She shoved a leftover cake sample into her mouth. Then reached for another.
She was in deep trouble.
* * * *
Hours later, the farther the level of wine in the bottle went down, the more Coco’s desperation ballooned. Design after design filled her sketchbook only to be rejected. Too juvenile. Too stiff. Too tacky. Too dull. Too much. Nothing did justice to what the couple dreamed of. Nothing showed who they were. And nothing proved that she could produce a cake worthy of being shown on television. She’d wanted to do something special for Chaz and George, but it just wasn’t going to happen. One last attempt produced only a grim parody of a carousel: perfect for mausoleum décor, but a wedding? Definitely not.
Letting her head sink into her hands, she groaned in defeat and wondered how in the world she’d tell Chaz and George they’d have no wedding cake.
The ringing of the phone was a welcome reprieve until she saw it was her mother calling. Just what she needed—another discussion of her failings. Still, she answered the call—she wasn’t yet brave enough to ignore her mother. “Hi, Mom.”
“So you’re all right? I thought you must be in trouble or you’d have at least called to say you weren’t coming to dinner tonight.”
Damn. Damn. Damn. She promised she’d be there—without fail. And she’d forgotten. “I’m sorry. I got so involved in trying to fill this wedding cake order, I forgot.” Hoping to divert her mother’s ire, she hurried to add, “It’s kind of a special event. A pair of city councilmen are getting married, and it’s going to be on the news.”
Her mother sniffed. “Well, it’s nice someone is getting married around here.”
Coco rolled her eyes. Here we go again. Just because her younger sister (such a wonderful daughter!) had married very well, Coco was expected to rush to catch up.
“It’s long past time for you to be working on your own wedding plans.”
“Mom—”
Her mother ignored the interruption and barreled on. “I know you’re not young enough anymore to land a fine Jewish doctor like your sister did. And face it, your looks are just average, but still they’re good enough for, say, a nice Jewish accountant. A solid, stable man who’d support you without expecting too much. It’s time to give up this crazy cake idea, settle down, and start a family. A girl your age can’t be too picky, but you’re smart. If you applied yourself and really…”
Coco stopped listening. She’d heard it all before, and the song never changed. Mom refused to give up hope that Coco would suddenly get over being a lesbian and find a man to marry. A man willing to settle for a mediocre, aging woman who’d failed miserably at a foolish dream. When her mother finally wound down, Coco managed to insert a quick apology before making her escape. “Sorry I missed dinner, Mom. I’ll drop by next week, I promise. Bye.” She hung up without giving her mother a chance to respond. It was rude, but she just couldn’t take anymore reassurances that being second best was okay. Not when she was so discouraged.
Coco stared at the jumbled stack of failed designs, and her stomach lurched. What if her mother was right? What if running a bakery and having someone as wonderful as Rose in her life was just a hopeless fantasy? Tears filled her eyes and overflowed.
The phone rang, and Coco whimpered. No more, please. But then she saw the display. It was Rose. Coco so needed to hear that sensible, calm voice. She wiped her eyes, arranged a watery smile on her face, and answered. “Hi, Rose. Need a cookie fix?”
“Thanks, but not tonight. I just haven’t heard from you in quite a while. Everything all right?”
“Oh, I’m just having some trouble with a cake order. Nothing to worry about.” More tears slid down her cheeks, and Coco held her breath so she wouldn’t sob out loud.
A few moments of silence followed. Then Rose answered slowly. “Okay. But you know if you need me, you can call me anytime.”
Coco released her breath long enough to choke out, “Sure. Thanks. I’ve got to go now.” The moment she disconnected the call, great unfettered sobs gushed out of her. What was wrong with her? Definitely too much wine—it was making her feel sorry for herself. After the storm subsided, she blew her nose and took a few deep breaths. Time to pull herself together.
Since the sketches had been such a dismal failure, she retrieved a couple tubs of sculpting fondant and her tools and set them on the kitchen table. The tactile input of three dimensional modeling might spark an idea. For further inspiration, she put on some Mozart—loud. But half an hour later, all she’d managed to produce was a decidedly not masculine-looking unicorn with a limp horn.
Disgusted with her lack of progress and ready to smash the sad excuse for a mystical creature, she swallowed the last of the wine and started feverishly crafting a giant set of fondant testicles for the forlorn unicorn. That should damn well make him look more masculine. Tears of frustration welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision.
She looked up and could make out movement and a figure approaching. Now what? With the music playing, she hadn’t heard anyone enter. Blinking to clear away the tears, she saw Rose smiling down at her.
Without a word, Rose leaned in, lifted Coco’s chin with one slender finger, and planted a warm, lingering kiss on her lips.
Shock seared her. When Rose released her, Coco gasped, “You kissed me!”
“Yes, I did.”
“But you never…I mean…you…why?”
“Honey, you’re sad, you’re drinking alone, and you’re rolling unicorn balls.” Stroking Coco’s cheek gently, she said, “You needed to be kissed.
Coco’s thoughts were zinging in all directions. Was Rose just being sympathetic? Or was there more to it? Could it mean something for the two of them? Could Coco be that lucky? Needing answers but terrified she wouldn’t like them, she pointed out, “When we met, you said absolutely no personal relationships.”
Rose pulled out a chair and sat down at the table. “Hmmm. So I did. But I say that to all my new clients. It avoids a lot of misunderstandings, particularly with men who are attracted to me but can’t deal with the fact that I prefer women.”
“But you’ve never given me the least little hint you might be interested in me.” Coco hoped she didn’t sound like a pathetically wistful child saying that.
Rose picked up a stray piece of fondant and, with a heavy hand, rolled it back and forth on the table surface. Keeping her eyes on the pink ball she was flattening, she said, “The truth is I don’t have a romantic bone in my body. No hearts, no flowers, no poetry.” She tossed the fondant into the trash bin and met Coco’s gaze. “I’d rather paint your house or file your taxes or buy your cookies. Something practical—like me.”
Coco’s heartbeat quickened. Rose truly cared for her! The woman had certainly picked an odd way to show it, but how charming was that? “So you bought hundreds of cookies because you were interested in me? I’m flattered you like them that much.”
Rose’s cheeks reddened. “The truth is I’m allergic to nuts. I haven’t eaten any of them.”
Allergic? Coco had been pushing her to eat the pecan cookies all this time, and they would have harmed her? Good God. “Then what in the world have you been doing with them?”
“I donate the cookies to the homeless shelter on Market Street. It’s free advertising for you. Besides, you’ll find you’re quite well loved by the residents there. It just made good business sense—you know, practical me.”
Rose had done all that just for her. Coco’s eyes moistened again as a wave of tenderness rose in her. Trying hard to hide her smile, Coco said, “So you bought hundreds of cookies you can’t eat, all because you’re practical, not romantic?”
“Exactly!”
Laughter bubbled out of Coco, lifting the gloom and uncertainty.
Rose looked confused until Coco reached over and grasped her hands. “That’s the nicest practical gesture anyone’s ever done for me. Thank you for being so sweet.”
Rose brightened, and her pupils expanded as if she
was seeing just what she truly wanted. “Well, you’re incredible—beauty, talent, and a brain. How could I resist?”
Coco ducked her head. No use pointing out just how many people could easily resist a woman of “average looks,” as Coco’s mom put it. But that intense look in Rose’s eyes had held no hint of “settling” for anything. Coco straightened up and grinned. Maybe, just maybe, she really was incredible.
“Now, tell me what’s upset you and what I can do to fix it.”
Well, so much for feeling incredible. Coco slumped back in her chair. “It’s this cake I’m trying to design—it’s going nowhere.” She recounted the story of George and Chaz and let Rose read the two conflicting order forms.
“Show me the first sketch you made.”
Coco sifted through the pile and pulled out her first attempt, one she’d immediately rejected as absurd. She handed it to Rose. “It’s too weird—not at all what you’d expect at a wedding. And it isn’t even close to what either of them requested.”
Rose studied the sketch at length. “This was what your instincts said suited them?”
“Well, yes, at the time.”
“Then it’s the right one. This concept is you at your best—it’s brilliant.”
“Don’t you think it’s kind of way out there?”
“From your description, the happy couple is kind of way out there, too. Now, no more doubts. Let’s bake a cake.”
Coco hesitated. Shouldn’t she be second-guessing this plan? No, if Rose believed in her, then that was good enough. Besides, baking cakes was what Coco did best.
Basking in Rose’s iron confidence, Coco changed the music to something more upbeat. She danced her way through the kitchen, collecting ingredients and utensils. Hmmm, while on that subject…“Rose, there is one other thing you could do for me.”
“Name it.”
“If you’re willing to help me deliver and set up the cake, we could both go in my van. Then it would just be practical for you to stay and enjoy the party with me.” She added shyly, “At least for one dance?”
Rose took the cake pans out of Coco’s hands and set them on the counter. Pulling Coco into an embrace, Rose nuzzled her neck and murmured, “A date for the wedding? I think that might qualify as romantic. Something I need more experience at.” She kissed the tip of Coco’s nose. “Besides, it’s just practical to try new things.”
Coco laughed and gazed into those smiling green eyes. Thank God for Chaz and George. If they hadn’t brought her their problem, she never would have solved her own. She quickly kissed Rose and moved out of her embrace. It was time to bake up one more miracle.
And then there’d be dancing, which as Chaz had promised, would be fabulous!
* * * *
Coco made one last adjustment to the drape of the forest-green cloth the finished cake rested on. Perfect! The cake was safely settled on a sturdy table inside the entrance to the wedding reception room. Her job was done.
She took a few steps backward and looked with pride at her work. It was quite possibly the best thing she’d ever created. Instead of layers, the cake looked like a rugged snow-covered mountain, a steep trail of tiny hoof prints winding up and around to the summit. Scattered boulders, showing flecks of gray amid the white, blocked the path time and again.
At the top on a plateau stood a blue-eyed unicorn keeping watch. At his side a second unicorn bent his head to drink from a small pool. At the edge of the pool grew a sturdy, young tree on which tiny pink roses bloomed. It was more like a scene than a cake decoration, but Rose had assured Coco it was right.
Now if only Chaz and George would agree.
She followed Rose back into the hallway and saw the happy grooms heading in their direction. The verdict was at hand. Would it be delight or disaster?
When Chaz caught sight of Coco, he broke into a run and caught her up in a hug. “You made it!” Setting her down, he turned to Rose. “And just who is this ravishing vision?”
Ravishing indeed. Freed from her strict business attire, Rose was stunning. The simple pale green sheath hugged her ample curves, lending her elegance mixed with sizzling allure. Coco proudly made the introductions and then added, “You have to understand the cake might not be what you’re expecting. But it’s how I see you and George, so please, give it a chance.”
By that time, George had caught up to the group and greeted Coco and Rose. “So, can we see the cake now?”
Chaz clutched George’s hand. “Yes, please. I can’t wait!”
Coco led the way toward the reception room, suddenly finding it hard to breathe. Please, please let them like it.
Rose put an arm around her and whispered, “Stop worrying—they’ll love it.”
At the door, Coco let the two men enter first to get an unimpeded view of the cake. Chaz and George approached the table and stood mute, staring at the cake.
As the silence dragged on, Coco’s breath grew faster and shallower. Why don’t they react? Finally, when she was close to fainting with anxiety, the two men turned to face her.
Oh, God.
Chaz had tears in his eyes, and George was busy trying to sooth him.
Frantic to beg forgiveness for having ruined their wedding, Coco quickly approached, ashamed and miserable.
With Chaz held close against him, George cleared his throat and croaked, “It’s…it’s absolute—”
“Genius.” Chaz took one of Coco’s hands and kissed it. “It’s exactly what I wanted.”
George chimed in, “Me, too. It’s just perfect. Thank you.”
And just like that, Coco could breathe again.
Rose came up behind her and hugged her. “See? I told you so. Everyone got what they wanted.”
Giddy with relief, she leaned against Rose, grateful beyond words that it all had worked out. Rose was right—everyone had gotten what they wanted. Now that she thought about it, even Coco’s mother had. Giggling, she imagined how she might introduce Rose. You know that nice Jewish accountant you wanted me to catch, Mom? Well, here she is!
Her thoughts were interrupted by Chaz. “Come on, ladies, we have a wedding to get to.” He ushered them back out the door. “And don’t forget to smile for the camera.”
Walking hand in hand with Rose, a jubilant grin on her face, Coco didn’t think that would be a problem at all.
Not the least little bit.
* * * *
ABOUT LISA GRAY
Lisa Gray worked in animal rescue for years, specializing in raising newborn kittens. She also ran a non-profit organization that helped people spay and neuter their pets. Currently living on a river in northern Michigan with five cats and one husband, she spends her free time bird-watching and critter-watching.
Icing on the Cake by La Toya Hankins
Octavia cursed under her breath when she discovered there were no eggs. Throwing the empty container in the trash, she muttered, ”I knew I should have checked the fridge before I started. Now what am I going to do?”
The Durham native stood at her kitchen island in the middle of the sun-filled kitchen. Frustration filled the full freckled face of the petite magazine publisher. Her green, oval-framed glasses sat atop on thick silver streaked braids.
Octavia had woken up on this Thursday morning with the desire to make her wife a red velvet cake. The two of them had been so busy being parents, co-workers, and friends, she felt the lover part had fallen by the wayside. She intended to surprise Audre with her favorite dessert to show how much she loved her coffee-colored cutie. But now, sans eggs, it seemed her plans had fallen flatter than the Happy Mother’s Day cake their three daughters baked four months ago.
“Baby, I’m home,” a smooth alto came from the front room. Octavia looked at the collection of sugar, baking soda, salt, and shortening sitting in her grandmother’s cobalt blue mixing bowl and weighed her options.
“Hey m’love, what are you doing here? I thought you had court until five,” Octavia said, meeting the questioning espresso eyes of the d
efense attorney who shared her last name. She had just enough time to snatch the bowl off the table and shove it in the pre-heating oven before Audre came into the kitchen.
“My client took the plea agreement the district attorney offered. I had been after her for three weeks to take the deal or face thirty-six months in prison,” the statuesque woman said while opening the refrigerator behind Octavia.
“Which client is this? Is it the one who stabbed her roommate after they fell out about her using the last tampon or the woman who was caught with the drugs in the car she borrowed from her cousin?”
“Neither, it’s the one who was arrested during the protest in front of the governor’s mansion when she threw eggs and hit a state police officer,” Audre said, settling her inch shy of six-foot frame down on a barstool across from Octavia.
She twisted the cap of the chilled ginger beer she selected from the refrigerator and offered her wife a sip. Declining, Octavia smiled in satisfaction, watching the amber liquid pass through the full raspberry colored lips that did such divinely wicked things to her at night. Or used to do such wicked things, Octavia thought, for it had been a while since they were intimate.
Audre went on to explain further details, but Octavia chose instead to focus on the wonderful shapes her lover’s mouth made when she talked about her day. Her Audre tended to be a low-key personality who enjoyed reading, watching documentaries, and occasionally playing marathon games of backgammon or chess.
When she was in open court, however, a legal lioness sprang forward, pinning down less than honest witnesses and swiping aside faulty arguments. The single time Octavia had watched her in action, she actually thought she’d snuck into the wrong courtroom. The woman making mincemeat of some shady state evidence appeared to be only a distant relative of the women who painted her toenails once a month.
“Enough about my day; how are you doing, lovely,” Audre asked. “I’m surprised to see you home. Usually you are the first person out the door in the morning since you take the girls to school and the last person in the door at night. Is everything okay?”
Love Is Proud Page 18
