exactly when do you say that?”
“Well, now for one,” Jeremy says. Jillian shakes her head, but she can’t help smiling. “Oh,” Jeremy explains, making us all look at him. “Jan, I have the best idea for next month.” Jan looks over at Jeremy, but not before catching my eye and smiling a little. I let out the breath I was holding and resolve to keep my negativity to myself.
“Tell me,” Jan says.
“Bacon.”
“Bacon?” Jan tilts his head to one side.
“Everyone likes bacon,” Jeremy says. He looks at all of us. Jillian and Claire nod and I cast my vote too, nodding along with them. “And everyone likes chocolate.”
“Hmm,” Jan says. He keeps stirring the bowl of chocolate. “Bacon truffles.” Jan smiles over at us. “You guys are really earning your pay today.” Jillian and Claire both protest that he doesn’t actually pay them anything, making Jan laugh. He stops stirring and lifts the bowl from the stove. He pours the chocolate onto the marble slab set into the counter and begins folding it in on itself over and over with a long spatula.
Jan instructs Jeremy to order sandwiches for all of us. Jeremy takes our orders and calls Jersey Mike’s, the sub place next to my mom’s shop. I start to tell Jeremy not to order from them, remembering what a hard time they’ve been giv
ing my mom about her expansion. But I can’t think of anywhere else that will deliver and of the five of us, only Jan can drive. And he refuses to leave us alone after last time.
“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he says. “It’s me. I just worry too much.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t trust us,” Jillian says, winking at him. This makes him smile and I feel a little jealous of how easy it is for Jillian. She seems to know the exact thing to say to make people happy. Even Jeremy. Even though she is constantly deflecting any of his romantic overtures, he still keeps looking at her like she’s pluperfect—more than perfect.
“Order extra bacon,” Jan tells Jeremy before he hangs up the phone. “So I hear you girls are going to this fancy shindig,” Jan says, nodding at the boxes we’re filling.
“Only if I can find someone to go with me,” Claire says. “I don’t want to be the fifth wheel.” I start to mention that Jillian isn’t exactly going with Charlie when Jeremy pipes up.
“I’ll go,” he says. Jillian looks over at him. I’m expecting some snarky remark from her, but she doesn’t say anything.
“You know you’d be going with me?” Claire asks. Jeremy nods. Jillian is watching them, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Claire looks at him for a moment. “Okay,” she finally says. “Might as well.” Might as well isn’t exactly what I would hope for in response to an invitation, but Jeremy seems fine with it. I look over at Jillian, who is shaking her head. She seems surprised by this turn of events and a tiny bit perturbed. I can’t help but wonder if she’s a little jealous.
My cell phone hoots from my jacket pocket. I walk over to where I hung it on the hook near the back door. “Hello?” I say, turning away from where Claire and Jillian are having an intense discussion about what to wear to the Umlaut event. “Wait,” I say, “I can’t hear you.” I step out the back door and into the alley, letting the door whoosh shut behind me.
“I asked if you need me to pick you up tomorrow,” Charlie says. I pause, confused. “For the swim meet?” Charlie prompts.
“Are you sure it’s okay to fraternize with the enemy?” I ask.
“Um, Piper, it’s a swim meet, not war.” There is a big crash in the background and then a series of thuds.
“Charlie?” I ask.
“I’m here,” he says.
“Where are you?” I ask, surprised that he’s out somewhere. He has this four point ritual that he performs before each meet. The first is sleep—at least eight hours. Two of the steps are food-related. Another involves ingesting as much coffee as humanly possible the morning of the meet.
“Listen, Pipe. I gotta go.” There’s more thudding, then a ripping sound.
“Charlie, is everything—”
“I’ll be in front of your house at seven,” Charlie says. The phone is dead before I can answer. I try to call him back, but it clicks immediately over to voice mail. I stare at my phone, not sure what to do. Part of me wants to find him—just to make sure he’s okay. If I knew where Charlie was or what he was doing, I’d figure out a way to get there, but his phone is off and I have no idea where to even begin looking for him. I try his home phone, hoping to get Frank, but it just rings and rings. Right as I’m about to hang up and call my mom to ask her to go over there, Charlie’s dad picks up.
“Hey, Mr. Wishman,” I say. “It’s Piper.” He doesn’t say anything. “From next door? I mean, I’m not next door right now…” I know I’m babbling, but I’m not sure exactly what to say.
“What can I do for you, Piper?” Charlie’s dad asks. His voice sounds thick and I wonder if I woke him up. Instantly, I feel guilty for calling. Frank tends to sleep weird hours. Charlie is forever telling me to keep it down when I’m over there.
“Listen, I’m sorry to wake you, but I just talked to Charlie and—”
“Charlie’s sleeping,” he says, cutting me off.
“Oh,” I say. “It was just that he got off the phone so quickly and I…” I trail off, unsure of what else to say. I start to congratulate him on the Umlaut thing, but he cuts me off again.
“If that’s it—” he says.
“Yeah,” I say. “Um, thanks and I’m sorry again—” But the phone is dead before I can finish. I look at the screen on my phone. Charlie Home—Call ended.
“Piper?” Jan pushes the back door open and looks at me. I slip my phone into my pocket and smile at him. “You okay?” he asks. I nod, but don’t look at him. “You seem a little sad tonight.”
“No,” I say, “I’m good.” I know Jan doesn’t believe me. In addition to my cheeks turning bright red and my tic thingy in my left eye, it’s the words that give me away. Whenever I say I’m good, it means I’m anything but good. Thankfully Jan doesn’t say anything else. He just touches my shoulder briefly as I walk past him into the kitchen.
Jeremy is laughing so hard at something that he’s having trouble breathing. Claire and Jillian are both staring at him with their arms folded. He finally calms down enough to speak. “Let me get this straight,” he says. “You thought that by adding a bunch of herbs and spices and junk to some truffles, you could make people fall in love?” Jillian glares at him as he starts laughing again.
“You told him?” I ask. Claire nods toward Jillian, who manages to look slightly sheepish.
“It wasn’t one of our best ideas,” she admits.
Jeremy stares at the ceiling for a moment. “I think it’s brilliant. There’s just one major flaw,” he says.
“Oh and what’s that?” Jillian asks, her arms still folded.
“You were trying to make people fall in love, right?” Jillian nods impatiently. “I think that’s where you went wrong. Your goal should have been to make people think they’d fallen in love.”
“What’s the difference?” Jillian asks.
It’s Jeremy’s turn to be impatient. “Symptoms of love are easy to measure and manipulate. Dilated pupils. Elevated heart rate. Flushed cheeks. If you can find ingredients that manufacture enough of those indicators, I think you could convince someone that he’s in love.”
“You mean trick someone,” I say. Jeremy shrugs.
“But we wanted to make people really fall in love,” Claire says.
“That’s scientifically impossible,” Jeremy says. “Even if you overlook the obvious confounding factors, there’s no way to empirically prove the presence of something as nebulous as love.” I look over at Jillian expecting her to say something, but she’s just looking at Jeremy with this half smile on her face.
“What?” Jeremy asks, looking at her. She shrugs and starts folding more boxes. I am pretty sure this is the very first time I’ve ever seen Jillian at a loss for words.
chapter twelve
I hate to admit it, but this is good,” I say, taking another bite of the bacon truffle. Jan had a batch of bacon truffles put together and chilling in the deep freeze as soon as the bacon arrived. He insisted we try one as soon as they were ready.
“Jeremy, that is some serious praise coming from a girl who doesn’t like candy,” Jan says. We’ve been taking turns eating our sandwiches and boxing up truffles.
“Another thing I hate to admit,” I say, looking at my half-eaten veggie sub sitting on the desk, “is that Mike’s can make a mean sandwich.”
“Why do you hate to admit that?” Jan asks. I tell him about my mom and how Jersey Mike’s is making her plans for expansion impossible.
“The only other option is if Artie’s closes,” I say, mentioning the shop on the other side of hers. Jan smirks at me. “And as much as I love my mom, the thought of a world without Artie’s Pizza is too horrible to consider.” This makes Claire laugh. I am a well-known Artie’s junky. They even gave me one of their tie-dyed staff shirts last year for free.
Jillian looks up from where she’s adding raspberries to the freshly made batch of truffle base. “It’s not the best location for a high-end flower shop, wedged between a pizza parlor and a sandwich shop. She should relocate.” I nod, remembering t
hat I recently said almost the exact same thing to my mother.
“Speaking of expansions…” I say.
Jan sighs. He’s been talking about knocking down the wall between his shop and the empty one next door ever since the bookstore moved down to the end of the strip. “Maybe when things slow down,” he says. He’s been saying that for months, and every time he does, I point out that things are doing the opposite of slowing down. Jan’s is more popular all the time. “Maybe now that I have all this extra help,” he says, smiling at us. Then his face gets serious. “Listen,” he says. “I really do appreciate it.”
“We know!” Jillian says, then laughs. It’s the seventeenth time in the last hour that Jan has told us how much he appreciates our help. “You couldn’t do this without us, blah, blah, blah.”
Love? Maybe. Page 11
