by Abby Knox
“Mumsy!” she shouts and bolts over to me, nearly knocking me over.
“You’re home early! How were the grand old sticks-in-the-mud?” I ask. I know I shouldn’t smack-talk her father’s parents, but that went out the window the first time she came home from a visit with that side of the family and told me they tried to tell her dancing led to sex and that’s how her mother ended up pregnant at 16.
She laughs through her nose because her mouth is full of oatmeal raisin cookies and shakes her head. “Fine,” she says, covering her mouth.
“So,” I say, looking over at Quinn, who is grinning ear to ear and fetching my daughter a glass of milk. “I assume you know Quinn.”
Shelby raises an eyebrow. “You mean Mr. Pope from school? Yes. I was planning on enrolling in his class next semester, but if he’s dating my mom, that could be curtains for me at ol’ Greenbridge Academy.”
My mouth falls open. “Oh. Mr. Pope and I are…”
Quinn looks at me expectantly, waiting to see how it is I want to define this relationship of ours. Shelby is looking at me like she is just waiting for me to feed her some bullshit excuse about why her extremely good-looking English teacher is in our house while I’m taking a nap.
“Dating.” I say the word and it’s officially real now.
I mean, I don’t expect my own daughter to plaster it all over social media, but it is definitely out in the open now.
“Is this weird? If it’s weird for you, even a little bit, I’ll end it right now,” I offer. And I would. It would hurt like hell, but better to end things with Quinn now before anyone at school finds out. Anyone besides Headmistress Moody, that is.
Shelby has finished chewing and opens her mouth to speak. “Mom. It’s more weird that you don’t have a boyfriend. That you’ve never had a boyfriend. For Pete’s sake, it’s about time. When have I ever given a crap about what some other kids say?”
“She takes after you,” Quinn says.
“More than she likes to admit,” I reply, squeezing her around the shoulders until she protests with a groan. “Okay, okay.”
“You still haven’t told me why you’re back so early.”
Shelby shrugs and helps herself to a lemon bar. “Brendan was there.”
“Oh.” That’s all I need to know.
“I can go if you two need to talk about mother-daughter things,” Quinn interjects.
Both of us look at him and say at the same time, “No. Stay.”
“Jinx, buy me a Coke,” I say to her.
Shelby rolls her eyes playfully at my immaturity and moves on. “It’s fine,” she says about her encounter with her father. “He’s asking for visitation and he wants me to start calling him Dad.”
I smooth down a lock of her hair. She has such an innocence about her and I don’t want her to ever lose that. She gives everyone the benefit of the doubt.
“What do you want, honey?”
She lifts one shoulder. “I don’t know. People change. I’m fine if he wants to hang out but I’m not ready to call him Dad and I’m definitely not getting into softball like he wants.”
“Softball? What in the world? You’re going to be field hockey captain someday!”
She reminds me, “Well, baseball and softball were his thing in high school. He’s not pushing too hard, just mentioned it in passing. He didn’t say he wanted me to try out or anything; he was just reminiscing and asking a lot of questions about the program.”
I have to bite my lip to keep from cursing that man out. I know what this is. He’s trying to live vicariously through his daughter, who he never bothered to help me raise. He’s trying to relive his childhood.
It’s too much pressure to be in more than one sport at that school, and that will be doubled now that her father is hanging around. I can only imagine him at practices, claiming her as his daughter, pretending he knows all, pretending she’s a chip off the old block. But my rational mind wins out in the end and all I say is, “I’m sure you can make the right decision for yourself.”
It’s true. I do believe that; she’s the most rational thinking teenager I’ve ever met. And more rational than most adults, now that I think of it.
“Sorry if I came home and interrupted your date,” she says, turning pink and shifting her eyes from me to Quinn and back to me.
Quinn looks proud of himself. I feel mortified for a second and then change the subject. “Actually, I’m glad you’re home. I had a big bake sale come up all of a sudden and I need your help. With three of us we can knock out a bunch of items tonight and then tomorrow after school. How does that sound to you all?”
“I’ll make the coffee,” says Quinn.
“I’ll get an apron,” Shelby chirps.
For the next two evenings, the three of us knock out both dessert pies and savory pies, sweet breads, a mountain of cookies, brownies, blondies, cakes, tarts, and pastries.
Shelby is almost as good as I am at decorating, and Quinn needs only a little bit of direction with basic frosting.
It’s difficult to keep everyone on task because, to my delight, Quinn and Shelby get along so well.
When it’s all said and done on Wednesday night, Quinn waves us away from the kitchen to go relax in the den so he can clean up.
“Actually, let me,” I say. “I have a system. Besides, you’ve been teaching all day.”
“Mom. Let it go. When was the last time a man offered to help you with anything? Let him do it,” Shelby urges, winking at Quinn.
I finally take both of their advice. Shelby and I fall asleep on the sofa around midnight. When I wake up, I hear the utility room door opening and closing.
I walk through and see Quinn getting into his car.
“Thanks for your help this week. You’ve been amazing,” I say.
“It was my pleasure.”
“You keep saying that, but you’ve given up so much of your time to help me.”
“Well, you’re doing me a huge favor. It was the least I could do.”
“Maybe, but you didn’t have to stay to clean up. That’s above and beyond helpful teacher behavior.”
Quinn leaves the door to his car open and eats up the distance to me across the front yard. His strong arms pull me close so he can deliver a deep, mind-bending kiss, the likes of which I’ve never experienced before.
“That’s right. It’s boyfriend behavior.”
The way his eyes sear into me, I think I might faint. His expression is serious. Heated. He wants me. There can be no doubt.
“I wish I could ask you to come inside, but—”
He cuts me off with another kiss. “Another time. There’s no hurry.”
When he drives away and I stumble back into the back door, something catches my eye as I pass through the utility room. He’s washed and dried all of our kitchen towels and aprons and folded them neatly on the counter. In the kitchen, same story. He’s washed all of the dishes and there’s not a speck of flour anywhere on any of the surfaces.
Pulling Shelby up off the couch to nudge her off to bed, I hear her say, “I’ll let you date him on one condition. You have to promise to let me make the cake for your wedding.”
I shush her and chalk up this crazy talk to her being overly tired.
But then, I close the door to her bedroom and smile.
I should have known she’d be fine with this relationship.
She’s right. Everything is going to be fine, no matter what people say.
I don’t know what I was worried about.
Chapter Ten
Quinn
Everything has gone terribly wrong, and it’s my fault.
As soon as we parked the bakery van in front of the dining hall on the Thursday morning of the bake sale, I knew there was going to be trouble because I also saw construction trucks and workers in hardhats carrying equipment into the building.
A barricade has been set up on the sidewalk outside and we have to step around a pile of wood to get inside to see what’s happe
ning.
“What the…” Mal is dumbfounded.
The kitchen and dining hall renovation that was supposed to start this weekend has evidently begun today.
Inside, workers are bustling around, taping off areas to paint and marking walls to be sledgehammered.
It’s total chaos in here.
“What are we going to do now?” Mal asks, looking forlorn.
I jump into action, spotting the guy who appears to be the foreman. “Can you tell me what’s going on here?”
“Construction zone—you folks better clear out.” He points a thick finger outside. “Is that your delivery van? You gotta move that.”
Mal presses, “I don’t understand. We were supposed to do the bake sale here today.”
The man shrugs. “I dunno what to tell ya.”
Mal and I walk back outside to regroup, where Headmistress Moody walks up like a specter in her plaid woolen skirt and dark sweater to greet us. “I don’t know what’s going on. I’m so sorry. I could have sworn my record book said this was scheduled to begin this weekend. We’ll have to begin feeding the students in their classrooms two days earlier than planned. This is totally inexcusable and I’m so sorry.”
But now is not the time to renegotiate a venue, because Moody has bigger fish to fry and walks off to find the foreman.
I watch her go and try to think about what to do next.
But Mal is already taking action. She’s moved the van to a safer spot in the parking lot. When I catch up with her, I see her standing there with the delivery van doors open, and she’s scrounged up plates and forks and napkins. I cannot believe my eyes, but she’s cutting up into pieces a beautifully iced cake and portioning it onto the plates.
“Here,” she says, handing me a tray.
“What are we doing?”
“We’re going to feed the work crew,” she says.
We end up bringing six or seven trays of goodies to the job site, and all of it gets eaten. In the resulting tips, we’ve made about $75.
Back at the van, I watch Mal doing the math in her head. Something is definitely brewing in my girl’s mind, and I have to admit, it’s quite a turn-on.
“What are you thinking, babe?”
I love how one sweet term of endearment turns her cheeks pink. She grins.
“I’m going to get you your money. It won’t happen all in one day but the dining hall being closed might just work in our favor. I might need special permission from the school board, but I already have a commercial license...”
I stay quiet while I watch the wheels turn.
And then, we hear another voice. A woman’s voice, dismissive and haughty.
“A bake sale. Again. It’s so cute that you just keep plugging away.”
We both turn and see Meredith slinking over, locking up her Jag with her key fob while not taking her eyes off us.
“What are you doing here?” Mal asks.
“Me? I thought I’d come by and help spread the word that the bake sale is canceled. I heard about the little mix-up.”
I draw myself up and puff out my chest. It’s dumb, but it’s an automatic response to a perceived threat. “It’s not canceled,” I say.
Meredith’s heavily made-up eyes roam over my chest and shoulders, and she’s not even subtle about it. She speaks without making eye contact, like she’s speaking to a hunk of meat. “I know you’ve…for some reason…become ensnared by this woman’s baking skills or whatever. But honestly, she can’t be trusted. I made sure everyone at Poppy’s birthday party knew that the first baker I hired to make my daughter’s cake had totally flaked at the last minute. I would be careful if I were you.”
I am dumbfounded. Mal pivots around to face Meredith, understanding and hurt all over her face. “It’s you. You’re the reason I had all those cancellations.”
Meredith ignores her and continues to eye me like she plans on eating me for dessert. "There are other ways to make money.” She steps closer to me and her flowery perfume sits unpleasantly in my nostrils. What is she getting at? “If you need money for your little trip, all you have to do is ask nicely. All of us PTA officers have ways of getting things done, if you get to know us on a more…individual basis. We’re not that scary, I promise.”
I’m so confused, and Mal is doing her best to stay calm. “I kind of already tried the PTA and that’s how we got into this bake sale in the first place,” I point out. Seems obvious to me.
The truth is, I knew what she meant. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let her have the satisfaction of knowing she shocked me or interested me in the least bit with her strange come-ons.
“Yes. A bake sale. It’s so quaint. So last century,” Meredith simpers. “But then, everyone’s addicted to sugar, aren’t they? I wouldn’t expect any other ideas but that from a fat person.”
I freeze. Did I just hear that correctly? Judging by the proud look on Meredith’s face yes, I did.
Looking over at Mal, she’s resolutely ignoring the whole commentary with her face aimed squarely at her clipboard.
I don't know what’s about to happen between me and the PTA, but I am not about to care. The rage has topped out.
“Honey. It’s okay. Don’t respond.” Mal says this in a calm voice, not even looking up from her clipboard. “It’s not worth it.”
But I can’t let this drop without saying something. I point at Mal and speak through gritted teeth to prevent myself from shouting and making a scene. “This woman has more creativity and goodness in her than you and the rest of your cronies put together. The truth is, you all don’t deserve her in your corner. She’s tremendously gifted, and far more talented than any of you. Apologize.”
Meredith feigns confusion. “For what? I didn’t think it was an insult anymore to call someone fat. Body positivity, and all that.”
I watch her walk away in stunned silence. I look over at Mal and she’s back at work cutting up brownies, but her eyes are shining.
“Babe. Come here.”
“I’m fine,” she says, fiddling with plates and knives and forks and napkins.
She’s clearly not. She’s been hurt. And I want to turn the world on its axis and shake it until everybody like the evil Meredith falls out and floats away into the heat of the sun.
“Mal, put that down and come here.”
She curses quietly when she drops a piece of cake and it lands with a splat on the concrete. Then the dam bursts and it’s full waterworks.
“Fuck this place. What am I even doing here?” she says.
I wrap her up so tightly I think I might stop breathing, but I do not care. “Don’t listen to the terrible people. You are perfect. I meant every word of what I said.”
Mal buries her face into my shoulder and heaves great sobs until she soaks my shirt. I don’t even care.
“She’s right about one thing. I can’t get enough of your sugar.”
“That’s not what she meant,” Mal breathes, her voice muffled by my shirt.
“Sure she did,” I gently tease, making sure she can hear the smile in my voice. “You’re made of the sweetest sugar from the inside out and that’s all I want. It’s all for me.”
She heaves a chuckle and a sigh against me, and I’m happy I can make her laugh.
Soon enough, my girl is back to her old self, smiling and laughing if still a little unsteady.
Our canoodling is interrupted by a voice coming from behind us.
“Yo. Lady with the cookies?”
We turn to face the big burly foreman I had been speaking to before. I keep one arm around Mal.
“Yes?” Mal replies.
“You make donuts and shit? I’m sorry. Donuts and stuff?”
Mal dabs at the corner of one eye and nods. “I certainly can. I have a huge selection of breakfast pastries, I did a whole spread for the governor last year—“
“Yeah, that sounds super. Listen. If you bring my crew some donuts and coffee tomorrow, I’ll spot the whole mess. Whatever you want
to charge. You make coffee?”
Mal nods. “I can make whatever you need.”
The foreman nods and puts in an order for three dozen donuts and fully leaded coffee.
I watch the interaction and see more wheels turning in my Mal’s head. Her eyes are back to their usual brightness.
I’m so fucking proud, my heart might pound right out of my chest.
Chapter Eleven
Mal
Quinn is full of energy, like an overgrown puppy, even though he’s spent all Thursday night helping me prep. Even after teaching all day and catching up on grading papers. “Everything set for tomorrow?”
In comparison to everything we’ve been through the past few days, a few dozen donuts feels like child’s play. I don’t tell Quinn, but I’ve also thrown in some egg and bacon tarts, cream horns, and cinnamon buns.
“Yep!” I say, shoving dough into fridges and checking on the fryer so it will be ready to make fresh donuts at five a.m.
Banging around the kitchen, I chatter away with my back turned to Quinn. So I’m surprised when all of a sudden I feel a tug and I tumble backward into the brick wall of Quinn’s chest. He’s pulled loose my apron strings and has one arm wrapped around my middle and the other still holding the strings.
I gasp and let out a giggle. “Quinn! What are you up to?”
He breathes into my neck and it sends shivers down my spine. “Oh about eight inches.” My jaw drops and I’m about to reply with something sassy. Words fail me when his lips kiss the hairline behind my ear.
“Oh,” is all I can manage while trying to keep my knees from buckling.
“I didn’t mean to shock you,” he murmurs against my neck. Again, tingles. Everywhere.
“You didn’t…I mean…I’m not…wha…what I meant to say is…keep going.”
A low growl in his throat lets me know what he has planned for me later.
Shelby is staying over at a friend’s house to study, thank God. I would die if she saw me making out with a teacher in the kitchen.
“I think you were right earlier about me time. I…I think I deserve this.”
