I make my way to the restaurant, hidden under my parka, my feet stuffed into Uggs. Frank almost wouldn’t let me wear a coat, but I warned him that a frostbitten birthday girl would not be very attractive. It’s colder now than it was a month ago, and even though I’m only crossing the parking lot, there are ice patches here and there and I have to walk flat-footed and slow. I can feel my perfectly lined lipsticked lips turning blue.
When I enter the kitchen through the back door, no one even looks up. Lights and equipment are everywhere. I tiptoe over cords and push through to the dining room.
Oh wow. I turn in a circle to take it all in. The huge potted palms have transformed the room into a tropical garden. Yards and yards of silk, in turquoise, chartreuse, and orange, are draped along the walls. Fairy lights are strung everywhere, glinting off the crystal chandeliers, and enormous tropical flower arrangements seem to sprout out of nowhere, all purples, pinks, yellows, and bright, vibrant greens. A waterfall gushes in the corner, and long tables with 288
bamboo legs fill the space. Dad’s already filmed the cooking segments, and the premade food is out: carved watermelons filled with small fruits, pineapples, trays of shrimp, and piles and piles of crudités. Totally mouthwatering.
It’s spectacular. Just what I’d expect from an Extreme Sweet Sixteen.
And then, of course, there’s the cake. It’s been brought over from the bakery, and it looks like a jewel in the center of all that food. Despite the fact that I don’t want this party to happen, I can’t help the smile that’s creeping across my face.
I hear Lori’s laugh and spin around to find her. Down the stairs I see Jack, Lori, and Jim walking, all made up and dressed for the party. They stare at me in my parka, which is making me hot under all these lights. I take it off and lay it on the chair next to me. And seriously, their eyes pop out of their heads.
Lori floats across the room in a supercute aquamarine halter top and her flowered sarong, which is tied expertly around her waist.
“You are stunning!” I say to her, but all three of them just stare at me. Lori backs up a step, puts her fists on her hips.
“Well, glory be! Our little girl, all grown up!”
Jack doesn’t say anything. He’s got on a pair of long shorts and a Hawaiian shirt. As I look closer, I notice that instead of hideous barfy flowers and random palm trees, his Hawaiian shirt has baseballs, pennants, and random Chicago Cubs paraphernalia.
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“What the heck is that?” I ask.
“What, this?” He picks at the shirt. “They said we could wear any tasteful Hawaiian shirt. This is the most tasteful one I could find.”
“Tasteful?”
He tilts his head and winks. “Go Cubs?”
I shake my head, but he’s looking at me all serious.
“You look really . . . beautiful.”
“Thanks.” His eyes on me are making me blush.
“Oh, good lord. Get a room.” That’s Lori.
I’m about to shoot her a dirty look when my eyes travel up the staircase and I see Ethan descending with Haley at his side. Her friends follow like baby chicks behind a mother hen. She’s got on a dress that’s way shorter, lower cut, and tighter than mine. And her boobs aren’t sewn in, either.
“Give me a break,” Jack says.
“Oh, brother,” Lori adds.
Ethan glances in my direction, but he sticks with Haley as the group pools at the bottom of the stairs.
He looks good, like he just stepped off the beach in Hawaii. Natural, tan, so cute I can’t stand it. Why does he have to be so cute?
He steps in front of Haley, waves an arm. But she walks around him and over to where we’re standing.
“Good morning,” Haley says, the chicks in formation behind her. I stand up a little taller in my boots and stick my chest out just a bit farther. “I’ve come to make peace.” She 290
smirks. “Thanks for asking me to your party.” She sticks out a hand. I don’t reach for it, because I don’t believe her for a minute. She rolls her eyes and looks me up and down with a look of pity on her big ugly face. “Sheridan, you’re so . . .
totally vintage.”
I think of all the years that Haley has gone out of her way to be wicked to me. I am so sick of her. “I did not invite you.”
“Oh.” She puts a finger to her lips. “That’s right. Poor thing, had to pay fake friends to come to her party.”
The girls behind her snicker.
“Wait—you’re getting paid?” Lori interjects.
I glare at my friend, who clamps her mouth shut.
“You’ve got a lot of nerve even coming here,” I say, and I notice a few of the production crew have stopped to watch us.
“Oh, relax. You know I was telling the truth before. Your mother did get around; it’s no secret,” she says matter-of-factly.
I take a step closer to her.
“What are you gonna do, Sheridan? Hit me?”
I’ve never hit anyone. But I want to so, so bad. “What are you so jealous of, Haley? I don’t get it.” I say.
Amazon steps in. “This isn’t funny, girls. My nerves do not need this today,”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see that Dad has entered the room.
“Then send her home, and you won’t have anything to 291
worry about,” I say.
Amazon looks at Haley. I know that Haley is the last person she wants to send home. I mean, look at her: if anyone can get teenage boys to watch some lame cooking show, it’s her.
“Jealous?” Haley says sharply, like she’s about to lose it.
“I’m jealous? Try that the other way around. I guess Ethan didn’t tell you that we never stopped seeing each other. And you were too dumb to figure that out when I opened the door of his house.” She flashes that evil grin. “And it’s so funny that you never wondered why he was so interested in someone like you.” She lifts her arms. “This. This TV show.
Ethan’s got big plans, baby.” Her face is scrunched up and she actually looks really ugly. “Duh, Cake Girl!” She cackles as Ethan moves forward.
“Shut up, Haley.” He turns to me, a deep wrinkle between his perfect blue eyes. “She’s a liar.”
Amazon crosses her arms. “Okay, you need to leave.” She points to Haley, who puts her hands up to her chest in fake shock.
“Whatever.” She raises a hand, beckoning to her brood.
But they don’t move. Haley flips her hair, leans in to me, and whispers, “You think you’re it. Ha! Even your own mother can’t stand you.”
Amazon is the only one close enough to hear that comment. She puts her hands on my shoulders. I guess she’s afraid I’m going to jump on Haley and start pounding, and 292
she’s not wrong. I want to, in the worst way.
“Go,” Amazon says firmly. And Haley sashays off in her high heels, all by herself.
Amazon looks at me. “A word, Sheridan?” She sounds like some scary school principal. I follow her to the corner by the staircase.
She stands up straight and circles her shoulders backward. I’m making her tense. “Sheridan, I don’t know what that was all about, but I am going to suggest to you that you stay focused on the show. This day is very important to your father. I can’t stress that enough. I’m sure you want to pull that girl’s hair out, but clearly she is delusional. You are an amazing young woman. Anyone can see that. Now. Can you regroup?”
I look up at her and nod. “Yes. I can.”
“Good. Don’t let me down.” She walks away, shouting last-minute instructions to a cameraman.
I sit down on the bottom step, take a few deep breaths.
I look over at Jack and Lori, who are talking to some of the other guests. As if they know that I need a few minutes on my own, to cool down.
Amazon has crossed the dining room and is talking to Dad, but they don’t look my way.
There are cameras everywhere, people checking equipment and lights. This is really going to
happen. I sigh. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Mom should be here.
There’s a tap on my shoulder from behind. I turn and 293
see Mr. Roz. I can tell right away that he’s coming down from makeup—he’s got an orangey glow—and he’s wearing the brightest Hawaiian shirt I’ve ever seen. Tasteful? That’s questionable. “Sheridan.” He smiles big, as usual.
“Hey, Mr. Roz.” I stand up.
“You look like angel,” he says, and puts his arms out for a hug.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!” Frank is on me like white on rice. He pulls a pick out of his suit jacket and begins to fix my hair. He looks at Mr. Roz. “Please, man, not the hair!”
I smile apologetically. Frank walks away, shooting Roz threatening looks.
“What is that and what that thing in his lip?”
“That’s Frank and . . . don’t ask.”
Dad crosses the room and joins us. “Hey, guys.”
“Donovan!” Mr. Roz shakes his hand. “Look at our Sheridan! What a grown-up lady she is become!”
Dad’s eyebrows lift, and he nods. “Tell me about it.”
“All right, people.” Amazon only has one volume today: Obnoxiously Loud. “We’ll get started in about ten. Do not wander off, do not ruin your makeup, do not leave. If you have to sneeze, don’t. If you have to pee, hold it. No one move.”
And that’s when I remember. The cake. I never went to the bakery for the butterfly.
“Oh, God!” I run toward
Amazon, but Dad stops me first.
“What is it?”
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“The butterfly. I need it for the cake. For the top.”
“What butterfly?”
“I made one. For the top. It’s at the bakery.” I know Amazon will kill me, but her back is turned at the moment. I look at Dad, then make a run for it, grabbing my coat on the way out.
So I’m running across the parking lot in Uggs, strug-gling into my coat but not quite making it. I’m blue all over.
The bakery door is locked. I reach into my coat pocket, pull out my cell phone, grab the keys. Jack’s bracelet gets caught on a stray thread. Damn! I wrench my hand out of the pocket and drop my cell phone. Shoot! I stick the key in the lock and swing open the door.
When Amazon finds out I left, she will go ballistic.
Hurry, Sheridan, hurry.
I bend to pick up my cell. One missed call? I run into the bakery’s kitchen, see the butterfly on the worktable. It’s not 100 percent dry, but it will be fine through the shoot. Who called me? I hit the Select key. Grab the butterfly. Put the butterfly back down.
SSM. 8:00 a.m.
Sault Sainte Marie.
She called, an hour ago, and I missed her.
I can’t believe I missed her. I lean against the back counter. My breathing feels a little scary, my throat just a little too tight. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay. Do not panic.
It’s Saturday morning; she must be at the bakery. What 295
if she is there? What do I say?
I circle the kitchen, walk into Nanny’s office. Think about sitting down. Can’t. Walk back into the kitchen, then to the front of the bakery, so quiet and empty. The phone practically throbs in my hand. I go back into the kitchen.
I take a deep breath. I can do this. I’ve been waiting for this moment for years. I hold the phone and hit the “call”
button. Okay. Another deep breath. I’m ready.
The number dials. I gulp. What if I cry? I think of how mad Frank will get if he sees my eyeliner smeared. He’ll get real y upset, so don’t cry, Sheridan. Do not cry.
“Sweetie’s Bakery.”
It’s her.
“Hi.” I suddenly wish I wasn’t alone. Suddenly wish I had a hand to hold. “This is Sheridan.” My voice is high-pitched; almost giddy.
“Oh. Hi.” This is followed by a very long pause. “Did you get my message?” She sounds like she’s at a funeral, talking in low, hushed tones.
“No. I saw you called. And wanted to call you right back.” Why isn’t she saying anything? “Mom?” I am smiling.
She’s right there, on the other side of this phone call. “Oh my gosh, I’m so glad you called!” She actually called.
“Sheridan.” A big sigh. I hear her sniff. She’s crying?
“Honey,” she says, “I’m so sorry.”
“No, Mom.” See, I knew she was scared to come back.
“Mom, I’m not mad. Forget everything. I don’t care. I just . . .
would real y like to see you again.”
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“Sheridan. God, you deserve so much better than me. I wish you’d listened to the message.”
I brush a few stray crumbs off the counter. “But I didn’t.
Why, what’d you say?”
She’s quiet.
“Mom . . .” I laugh. If she’s not going to talk, I will.
“This TV show is crazy. Mom? They’re filming it today.
Dad might move to New York. But I was hoping you could come home, like you said in the card. We could work together in the bakery. You said you wanted to come home.”
She doesn’t say a word. But she hasn’t hung up, because I can still hear her crying.
I keep talking. “So come on, come home. I’ve been looking all over for you. How cool is it that I found you?
Or if you can’t come home right now, maybe I could come and visit you?”
“Sheridan, please. Stop. I can’t come back,” she says.
“But why not?”
“Because I can’t. Sheridan. I have people here.”
“It’s okay. I get along with people real y wel . Ask anyone.”
“Not just people.”
“It’s all right. I like everybody.”
“A husband. I have a husband.”
“Oh.” My head begins to spin as the word rolls around inside of my brain. A husband?
“Mom.” I gulp again. My hands are shaking so badly I can barely hold the phone. “I thought you said you were single. In the last card.”
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I can only hear her breathing.
“But that’s okay.” I don’t want to scare her off. “I’m okay with that.” A husband is fine. It’s not like her and Dad getting back together was even a remote possibility.
“It’s not that simple.”
She sounds so businesslike all of a sudden.
“Well . . . what’s not so simple?” I rub at a spot on the stainless-steel counter with my thumb. It’s not going away.
“Because … he doesn’t know about you.”
Doesn’t know about me? ”What? Why doesn’t he know about me?”
“Because. Sheridan, it’s complicated. I met him, I got pregnant. Everything happened so fast. I didn’t have time.”
“To tell him you have a daughter?”
“Sheridan . . .”
Wait, wait, wait. What did she just say? “Wait, pregnant?”
“Sheridan, let me go now. The bakery is busy. I can’t talk from here.”
“Pregnant? You’re pregnant?”
“No. I’m not.” She pauses. What, did I imagine she said that? “I had the baby. I have a baby.”
“Oh.” There’s this taste in my mouth. Heavy, metallic, nasty. “I don’t understand.”
She sniffs, starts crying again. “I’m sorry. It’s just the way life has worked out, Cupcake. . . .”
“What?”
“I’m so sorry. But Sheridan . . . I’ll always be your mom, 298
no matter what. I’ll tell him, someday. But I can’t. Not right now. And I’m sorry about the card. If I had known you’d hold me to it, I wouldn’t have sent it.”
“Hold you to it? It was al I had.” I feel hot; my stomach is churning.
“Honey . . .”
“So that’s it?”
“I should go.”
“Mom.” My voice shatters into a million pieces. “I’m your daughter. I need you.”
“
I’ve got to go.” Her voice is broken, too, and I am having a hard time making out her words. “I don’t deserve you, sweetheart. You’re better off forgetting about me.” At least I think that’s what she said.
“No . . .” I can taste my own tears, mixed with anger.
They’re bitter. She wants to hang up. Go on pretending I don’t exist.
“You’re my mom. How am I supposed to forget you? I think about you all the time.”
“Sheridan. I’m so sorry. I think of you all the time, too.
Your cakes, they’re beautiful.”
My cakes?
“I’m sorry.”
“Mom . . . no, no, no!” Tears stream from my eyes. Frank will kill me. “Don’t go.”
“Sheridan. It’s not forever; just for now. I need you to understand.”
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“How am I supposed to . . . You are my mother. Don’t go. You can’t leave me again! Please don’t go! Mom! Mommy!” I am screaming. I sound like a crazy person. When I don’t hear her, I quiet myself, afraid that she’s hung up.
I inhale a sob. “Mom?”
“I’m sorry,” she says in a tiny voice.
And then she’s gone. Poof. Just like that.
I straighten up. Drop the cell phone. My tears are flowing from some well of infinite sadness deep down inside.
And then somehow I make them stop. In another minute, my breathing evens out, my body stops shaking.
I pick up the butterfly, still sitting pretty on the worktable, and walk out of the bakery into the crisp white air. I don’t have on my coat, but I can’t feel the chill. I walk into the parking lot and throw the butterfly as hard as I can into the sky. I can see its bright yellow wings against the cloudless blue. It falls and shatters.
Then my feet find a patch of ice, and I slip and land hard, my head thunking on the slick concrete. I lie there, on my back, whimpering to no one, watching the cold sky falling down on top of me until I am floating in black emptiness, all alone.
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Chapter 24
the apple of my eye
The Sweetest Thing Page 22
