The Sweetest Thing
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“You guys couldn’t come through the front door?”
“What, like all the regular customers?” I tease. “No thanks. We’re special. ”
The crew laugh and say their hellos as we pass through. I wonder if they’re sad that Dad is on his way out. But he’s got a huge future ahead of him, and they all know it.
We’re seated in one of the private dining rooms upstairs.
This room is big enough to sit fifty, but tonight it’s just us.
The lights are dimmed, and there’s a bouquet of roses waiting on the table. Jack pulls out my chair and I sit.
We sit close together, holding hands, talking and laughing. It’s odd how easy it was for us to move from best friends 329
to this. And scary to think that he might not have had the guts to kiss me that first night if I had never dated Ethan Murphy.
“You all packed?” he asks me.
“Pretty much, I guess.” The movers have been stashing our stuff in boxes all week. The new chef and his family will be renting the carriage house, and our things will be on their way to a brownstone in New York City—Brooklyn, to be exact. They have some killer bakeries there.
“I’m going to miss you so much,” I say. We’ve been together almost every day since we were five. I’m still not sure I can do this.
“We can do this.” He’s reading my mind again. “I’ll be out to see you August first. After that, we just need to get to Thanksgiving. It’ll work, I promise.”
“Okay.” I squeeze his hand and he gives me a kiss. “I don’t know how I’m going to survive not kissing you,” I say.
“Yeah, that’s gonna be tough.”
A lot of things are going to be tough. Like not making cakes every day, and not running down to the lake, and not seeing Lori or Mr. Roz or even Growly.
We have an amazing dinner, cooked by my father, and when we’re finished, Jack reaches into his pocket and pulls out a box. Pink metallic wrapping paper, shiny pink bow.
“For you.” He pushes the box toward me. I grab it immediately and start to unwrap it. There’s a smaller blue velvet box inside, with a tiny card on top.
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I open it and read.
Happy Birthday for real this time. Hope you get what you real y want. I did. Love, Jack.
When I look at him, he’s smiling. “Open it.” I flip back the lid and see another charm. It’s a small silver cake, with three tiers. Beautiful.
“That’s to remember St. Mary by, and also me, because I’m so sweet.”
“And modest.”
“And in love with you.”
I snap the box closed and give him a kiss that he will never forget.
The next morning, even though it’s my birthday, I’m in the back of the bakery, finishing up an engagement cake. I’ve been trying something new—painting on my cakes—this one I’m doing in the style of Starry Night, by my old friend Vincent van Gogh. It’s not a copy; I put my own twist on it, adding a few hearts in the swirly night sky.
I want this cake to be perfect. It’s my last as an employee of Sweetie’s Bake Shoppe. The front doorbell rings, but I don’t hear Mr. Roz greet anyone.
“Hi! Just a second, please,” I shout, and put down my brush. When I walk into the front, the singing begins.
Oh, God.
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you . . .” No way.
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It’s Jack, holding a round cake decorated with a clump of pink buttercream roses and a bunch of lit candles stuck into the center. Lori follows, then Nanny, Mr. Roz, and Dad.
They’ve got weird smiles on their faces. Lori is holding a big box with a red bow attached to the top, and Mr. Roz has a picnic basket.
“What’s this?” I laugh.
“It’s your birthday. You didn’t think we’d let you go without a celebration, did you?” Lori says as we walk into the back.
“Oh. Thank you, but first I have a cake to finish.” I pick up my paintbrush.
“Well, at least blow out the candles,” Jack says. So I close my eyes and blow.
Mr. Roz stands next to me and inspects my work. “What a beautiful cake. The best one yet.” I glance at him and smile. But I’m serious. It’s not done.
“I know, I know. It takes the cake,” I say.
“Sheridan, darlin’, this cake looks done as can be,” Nanny says, sidling up to me.
My eyes scan it from top to bottom. No, something is definitely missing. But they are crowding me, and I can’t think.
Lori thrusts the giant box at me. “Open it,” she says.
“Fine.” I take it from her, rip at the paper, flip back the cardboard top. I look up at all of their faces. “Um. Thanks?
It’s a life jacket,” I say, stating the obvious as I pull it out and 332
turn it around in my hands.
“I rented a sailboat for the day,” Dad says. “Thought we could take a quick trip up the coast.”
“A sailboat?” I am shocked. I look at the engagement cake. “But this is due soon. I’ve got to finish.”
“Sheridan, the cake is done,” Dad says. “Let’s go out and enjoy this beautiful day. I made us a picnic.”
“Sheridan Wells, you are coming.” Lori looks at me, dead serious. “I took a Dramamine for this.”
“But . . .”
“Come on. Let’s go.” Jack catches my hand. “We’ve only got you for a few more hours.”
“Sheridan, I say cake is done! You must take morning off!” Mr. Roz insists.
“No, wait. Come on.” I stop, stare at the cake. I am right.
There is something missing. If they’d all just be quiet, just for a minute, I could figure this out.
I concentrate, block their voices out, and then she pops into my head. My mother. The mother I remember, anyway.
I can almost smell her perfume, like the honeysuckle that’s in bloom right now. I can still feel her with me. Will she tell me what’s missing?
And then I hear something. Only it’s not her. It’s me. A voice starts in my heart and flows like a buttercream swirl up to my brain.
Nothing’s missing. It’s done.
I give the cake another look, not sure I should trust what 333
I’ve just heard. But I look around the room, at my friends and family, and I know that the cake is perfect just the way it is.
So I let go. Finally.
I push the cake to the middle of the table, take off my apron, and hang it on a hook. Dad has put my birthday cake into a pink bakery box. We’ll eat it on the boat. I’ll have a big piece, one with lots of icing and a big fat rose.
I can almost taste it now, each bite sweeter than the last.
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acknowledgments
A first book necessitates a list of thank-yous a mile long.
This is, after all, the culmination of a very long journey that started in something like the third grade. But I’ll do my level best to keep it short and sweet.
To Michael Stearns, you are extraordinary, talented, and kind. Thank you for finding me, honing my story, and turning me into a published author. Danielle Chiotti, thanks for shoring me and my book up in countless ways. I am blessed to be represented by such competent and caring people.
Many thanks to the wonderful team at Egmont USA: 335
Regina Griffin, Elizabeth Law, Douglas Pocock, Mary Albi, and Alison Weiss. Heartfelt thanks to my editor Greg Fergu-son, for respecting my words and pushing me to go deeper, and for just being a really nice guy. And for my copyeditor Ryan Sullivan—I owe you, big-time.
A huge thank-you to my friends in the children’s writing community but most especially to my critique group, Will Write for Cake: Laura Edge, Doris Fisher, Miriam King, Lynne Kelly Hoenig, Monica Vavra, and Tammy Waldrop.
Where would I be without you? Your thoughtful insights are woven into this book, and I couldn’t be more grateful.
To my SCBWI-Illinois friends who have supported me over the years: especially Esther Hershen
horn and the founding members of the Springfield Scribes. And to my dear friend Kimberly Hutmacher for asking me a decade ago if I had ever considered writing for children. I thought you were off your rocker. But that was a life-changing day, truly.
Love and thanks to: Holly Gillice and Lori Warda, steadfast friends. Paul and Kerry Hegele, for giving my main character a hometown to love. Friends near and far who have helped me get to this point with loving support and a ready glass of wine, especially: Kara Trotter, Michelle Bretscher, Erin Conley, Jill Holliday, and Maryanne Walker. And a very special thank-you to my first teen reader Ashley Nail.
My stories often center around family, and this is not by accident. Thanks, with all my heart, to my parents Rich-ard and Carman Durr, for insisting that I follow my dream 336
and not accepting anything less. You have championed me every step of the way and I love you. Thanks to my creative and talented siblings, Rick and Jeanne, for putting up with me despite my rotten middle-sister tendencies. To all of my amazing in-laws and to four remarkable young people who inspire me daily to write good books for teens: Libby, Matthew, Zofie, and Ricky. Thank you.
To my darling daughters, Lily and Cate, whose affinity for cake sparked the idea for this story. You make my life beautiful and truly are the sweetest things. And to the best man I know, who has cooked more dinners and handled more bedtimes than the average husband, so that I could write. Mickey . . . I love you to pieces.
Lastly, I am so grateful to God for giving me the heart of a writer. It’s such a gift to sit down every day and do what I love and I will never take it for granted.
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