by Ellen Mint
“You can’t have any until the birthday girl does.”
A pout emerged, his lower lip glistening in the disco lights. “Ow,” he whined and placed the finger she’d barely touched in his mouth. “You’re a cupcake dominatrix, lady.”
She laughed at the thought, but happily fell back into their light games. In a soft but stern tone, she said, “I only punish those who deserve it.”
“Oh, if I was with you, I’d never be able to sit down,” Marty answered with a shrug. Her smile strained for a second at the ludicrous thought.
“I doubt you could afford my services, cupcakes or otherwise.” She clung to the absurd idea of her being some baker clad in a leather apron about to whip a pair of buttocks with a whisk. It was so stupid to even think of… She drifted her gaze from the ramping festivities straight to the ass in question and how well his black pants framed it.
Marty turned, causing her to panic. But there was no look of disgust in his gaze. He must not have caught her staring. “For you, I’d take out a loan,” he said.
“Baby!” A soft squeal of excitement broke over the tuning of three Spanish guitars.
“Hi, Mom,” Marty said, as if a woman in a cream business suit hadn’t run across the lawn in heels and scooped him up in her arms. Mrs. Dashwood was the type to be called imposing without having any of the physical characteristics required. Despite being slight in build with average height, her fine features matched Eldon’s more than Marty’s. Though, as the pair stood side by side, some of her younger son hid below her aristocratic demeanor.
The deep-set eyes, shrouded by her forehead and mystery, glimmered in excitement at the prospect of her party. Her lips, which were a perfect shade of mixed berry, crinkled at the edges in the same smile as her younger son. And both had their hair pulled back for the celebration, Marty’s in a small ponytail while Mrs. Dashwood’s rested in a loose knot at the back of her neck.
A bunch of Spanish flitted off his mother’s tongue, which Marty sighed and laughed at before pointing to Brandy. In an instant, the motherly-love assault was turned on her. “You made it,” she cried.
“And she brought a treat.” Marty couldn’t stop eyeing the carrier.
“Feliz Cumpleaños,” Brandy said to the woman’s rising smile. “And I’m afraid that’s all the Spanish I know. Oh, except for Donde esta la biblioteca?”
His mother laughed liked a tinkling of bells and wrapped a comforting hand around Brandy. “The library is in the west study, and if you’re concerned about the location of el baño, it’s down the hall and on the left.”
“Your house is…beautiful. I mean, all I’ve seen so far is the backyard, but I’m certain the rest is lovely.”
“Uh oh, Mamá, she’s on to us and our cardboard facade,” Marty said.
“Pay no heed to him.” She shooed at Marty, who acted as if he took serious offense. “I’m happy to say the real estate business has been kind. Not as kind as previous years, but kind enough.”
Brandy couldn’t even imagine what this place was worth, probably in the ‘we could own a fancy boat if we wanted’ range. And yet Marty lived in an apartment barely nicer than hers, while working the same job.
“Oh.” She shook her head, remembering what she’d brought. “These are for you…I hope that’s okay. I didn’t realize this was fully catered.”
“Don’t be silly. Just my friends bringing what they can to share, as you have.”
Biting her lip, Brandy tugged open the carrying case to reveal a dozen cupcakes. She hadn’t had much time, so she’d iced them in a star swirl of blue and white buttercream, then added pressed sugar molded into small fish.
A new squeal broke from Mrs. Dashwood and Brandy risked glancing up. His mom practically glowed in delight, her hands clapping together so her mass of gold bracelets clanged. “They’re fish! Oh, look, fish on the water. I adore them,” she said, waving around a cupcake first to her son, then the woman who had made them.
Carefully, she peeled down the wrapper. “I almost don’t want to eat it, it’s so pretty.”
Brandy smiled as she always did when someone said that. The compliment was nice, but if she didn’t want her art to be eaten, she’d have taken up painting. Clenching her toes in her sandals, Brandy watched the woman bite through the layers of buttercream and down into the cake itself.
Blue smeared across her cheek, smudging her perfectly applied makeup. With a bright smile, she pointed to the treat in her hand. “Is this blueberry?”
Mrs. Dashwood inspected the small cake. Two layers of blue, stained with both the natural dyes of the berries and food coloring, hugged a white cake layer. “It’s the flag!” she said, twisting the cupcake around to show to Marty.
“I thought, with you being from El Salvador, that it would be an acceptable—”
“Acceptable?” She took another big bite, her question hanging in the air as she chewed. “Dear, it’s wonderful. Thank you so much for this. For coming. I told you she’s good people.”
That part she aimed at Marty, whose cheeks shifted a strange pink. “I was the one to tell you, Mamá.”
She began to pat Marty’s cheek in a patronizing way, when a crash broke from the direction of what was probably the kitchen. “Puchica!” Mrs. Dashwood cursed. “Forgive me, I think your father is in over his head. Again.”
Bustling away and muttering more curses under her breath, Mrs. Dashwood left the two of them. “I need to try one of these Salvadoran cupcakes,” Marty said.
Accepting defeat, Brandy held the tray up for him. Judging by the mass of people already clustering around the tables, there was no chance she’d have enough. Maybe she should drop her carrier off in the kitchen and hope for the best.
“Good. Not like anything my abuela would make,” Marty said with crumbs scattering down his shirt, “but that’s a good thing. She can burn water, I swear to God.”
Just like his mother, he too had blue frosting smeared across his cheek and didn’t seem to be aware of it. She tried to swipe at her own face in the same spot, but Marty wasn’t getting it. With a smile, she leaned over and placed her thumb right beside his lips.
He glanced over in surprise, his chewing stopped dead. With her heart in her throat, she wiped away the staining buttercream, leaving only a slight blue tint in its wake. “You had a little something…” She stared at the frosting now on her thumb.
“Oh.” He touched where she had, both of them breathing slowly while the frosting melted from her body heat.
“So,” Brandy began, growing more aware of the lack of someone on his arm, “could Janeth not make it?” Because you didn’t want to invite her?
Marty blinked and turned away from her. He swallowed the last of the cupcake and took to licking the paper before answering. “No, she had some important shoot to get to, but she’ll stop by later. Can’t wait for her to meet my parents.”
“That’s…great.” Brandy closed the lid on her cupcakes. “I’m sure they’ll love her.”
“Yeah.”
Marty swiveled his head to follow, but she shifted so even her peripheral vision couldn’t find him.
“Everyone does.”
The party was off to its usual smashing success. He wished he could take the credit, but most of that was his father’s doing. Though their mother’s eyes did light up when she unwrapped her gift, even as she pretended she had no idea what the six-foot-long cylinder could be.
“Okay, okay.” He dipped his arms, extinguishing the sparklers he held in both hands. The kids groaned, but he held firm. “Uncle Marty is very tired. Why don’t you go annoy Eldon?”
Their little mischievous grins rose and, like a flash, they all took off after the man in a full suit who didn’t want anything to do with the sticky-hand sort. All their second cousins danced around his brother, pleading that he set off more fireworks. It wasn’t even eight and they’d already torn through half.
Eldon took in their pleas with his usual flabbergasted look, then glared at Marty, w
ho tried to sneak off and wolf down a couple of hot dogs before they were all gone. He’d nearly made it to the meat table when a hand grabbed his arm and steered him away.
“Marty, could I have a moment with you?” his mother said, pulling him closer to the dance floor.
“Do I have a choice?” he asked. The hot dogs were even farther away than before. And the street corn. How did he miss that in all its buttery, cheesy goodness?
But his mom had her ‘we need to discuss something important’ look on, so he turned to her. “All right, Mamá. What is it?”
“The woman you brought to the party…?”
“Isn’t she wonderful?” Marty sighed, his gaze skipping past the clusters of cousins, aunties and uncles, to his angel leaning against the dessert table.
“I suppose. It’s only that, well, is she okay?”
That ripped him away, his head shaking. “What? Why?”
“She’s been trying to eat that churro for the past two minutes.”
A groan rattled from Marty as he watched Janeth pose with the cinnamon sugar treat perched on her lips. Her phone switched positions thrice. “Mom, it’s normal.”
“In my day, anyone who couldn’t figure out how to eat a churro estaba bayunca.”
“Mamá!” He turned on the woman he’d thought would be giddy to meet his girlfriend. Instead, Janeth had gotten a polite but cold handshake and little more. “She’s not crazy—she’s taking pictures of the party. It’s…it’s what she does.”
“Takes fifty pictures of a churro?” his mother asked slowly as if he too was bayunco.
“What’s with the negativity? Do you not like her?”
“No, she’s…fine. Rather aloof.”
Marty scoffed. “So’s Eldon, but you don’t hold that against him.”
“What am I?” said aloof man asked, striding closer. “Aside from covered in sugar. Thank you for that, Martin.”
“Doing my part to liven this party up,” he answered with a snicker at his brother.
Their mother eyed up the white handprints now decorating Eldon’s suit. “I was only inquiring about this new woman in Marty’s life,” she said to her firstborn.
“She’s quite…something, isn’t she?” Eldon said.
“Yes, very, what’s that word they use now? Bougie.”
Both men stared at their newly minted fifty-year-old mother. She glared back. “I use the internet, the same as you.”
“Look, okay. I get that she’s outside of our strange Salvadoran and Italian family loop, but I thought you of all people would welcome her.”
Their mother sighed, her arms crossed as if she had to enter her mental palace to confront him. “Of course, dear. I only was thrown off guard. You arrived with that delightful Brandy and I thought…”
“What?” Marty asked, but he turned away from her to find the new woman in question having to field a barrage of questions from Uncle Edward. She seemed to be holding her own and wasn’t going for any mace or flails in her purse.
Odd—he’d never noticed how va-va-voom she was. That thin sundress she had on struggled against her curves, especially around the back. With her hair down, one side kept falling in front of her eye. She’d push it back behind her ear, only for it to come tumbling back out. Marty had almost done it for her when they’d stood in line for carnitas, but she’d turned to him and his hand had frozen before making contact.
“She’s a friend,” he said. “I mean, sure, she’s nice.”
“Delightful young lady,” his mother said, as if Brandy hadn’t won her heart for life with those cupcakes.
“But we’re…we’re friends, okay? Don’t.” Marty shook his head. “I’m with Janeth and you’re going to have to accept that.”
“Of course,” his mom said. She patted Marty’s cheek, making him feel two feet tall, but then she shot a look at Eldon, a look that Marty couldn’t read, but he knew they were up to something.
“I only wish for your happiness, because someone doesn’t seem to want to settle down yet.” The sweet lady transformed to a viper as she turned on Eldon. His eyes bugged out and he stumbled back a step.
“Mamá, we’ve been over this. Elena and I can’t find a reason to waste such expense on a wedding.”
“Wedding, schmedding,” their mother thundered, “I want grandbabies! You don’t need to have a wedding to give me a grandchild. All my sisters and brothers have some. Why is it taking you so long?”
Marty chuckled as his brother squirmed harder in his shoes. “Yeah, Eldon. Why can’t you give Mom a grandbaby?” he said, earning a withering glare for his troubles. But Marty shrugged it off, leaving Eldon to suffer. It was his own damn fault. He’d been with Elena for four years. Elena who came from a Mexican-American background, who spoke three languages, who was a neurological something or other. Who probably needed a warning before their mother swooped down and sabotaged her birth control.
A soft gasp had him turning. The kids found a new sacrifice to their fire god, poor Brandy trying to blow out the sparklers they held near her face.
She gave it her all, her cheeks puffing out like a chipmunk’s for air. But it was all for nothing. The kids giggled like mad, demanding she try harder, and damned if she didn’t answer that call.
Oh shit! Marty dashed forward and drew back her hair. Her profile pivoted to him for a second, before the kids shook their sparklers closer. “You looked about to turn into a sparkler yourself, there,” he said, to explain why he was holding her hair.
God, it was so soft. He rested his hand right above the nape of her neck, her mahogany hair lying in his palm. The longer he stared, the more distracted he became by the glisten of her dark locks as she moved. An urge to bunch up the ends and tickle them over his face walloped him in the back of his head. What?
“Thanks. I’d look terrible bald,” Brandy said, between huffs and puffs.
He twisted to the side and stared her up and down. At first, it was just to try and visualize her without her mass of hair, but his gaze found its way down through her cleavage, which even one of those lacy undershirts couldn’t hide. Coughing, Marty said, “I think you could pull it off.”
Gah! Realizing what he was doing, he turned to the kids and shouted, “Okay, you little terrors. That’s enough. Go find someone else to torture.”
They pouted but scampered at his command. “I swear, I don’t have nephews and nieces, but demons with access to incendiaries.” Marty released his hold, watching the waves fall back to rest across her naked shoulders. There was probably a strap there, but he couldn’t see it through her forest of hair. Or maybe he didn’t want to.
She smiled at him and rolled her hands through the thick locks. “They’re just having fun.”
“Do you like kids?” he asked, completely out of the blue. Obviously it was to her, as she stumbled back a step, but to him as well. He’d never brought up kids with her before because…it didn’t matter. To their job—not many little kids hung out in a dusty old bookstore without any fun coloring books or dinosaurs.
“I do,” Brandy admitted, her hair combing slowing down. “I mean, I always wanted to have a couple. Maybe three. But…”
Her pause turned into a cliff with Marty dangling off the edge. Shit, why did he ask about that? The urge to apologize, to try to joke about how Eldon was under the microscope with their mother, danced through his head. But he knew that’d only make her feel worse. Brandy drifted her head down and tapped a toe into the ground.
She needed someone to talk to. To listen to her. To hold her and tell her everything would be okay.
“I should go check on Janeth.” He chickened out.
Not even a sign of pain lingered on her face as she gazed at him. “Yes, of course. Keep her away from the fire hazards too.” She smiled as if gritting through a chipped tooth and Marty turned away.
He caught sight of Janeth moving on past the churro photoshoot to the cake. Before he left Brandy, he said, “I’ve always wanted kids, too.”
&nb
sp; After fending off a mass of personal questions from damn near every Dashwood family member, somehow Brandy wound up right beside the last person at the party she wanted to talk to. Dressed in an opalescent skirt and bright red bodysuit, Janeth stood out amongst the crowd, which took some doing as the outfits ranged from Eldon’s stuffy three-piece suit all the way down to kids in hoodies with their thumbs hooked through the cuffs and jeans falling off.
Seeming to have moved past the picture portion of the night, Janeth was plaiting her hair into three small braids and watching the band perform. When the impenetrable glare shifted, Brandy realized she’d been caught staring.
“H-hi,” she stuttered, feeling like the knock-kneed weirdo who stumbled into the captain of the dance team in between classes.
Janeth smiled. “Hello. Which one of Martin’s many relatives are you?”
“Oh, I’m not. He’s my…coworker. Yeah, we work together at the shop. Bookshop, I mean. Turn the Page.” Holy shit, shut up!
The smile didn’t dim, but the edges of Janeth’s lips pinched tighter as if she was fighting the urge to grimace. “Interesting,” was her single response as she turned to focus on the guitar players in the midst of a battling duet.
Even with her skin itching and scalp tightening, Brandy remained rooted to the spot. “I like your hair,” she said, spitting out the first compliment she could come up with. It was best to be nice to the girlfriend, after all.
Running her hand down said silvery-white hair, Janeth said, “Thank you. It’s a pain to keep it from not breaking off in chunks.”
“You’re not a natural…?”
“No.” She laughed at that. “All bottle. I think my natural is close to your blah brown. Been so long I can’t remember.”
Brandy was about to reach up and tug her hair forward to inspect the boring color, when she shook off the urge. “If it’s so much work, why do you keep bleaching it?”
“For the clicks,” she said so breezily that it felt like a simple fact of the world. “I didn’t get much traction until I switched to white-hot blonde, and boom, a million followers and counting.”
