Cake and Confessions

by Laurel Remington

  Chapter 35

  A New Plan

  Maybe it’s the hot chocolate working its magic, or maybe it’s just that Mom’s had enough drama for the minute. But either way, she ends up texting Em-K. I read the message before she sends it—almost like she’s willing to let me be the mom for now.

  Hi—we need to talk. P.S. I’m sorry about the things I said. Love, Claire

  I tell her to add a couple of X’s and O’s after her name, just to let him know that she wants it to be a good talk, not a bad talk. She adds one X and ruffles my hair, morphing back into mom mode. “Thanks, Scarlett,” she says. “I think we can get through this. Together.”

  “We can—and we will.” I take the mugs to the sink and rinse them out. I leave her there, sitting at the table waiting for a response to the message. I’ve done what I can. Now the rest is up to her.

  * * *

  By the time I’m finally back up in my room, it’s almost eleven o’clock. I’m completely exhausted, but there’s still an awful lot to do before tomorrow. The conversation I had with Mom has given me another idea—totally impossible and a complete nonstarter, but somehow, I can’t get it out of my mind.

  I call Violet and tell her. She’s already half asleep, but she manages to giggle and tell me I’ve totally lost my mind. In other words, she’s on board if I can pull it off. Then I call Dad. He said he knew Producer Poppy, and I’m going to hold him to that.

  I speak to him, and he agrees to help me. I wake up Gretchen—she’s grumpier than the others, but I’m relieved when she says, “I think it’s a good idea. At least it will put an end to things.”

  An end to things… Is it too much to hope for?

  It’s almost midnight by the time I’ve finished planning and texting. As my head is nodding with exhaustion, longing for my pillow, I send one more message—to Em-K. I know there’s a thousand things wrong with my plan, but right now, everything hangs in the balance.

  Chapter 36

  Endings and Beginnings

  I must have slept despite my racing thoughts, because when I wake up, the sky is rosy-pink and a pigeon is cooing from the rafters. For a second, I worry that I’ve slept late and ruined everything. But when I roll over and check the screen of my phone, I see that it’s only six o’clock. I swing out of bed, determined to get an early start for whatever this day will hold.

  Tiptoeing into the corridor, I can hear the sound of Mom breathing, deep in sleep. So far so good. She knows I’m due at the TV station and will be gone all day.

  Downstairs, I have a quick breakfast of toast and orange juice. I look again at the plastic bags over the door to Rosemary’s kitchen and whisper a silent prayer. If today goes well, Mom and Em-K will be putting in that door.

  And I’m going to make sure it happens.

  From the other side of the wall, I hear a noise. A rumbling sound like a kettle boiling. I duck through the plastic.

  “Hi,” I say. “Mind if I join you?”

  Em-K is sitting at the long table, his elbows resting on top, his chin in his hands. Behind him, the kettle clicks off but he makes no move to get up. He glances up at me and nods. Treacle is lying on his lap, purring softly.

  He’s set out a mug with a tea bag in it. I go over and pour boiling water over it. No milk, no sugar. I barely even have to think about it. I bring him the cup and sit down opposite.

  “Thanks,” he mumbles, but doesn’t touch the cup. I have the urge to reach out and take his hand, like I would to Mom, or Violet, or Kelsie—anyone I love who needs me. Anyone I love. But Em-K?

  Why not?

  “Hey,” I say, reaching out. It does feel a bit awkward, but I manage to grab his hand and give it a little squeeze, then pull back. He looks at his hand with sadness in his eyes.

  “You know,” he says. “The first time I came here after my aunt died, I had this vision. There was a family sitting at the table, and they were laughing and happy. The kitchen was warm and cozy, and there was a delicious smell. We were having roast, I think.” He pauses, hesitating. “I don’t believe in visions. But I do like stories. From the time I was a boy, I believed in ‘happily ever after.’ Isn’t that silly?”

  He glances up at me. It sounds like one of those questions that adults ask you, but they don’t really expect you to answer.

  “I don’t know,” I say truthfully. “But I do believe there’s something special about this kitchen.” I pause for a moment, then continue. “Because I had that same ‘vision’ too. In a dream.”

  I remember the morning Mom woke me out of a deep sleep. I had felt so warm, so right. Sitting at this table with my family. Em-K was carving the roast at the head of the table. But there was someone else there too.

  Dad.

  “Really? The same dream?” Em-K finally picks up the cup and takes a sip of his tea.

  “Mom loves you,” I say. “You just have to get used to the fact that she’s not always very good at showing it. Don’t stories teach you that nobody’s perfect?”

  He stares at the dark liquid in his cup without answering.

  “In your dream…” He pauses. “Was I…?” He trails off.

  “In it?” I give a little smile. “Yeah, you were. I mean—hello!—do you think I’d tell you about it if you weren’t?”

  “No.” He brightens. “I don’t.”

  “Well, then.” I keep staring at him until he’s forced to look at me. “You need to sort it out—today.” I think about how I’ve had heart-to-hearts with Mom, Dad, and now—Em-K. Sometimes I wonder if all grown-ups are completely ridiculous! To me, things seem so clear.

  “I don’t know if we can, Scarlett.” He hangs his head, looking broken. “No matter what I do—no matter how many times I tell her I love her—she doesn’t believe it. And this big wedding has made everything worse. It’s just setting things up for failure.” He sighs. “And then there’s the other issue. But really—we probably shouldn’t be having this conversation.”

  “But we are,” I say. “And I think I can guess the other issue. It’s Dad, isn’t it?”

  He shrugs. “Like I said—”

  “Look, I understand. I thought it was weird too—at first. But believe me, you don’t have anything to worry about.”

  “But he’s your dad.”

  “I know. But she’s not in love with him. I know, because I asked her. She wanted to be friends with him—work things out to get closure. But then she started getting scared. That what happened before will happen again. And then she started making it happen. A ‘self-fulfilling prophecy.’ That’s why she’s been pushing you away.”

  Em-K shakes his head. “You’re right, Scarlett. This is silly—sitting around, feeling sorry for myself. After all, I’m supposed to be the grown-up here. I shouldn’t have said that stuff before—about dreams and visions and happy endings.”

  “Whoa,” I say. “That’s not what I meant. I don’t think those things are silly at all. I think you can make it happen…we can make it happen.”

  “You mentioned that in your text,” Em-K says, frowning. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

  And I tell him my plan.

  Chapter 37

  So Much Fun

  I’ve done what I can, and in the end, I have to leave Mom and Em-K to mend their own differences—or not. Whatever happens, I’ve made a commitment—to my friends, to Mom, to Producer Polly, and to the Secret Cooking Club. It’s one I intend to keep.

  As Em-K leaves the kitchen—he’s agreed, at least, to think about what I’ve said—he turns back to me. “You’re only thirteen,” he muses. “But you’re so wise. Why is that, Scarlett?”

  “I guess I’m simply used to dealing with Mom and her dramas,” I say. I hope that this time, I’ve done enough.

  When he’s gone, I put extra food in Treacle’s dish and slide the special recipe book in my bag. I also gather a few
pans and some of the key ingredients together. Even though Assistant Annie promised me that everything we need to make the wedding feast will be there for us when we arrive, I don’t want to leave anything to chance. A car pulls up outside just as Violet arrives at the door. Assistant Annie gets out and greets me cheerfully. If she’s nervous about our little “plan,” she isn’t letting on. She and Violet help me load the car, and just like that we’re good to go. Violet and I get in, and she drives away. On the way to the TV station, we stop by to pick up Fraser and Alison. The others are going to meet us there.

  “I’m so excited,” Alison says, getting into the car. “I’ve never been on TV before.”

  My stomach churns with nerves, but I manage to keep smiling. “I’m sure you’ll be a natural,” I say. “Unlike some of us.”

  “Don’t worry about a thing,” says Assistant Annie. “Just act as you would normally. I’ve ordered in all the ingredients you asked for—they’re already at the studio. It will all be so much fun.”

  I think of all the dishes we’re planning to cook—starters, mains, desserts—the entire menu we came up with. I think of the collapsed cake. I think of Mom and Em-K—will they be making up or breaking up? I think of the tension that’s still there sometimes between Gretchen and me, and I think of the TV cameras recording every moment of the day that’s to come. I think of the big, over-the-top finale I’m planning—and how a lot of it depends on a man that just a few days ago, I wanted out of my life for good. Dad.

  “Sure,” I say, biting my lip. “So much fun.”

  Chapter 38

  Ready, Steady…

  It doesn’t take long to reach the studio. When we arrive and I get out of the car, I feel like I’m sinking in quicksand. I remember how nervous I felt at the Bridal Center with all the cameras and lights swarming around me. But this is too important—I can’t back out now. I clutch the bag with The Little Cook to my chest, hoping that just for today, our special book will continue to work is magic.

  Gretchen, Nick, Naya, and Annabel Greene are waiting in the lobby of the studios when we arrive.

  “Hello!” I say to Annabel, giving her a quick hug. Her face is very pale, and I can tell that she’s just as nervous as I am—and probably a lot more so. “I’m so glad you’re here! I’ve told everyone about your fantastic cupcakes.”

  “Thanks,” she says. “I was kind of scared to come, to be honest. I mean, you guys are such great cooks, and great friends, and…”

  “And we’re delighted to have you,” Violet chips in.

  I introduce the others. “But don’t worry if you can’t remember everyone’s name,” I reassure her.

  “Yeah,” Gretchen says. “This is a new thing for all of us.”

  “Thanks,” Annabel says, a little color returning to her cheeks.

  “No worries,” I say. “Today of all days, we need all the help we can get.”

  * * *

  The eight of us gather the things from the car to carry inside. Just as Assistant Annie is about to direct us to the studio, a woman in a red dress and high heels swoops down on us. It’s Producer Poppy.

  “Scarlett!” She presses my cheeks together and gives me an air kiss. “How delightful to see you and…” She looks around me and frowns. “Your friends.”

  I take a breath through my teeth. “I know we didn’t discuss it, but I can’t appear on your show by myself to do the wedding cake.” My knees feel like jelly as I speak, but I force myself to keep my chin up and my voice strong. “I’m the founder of the Secret Cooking Club. And that means, if I’m going to cook on your show, then so are they. We’re here to do a whole wedding feast.”

  “Right.” Producer Poppy puts her hands on her hips and stares at me. I stare back, gaining strength from my having my friends around me. “I need a word with my assistant.” They move just out of earshot and seem to be having a heated discussion.

  “What’s happening?” Annabel asks.

  “You didn’t have to do that,” Gretchen whispers to me.

  I smile at both of them, hoping I look more confident than I feel. “Yes, I did,” I say. “Because it’s absolutely true.”

  “And you think they’ll go for it?” Gretchen raises an eyebrow.

  “I don’t—”

  At that moment, the lobby door opens again and a man enters. Tall, broad-shouldered, darkish blond hair. Dad.

  “Poppy!” He shows his pass to the guard and swoops up, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. “I see they’re all here, just like I said they would be! This is going to be fabulous for your show and the ratings.”

  Immediately, Producer Poppy seems to melt. And at that moment, I know for absolutely certain: Dad isn’t a risk to our future happiness—not where Mom’s concerned, anyhow. He’s already seeing someone else.

  “Well, yes,” she stammers, “I hope so.”

  He takes Poppy to the side and speaks to her in a low voice. I know he’s telling her about the rest of my “plan.” Her eyebrows rise and fall, and she glances over at me a few times, looking worried. She shakes her head, and for a second, I worry that it’s all gone wrong. Then, she smiles.

  “Okay,” she says, loud enough for us all to hear it. “I’ll let the crew know about the…um…” she clears her throat, “…slight change in plan.”

  Dad gives me a thumbs-up and presses the button for the elevator. “Hope you kids have a great time,” he says. “I’m off to take Kelsie to get a new scooter, but I’ll be on my cell if you need me.”

  “Great.” I grin. “Thanks.”

  “Who’s that?” Annabel asks as soon as he’s gone.

  “My dad.” I smile proudly.

  * * *

  My friends and I follow Assistant Annie out of the lobby and down a corridor that ends in a large door. The door leads to another corridor, and eventually she stops in front of a door marked STUDIO 5. “This is it,” Annie says.

  Halfway inside, I stop so suddenly that Violet pushes into my back. “Oh my gosh!” I say, amazed at what’s before me.

  There are more gasps, oohs and ahs from behind me as the Secret Cooking Club members file in to our kitchen-for-the-day. It’s a huge space—almost twice the size of Rosemary’s kitchen—and even bigger than our school cafeteria kitchen! Every surface is white and shiny, sparkling and spotless. Even the floor is white, polished like an ice rink. The floor is raised up a little, almost like a stage. In front of the raised part and immediately around where we’re standing, is a forest of cameras, microphones, lights, and wires.

  “Um, where should we put this stuff?” Nick says. He and Fraser have come in behind the rest of us, their arms full of the pans and books I’ve brought.

  “Put it on the far counter.” Assistant Annie points to the edge of the kitchen where there are almost a dozen giant carrier bags full of the ingredients we asked for. “That will be out of shot.”

  Violet and I look at each other as we walk toward the raised floor. My legs are wobbly, but I make myself keep going. I step up on to the gleaming white floor. Violet comes up too, and the others follow.

  “Okay,” I say, “this is where we’ll be cooking today. Obviously.” My voice sounds small in the large space. I gesture to Gretchen, who nods. She takes out the menus and the photocopied recipes. Opening my bag, I take out The Little Cook. I’m glad to see there’s a book stand in the kitchen, and I prop it open. Seeing it there, I feel a little less on edge.

  Producer Poppy comes back into the room, looking harried. A man is following behind her—they look like they’ve been arguing.

  She claps her hands to get everyone’s attention. “Well,” she says, smoothing her skirt, “we weren’t really expecting a…club. But we’re going to go with it.” Her smile has that stressed look I’m used to seeing from Mom, only with lipstick.

  “I’ll need the phone numbers of all your parents,” the man says.
“I’ll need to get some waivers and permissions signed. But no reason to hold up the show.” His smile seems genuine.

  “Great,” I say. My heart feels like it’s just run a fifty-yard dash. “We’ll get set up.”

  * * *

  It doesn’t take me long to figure out that my friends are all as nervous as I am, even Gretchen—and as the PTA rep for our year, she’s used to speaking with grown-ups. Everyone talks in whispers. The cameramen come in, and the producer talks to them individually and introduces us to a short, balding man who’s the director. Then a woman comes around to me with a little box that clips on to the waistband of my jeans, and a cord that comes around and clips on to the front of my apron—a microphone, she says. Even though I’ve spoken into microphones before when doing charity bake-offs, having one clipped on to me makes my heart gallop. What if I breathe too loudly or, without thinking, accidently mutter a rude word? The woman has three more microphones. I direct her to clip them on Nick, Alison, and Gretchen. The others: Fraser, Violet, Annabel, and Naya all look relieved not to have a mic. Another woman hovers around with a palette of makeup and a hairbrush. Alison goes over to have a chat and ends up taking a brush herself to help apply powder to each of our faces.

  Finally, Producer Poppy comes back over. “Okay, here’s how this is going to work.” She goes on to explain the cameras, and the microphones, and how the cameras are going to move around to get different angles. Then she tells us to “just look natural.”

  As if!

  She rushes off to speak to the cameramen, and I hold up my hand to gather all my friends together.

  “Thanks for coming,” I say. The microphone amplifies my voice, but I ignore it. “We’ve been through the plan and everybody knows what they’re supposed to be doing, right?”

  Heads nod, still nervous.

  “It’s all there on the sheet I did,” Gretchen says. She and Naya have already handed around a schedule of who’s doing what. “Now, if you have any questions, come and see me or Scarlett, okay?”