Shake It Off

by Suzanne Nelson

  It was still dark outside as I pulled the last tray of double chocolate fudge cookies from the oven. I stood back, surveying the baked goods on the kitchen counter. There were three batches of brownies, cinnamon rolls, four dozen cookies in three different varieties, and two pans of cheesecake bars.

  I yawned and glanced at the clock. It was four thirty in the morning. That was just enough time for the last batch of cookies to cool and for me to blend the shakes before everyone else woke up. I set to work, building the Towering Trick or Treat shake first. I blended chocolate ice cream with two hefty scoops of peanut butter, then added in Reese’s Pieces and Peanut Butter Cups. Next, I added orange and white sprinkles to a peanut butter layer coating the outside of the glass mug, and then topped the shake off with whipped cream, two peanut butter blossom cookies, and a long wooden skewer adorned with candy corn, gummy pumpkins, and more peanut butter cups. I smiled with satisfaction as I took in the crazy appearance of the shake. Then I set it on the kitchen table and began mixing the other shakes—the Raspberry Cheesecake Colossus, the Smashtastic S’mores, and the Cookie Crumble Castle.

  There was one last shake I had to make, and I’d just finished topping it with three York Peppermint Patties when Aunt Beth and Uncle Troy appeared. They took one look at the kitchen and their mouths dropped open.

  “Surprise!” I swept my hand toward the shakes lined up on the kitchen table.

  “You …” Aunt Beth couldn’t stop staring. “You made all of this? This morning?”

  Uncle Troy staggered against the wall, feigning shock. “Beth, call a doctor. Bria’s up before ten. Something’s wrong with her.”

  “Very funny, Uncle Troy.” I smirked at him, but he only threw me a proud smile. “I thought we could do some taste testing. So we could decide which shakes to add to the menu at the creamery.”

  Just then, Luke thudded down the stairs with Wren following, and the second he saw the shakes, he whooped. “Yes! Dessert for breakfast! I knew it was only a matter of time before Mom recognized sugar as the fifth food group.”

  Aunt Beth clucked her tongue at him, but she was laughing. “Bria did this. Isn’t it great?”

  Now it was Wren’s and Luke’s turns to go slack-jawed.

  “You don’t have to look that shocked,” I said with a touch of defensiveness. “I know I haven’t been helping much lately, but … this is something I can actually do.”

  Everyone was silent then, until Aunt Beth announced, “All right! Let’s dig in!”

  That was all it took for Uncle Troy and Luke to grab spoons and straws and sit down, ribbing each other good-naturedly to vie for the first taste of the Smashtastic S’mores shake. Aunt Beth opted for alternating between the Cheesecake Colossus and the Towering Trick or Treat, closing her eyes and muttering, “This much sugar is SO wrong, but it tastes SO good.”

  Wren reached for the shake with the York Peppermint Patties, but I stopped her, handing her the Cookie Crumble Castle instead. “I’m actually saving that last one,” I said.

  “For who?” she asked.

  That was when Gabe walked in the front door, wearing a slate-blue work shirt that made his eyes look like Lake Michigan on an overcast day. My heart tumbled as I held the last milkshake out to him.

  “This one’s for you,” I made myself say.

  “You’ve been busy,” he said, taking in the catastrophe of the kitchen, and then the shake in his hands. I’d coated the top of the glass in ganache, then studded it with semisweet chocolate chips and Junior Mints. The shake itself was a blend of mint chocolate chip ice cream (I’d snuck it into the cart at the grocery store yesterday without Gabe seeing), more ganache, and bits of York Peppermint Patties. I’d stuck some peppermint sticks into it for garnish, too. “Is this what I think it is?” A slow smile spread across his face.

  I nodded, smiling back. “The Dark Side of the Spoon.”

  “Thanks,” he murmured, and took a sip, nodding appreciatively. “It’s delicious. What’s in it?”

  “It’s a shake shrouded in mystery,” I said teasingly. “Nobody really knows for sure.”

  His smile widened.

  Wren hadn’t touched her Cookie Crumble and was clearly listening to us. Gabe plopped down beside Luke, who wasted no time in scooping out a helping of the Dark Side of the Spoon for himself.

  Wren stared long and hard enough at Gabe’s shake that Luke piped up with, “What’s the deal with you, sis?” He elbowed her. “Did you wake up on the dark side, too, or what?”

  Wren stood up so quickly, she nearly knocked her Cookie Crumble shake over. “I have chores to do,” she mumbled, and was out the door before any of us could say another word.

  “What was that about?” Uncle Troy asked after Wren had gone.

  Aunt Beth stared at the closed front door, worry creasing her face. “This whole CheeseCo deal must have her completely out of sorts.”

  My chest squeezed. I had a feeling Wren’s irritation had less to do with CheeseCo and more with the shake I’d made especially for Gabe. But everyone fell silent at the mention of CheeseCo, and the cheery mood in the kitchen instantly plummeted.

  “I’ll go check on her,” Aunt Beth said. But she paused to give my arm a gentle squeeze. “We’ll add these shakes to the menu first thing this morning.”

  “I can help add them,” Gabe said, shooting me a smile. “We can work on it after breakfast.”

  “Thanks.” I grinned back at him.

  Aunt Beth pressed a hand against my cheek. “You did good, Bria.”

  Then she was gone, and the only sound in the kitchen was the gurgling slurp of Luke sipping the last drop of shake. Finally, I’d done something right around here, and to my surprise, I liked the way it felt.

  * * *

  “How does this look?” Gabe perched atop the ladder behind the creamery’s counter, positioning the prices onto the letter-board menu.

  I took in the plastic lettering. It certainly wasn’t anything close to the flashy digital menu at Sip & Shake, but at least my shake names were fun. And maybe the retro look had its own charm. “It looks good. Thanks.”

  “Thanks? That’s it?” He feigned a frown as he climbed down from the ladder. “I thought I might get another Dark Side of the Spoon for all of my hard work.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Soooo demanding.”

  “Hey, you should be flattered.” He gestured to the bag of York Peppermint Patties on the counter and gave me puppy dog eyes. “Please?”

  I shook my head emphatically. “I have to save the rest of the Yorks for customer orders. Can you imagine the disaster if we ran out?”

  “Oh, I see how it is.” Snatching the bag off the counter, Gabe made for the door, crying jubilantly, “Ha ha! They’re mine now!”

  I giggled and tried to grab the bag. “Give those back!”

  He ducked away, exclaiming, “You’ll never catch me!” He skirted around me as I lunged for him again. I missed, and he ran toward the door, but then I jumped, tackling him to the floor.

  “Gotcha,” I gasped between gulping laughs.

  “Ouch,” he groaned, but he was smiling. “I guess you’re good at football tackles, too.”

  As I tried to pry the bag from his hands, I started to tickle him, until we were both breathless and laughing on the floor—until I glanced up to see Wren staring down at us.

  “Wren!” I leapt to my feet. “We were just …”

  “Updating the menu,” Gabe finished for me.

  Wren’s voice was clipped. “Mom wants us to update the menu on the creamery website, too.” She turned on the ancient computer behind the sales counter. “She wants us to look at it together.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I straightened my outfit and hair sheepishly, while Gabe shot me a sly grin.

  He held up a single Peppermint Pattie. “Victory,” he said as he popped it into his mouth. I stuck out my tongue at him, but only when Wren wasn’t watching.

  “Gabe,” Wren said then, “Dad’s been looking for you. He and Lu
ke need help fixing the milking machine.”

  “On it,” he said, then added to me, “I’m not giving up on that shake, either.”

  “Not happening,” I called after him as he walked out the door, laughing.

  Impatiently, Wren said, “Could you focus please? The Fourth of July is next Monday and we have to start stocking up on ice cream and beef patties now so we don’t run out during the bash. And now Mom wants the site updated, too. We don’t have time for fooling around.”

  I nodded, mollified. “Sorry.” I sat down beside her to look at the website, determined to focus and forget Gabe.

  We sat like that, barely speaking, staring at the computer screen, until Aunt Beth walked into the creamery a few minutes later. “How’s it going with the website?” she asked.

  “Well …” I sighed. The creamery’s website was dismally outdated, with simplistic graphics and the most basic of features. “The website needs some refreshing.”

  “I know it.” Aunt Beth pinched the bridge of her nose. “I put it together ages ago, and I meant to keep updating it, but I just haven’t had the time …”

  “I can do it,” Wren said.

  Aunt Beth laughed. “But, honey, you don’t know anything about web design—”

  “So? Bria didn’t know anything about making shakes, but she learned. I can handle this.”

  I looked at Wren’s determined expression and instantly forgave the bitterness with which she’d said my name. With the guilt niggling my insides, I had to back her up on this one.

  “Wren’s right,” I said. “She’ll be great at the website. Maybe I can help, if she needs it.”

  I waited, holding my breath, until finally Wren nodded. “We could start some social media accounts for the creamery,” she said. “Post some photos of the new shakes, and get people talking about them.”

  “Good idea,” I said, meaning it.

  Aunt Beth nodded slowly. “Well, even if it’s just for a little while … I think that would be great.” Wren and I shared a surprised look—only a little while? I wondered if Aunt Beth was thinking of the CheeseCo offer and if they’d decided anything. Before Wren could ask what she meant, Aunt Beth pronounced, “Bria, we’ll just make sure your parents are okay with you helping on this social media project, and then you two can get started!”

  Aunt Beth called my parents then and there. When Mom and Dad listened to my excitement through the phone, they quickly agreed to it. I could hear Mom’s relief at my eagerness to help with anything.

  Soon enough, I was hard at work perfecting the look of the new crazy shakes, while Wren worked on website overhaul and setting up social media accounts for the creamery.

  Once the creamery opened, Wren, Aunt Beth, and I had a system going. Aunt Beth mixed the basic shakes, and then brought me the extra candy and dessert “accessories” to arrange on top of the shakes. I didn’t want to let the shakes out of my sight until they looked just right, and there were dozens of shakes that had to pass “The Bria Test,” as Aunt Beth started calling it. Even without social media, word had been spreading around town about the creamery’s new shakes, and there was a steady stream of customers all day long. Between my shake arranging and Wren’s web designing, we didn’t have a second to spare.

  Time flew. By the time the creamery closed for the day and we all sat down to dinner, we had a revamped website, and Wren had already posted pics of all the new shakes onto the creamery’s feeds.

  “You two did all of this?” Uncle Troy said appreciatively as he and Luke scrolled through the new website on Luke’s phone.

  “It was really all Wren,” I said, and she gave me the smallest of smiles.

  “Not too shabby,” Luke said. “You make us look kind of … trendy. Maybe you can give me a social media makeover, too. It could work wonders with my love life.”

  Wren rolled her eyes. “Luke. Seriously? You’ll need more than a social media makeover for that.”

  I laughed when Luke feigned a dagger to his heart, but my laughter was partly from relief at hearing Wren’s joke. She’d been quiet all day, but now she was looking over Uncle Troy’s shoulder at the new website and smiling.

  “I’m glad we added the pics,” she said to me.

  I nodded. “They look great.”

  “And we sold another hundred shakes today, too,” Aunt Beth said. “Twice as many shakes as burger baskets.”

  “That’s really something,” Uncle Troy said as he filled dinner plates and passed them around. “It’s just a shame it’s happening now, right when we’re about to—”

  “Troy!” Aunt Beth’s voice was jarringly sharp. Wren, Luke, and I all jumped.

  Uncle Troy paled, looking guilty. “Oh boy.” He let out a low whistle. “If that’s not the sound of Pandora’s box opening, I don’t know what is.” He glanced sheepishly at Aunt Beth. “Sorry, hon.”

  “Sorry for what?” Wren looked from her dad to her mom anxiously. “What’s going on?”

  Aunt Beth sat quietly for a long minute, staring at her untouched dinner. “We were going to tell you. You seemed so out of sorts to begin with, I thought it might be better to wait a few days.” She heaved a sigh, then reached for Uncle Troy’s hand across the table. He took hers, giving it a squeeze. “Your dad and I have decided to accept the CheeseCo deal. We’ll sign the papers to make it official next week. We’re going to sell the farm.”

  Her words hung in the air like a dense, poisonous fog, sucking the oxygen from the room. A grave silence swept the table, and I glanced from my aunt’s and uncle’s grim faces to Wren’s and Luke’s, shrinking in my seat. This was not a discussion I wanted to be here for. No way.

  But it was too late.

  Wren blurted, “Sell the farm?! How could you?”

  “It hasn’t been an easy decision.” Aunt Beth’s lips trembled, but her voice stayed steady. “Mr. Brannigen made us a generous offer.”

  “What did Mr. Brannigen say to you?” Wren’s voice was cold. “I bet that vulture said we wouldn’t survive on our own if we said no. That CheeseCo would force us out of business either way.”

  “Mr. Brannigen is right,” Uncle Troy said. “This way of life is on the verge of extinction. We’ve fought it for years, but we can’t stand up to the competition from the conglomerates, and, well, we’re getting burned out trying.”

  “What about us?” Wren asked, gesturing to herself and Luke. “You know I want to stay on the farm. Run it someday—”

  “You’re too young to make that decision right now,” Aunt Beth interjected. “You still have high school and college ahead, and who knows what turns your life will take?”

  “You didn’t even ask us.” Luke’s interjection was heavy with sadness.

  As everyone hung their heads, I wanted to say something to help. I sucked in a breath. “It doesn’t have to be a bad thing,” I started, my voice ringing with an awkward cheeriness that fell flat in the gloomy atmosphere. “We’d live closer to each other—”

  “Why would I want that?” Wren blurted, and then her eyes widened. “Sorry, I didn’t mean that living near you would be bad …”

  “I know what you meant,” I said softly. And I did. She meant that she’d never want to live in a big city. But for a split second, I had thought she meant she’d never want to live closer to me—and that stung. It made me realize how entirely at a loss I was in trying to console my cousins, who’d only ever loved living on this farm, when I’d only ever wanted to leave it.

  I stood, clearing my throat awkwardly. “I’m … going to check on Tulip. I haven’t seen her all day.”

  The entire family’s eyes widened, and I knew they could all see through my ruse. Tulip? I was sure they were thinking. When has Bria ever given two hoots about that goat?

  Their surprise only hastened my exit, until I was practically tripping over myself in my rush to get out the door. Before I made it outside, I heard everyone’s voices exploding, speaking over one another. Wren’s was the loudest and angriest of all.
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  I hurried through the darkness, grateful when the sound of their arguing faded entirely. Tulip was standing at the fence, waiting, when I arrived, as if she’d already sensed my distress. I climbed over the fence and, before I even realized what I was doing, sat down right in the middle of the goat pen, forgetting all about the muck and hay I was surely sitting in.

  Tulip nuzzled my stomach with her head, bleating loudly.

  “Well, it was a really great day,” I whispered, “until it wasn’t.”

  The two of us sat together in companionable silence for a few minutes. As I pet Tulip, I tuned into the other sounds filling the evening air. The crickets’ chirping, the gentle rustle of the cornstalks as the warm breeze blew—the very sounds I’d found grating when I’d first arrived now struck me as rhythmic, comforting. Even lovely. When had I gotten used to them? I couldn’t pinpoint a moment, but now they seemed as natural here as the honking horns and chaotic cadence of people had been in Chicago.

  Then, above the countryside soundtrack, came the distant strumming of a guitar. My heart quivered excitedly, and I stood, despite Tulip’s insistent tugging on my shirt. Slipping from the goat pen, I let the guitar music lead me until I found myself stepping through the open door of the livestock barn. I walked past the old tire swing hanging from the rafters and deeper into the barn. There, in a far corner lit with the golden glow of a battery-operated lantern, was Gabe. He sat on a low stool with his guitar perched on his knee, and at his feet lay a small tawny calf, curled in a tight ball, dozing.

  His eyes lit up when he caught sight of me, but he gestured with a finger to his lips to keep my voice down.

  “I thought you’d gone home already,” I whispered. “You weren’t at dinner.”

  “I was on the front porch ready to come in when the hollering started,” he explained. “I figured it was safer to finish up the chores instead.” He glanced at my shirt and pants. “Glad to see you’ve finally made your peace with mud.” A smile played at the corners of his mouth.