by Gaby Triana
“You want me to do what?” he asks, but LM is back, thumbing through the copy of the old estimate Frank gave her last week.
“It says here that it wouldn’t include the maintenance.” LM examines her document. “I need it to include the maintenance. It’s five new units we’re talking about.”
“We can definitely include the maintenance,” he says, glancing at me. I give him a thumb’s up. He takes a deep breath and then… “But before I forget, Ms. Milkovich, on behalf of Southern Igloo, I’d like to give you this token of our appreciation.” He hands LM the yellow gift bag containing the best lemon cupcakes with raspberry buttercream the world has ever seen. If I do say so myself.
“Oh.” My mother stares at the bag, probably thinking there’s no way she’ll eat a cupcake. She doesn’t do sugar, much less the refined, processed kind. Much the way she doesn’t do pure, refined, processed FUN either.
But Frank insists, even taking the plastic box out and placing it in her hands, pointing out the little fondant hearts sitting on top, as though he made them himself. “Really, they’re delicious. Baked right in our, uh, store…”
LM peers into the box. “You give these to all your customers?”
“Only our best ones.” Frank smiles.
Yay, Frank!
LM considers. One little bite won’t kill her. After all, she was a baker once, according to Papa, from a family of bakers, and she must sample the goods to see how they compare. Frank pops open the plastic top and holds it up while she selects one of the six and pulls it out of its tray cup.
Sabrina whispers in my ear, “Is he doing what I think he’s doing?”
“Yup.” I grin.
“And is she about to do what I think she’s about to do?”
“Yup.”
“Rose Zapata, right when I think you can’t top your genius self, you surprise me yet again.” We bump shoulders.
Sabrina, Frank, and I watch with big, hopeful eyes, as my mother peels down the cupcake wrapper and slowly bites through the yellowy, lemony center of my delicious, devilish plan.
HahahahahaaaaahaHAAHAHA!
Her eyes close, and for one time-slowing-down moment, she enjoys something other than torturing me. She wears an expression I haven’t seen in years. It looks like LM, but a delectably tempted one. “This is delicious,” she mutters, mouth full of cake. “Rose…” She points to the cupcake. “Take notes.”
I nod, holding back a laugh.
Yes, LM. I will try my best to bake as awesomely as myself. She turns to Frank with a dot of frosting at the corner of her lips and smiles at him. Sabrina and I knock heads to keep from giggling.
“When can you start, Frank?” She bats her eyelashes at him.
“Tomorrow.” His sexy older gentleman smile is so distinguished. They lightly shake hands. We have lift off! And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how you do it.
Twelve
“Rosie, in all the time I’ve known you, I don’t think I have ever seen your mom smile,” Sabrina says. “Like, really smile.”
“That makes two of us.” I lie flat on Sabrina’s bed, staring up at the neon glow stars and comets we put on her ceiling together in second grade.
The truth is I have seen LM smile, long ago when my “father” was still around. I don’t have many memories of him, but I do remember the last time I saw him. I was playing with my Barbie, and Barbie was zooming all over the living room in her pink Corvette, going vroom vroom, while he napped on the sofa. In a flash, he was off the couch, scooping me up by the elbows and lifting me all the way to the ceiling.
He shook me violently and yelled, “Beeee quiiiieeetttt!”
My mom rushed into the room just then. I’ll never forget the nervous smile on her face, like grinning might diffuse the situation. “She’s just playing, AJ,” she said cautiously. AJ was gone soon after that.
I remember blaming Barbie for his leaving. Why’d she have to be so loud? But I also remember being happy that there was finally room to sit on the couch with my mom.
There’s a knock on Sabrina’s door, and her mom pokes her head in with the same fabulous smile as all the women in their family. “This just came for you.” She tosses a large, soft envelope onto the bed.
“Thanks, Ma.” Sabrina pounces on the package. Her mother leaves, never demanding to know what’s in the package, who it’s for, nothing. Complete and total respect of privacy. Sabrina’s eyes light up. “I know what this is.”
“Your blow-up boyfriend?” I snicker.
“Better.” She rips open the bubble-lined sleeve, tilts the envelope, and pours out a red folded garment wrapped in plastic with a packing slip. Tearing the inner package, she plucks out…a red dress. Wait—the red dress? She hands it to me, breaking into fits of clapping. “Go try it on.”
“You didn’t. I thought we were just window shopping.”
“You were window shopping. I knew if I didn’t buy it, you’d never.”
The dress unfolds in my hands. Silky, smooth, gorgeous. I’m scared to try it on. It probably won’t fit. I’ll probably look like a red, blonde whale. I turn around and start undressing, something I’ve never felt comfortable doing in front of anyone, except for Sabs when I have no choice. I guess I have no choice.
“Rose, I won’t look.”
I start undressing.
“You look skinnier, you know.”
“I thought you said you wouldn’t look.”
“I lied.”
I turn halfway around, shaking my feet out of my jean legs. “Do I really look thinner?”
“Yeah, you do. Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it.”
I step into the red sheath and slide the dress up. And whoa. The thing actually slides on. It doesn’t get stuck on my hips. It doesn’t make my legs look like giant sausages or arms look like the Michelin tire guy’s. I turn to examine myself in the full-length mirror behind her door. “Holy…”
“Tell me you don’t look hot,” Sabrina says. “Tell me!”
“I…” I do look hot. I’m not Wendy Rivera, but I look cute. With my hair done just right, and shoes to go with this, I am going to rock the vintage sex kitten look. “Meow,” I meow.
Sabrina laughs. “Right? Look at me.”
Sometimes, it’s hard to line my eyeballs up straight with her face, she’s that pretty. But I have to stop letting that knot in my stomach get the best of me. It’s not her fault she was born with timeless beauty and the confidence to back it up.
“Roll your shoulders back,” she orders. “When your shoulders roll forward, it makes your arms look bigger than they are. When you roll them back…see? Instant sharp shoulders. Do it.”
Actually, her arms do look big when she demonstrates. Then boom, they’re gone. I do the same, feeling stupid for needing this lesson in posture. “Like this?”
“Perfect. Now put one hand down low on your hip and lean it out just a little. This accentuates your curves.”
“I don’t have curves.”
“No? What are these?” She reaches out to grab my waist with two hands. “See? You’re such a dork the way you pretend not to see how gorgeous you are.”
I know I’m pretty. I’m LM’s daughter, for crissake. But in pics, I always look like—ugh—the fat one. “Sabs, I appreciate this, but—”
She cuts me off with a stern look. “I did not buy you this dress so you could hide inside of it. It’s just a piece of clothing. You are the main event.” She pokes my chest hard.
“Ow.” I rub the spot.
“The dress is only there to make you pop out.”
“I’m popping out all right.”
“Stop it. Now listen. You’re always telling me I have flirting skillsss, but I really only have one, and this is it. You ready?” She eyes me with those blue saucer things in the middle of her face.
“Listening.”
“I look at a guy straight in the eyes. That’s it. And I imagine that, no matter how hot he may be on the outside, on the inside, he’s jus
t a scared little boy pretending to be confident for me. Try it.”
“I see. So stare guys down. That seems belligerent.”
“It’s not. It’s letting them know you’re not afraid to look at them, which disarms them. It evens the playing field, so they know not to go thinking they have the upper hand. It intimidates them, makes them succumb.”
“I’m not taking down an enemy, Sabs.”
“You kind of are. Actually, you’re sending the signal that you’re ready to play. It’s a simple but powerful trick. Try it next time you see Caleb. Oh, and do this…” She does this thing I’ve seen her do before where she glances up underneath sculpted eyebrows.
“What are you doing?”
“When you do that, it makes them feel tall and powerful.”
“It makes me feel nauseated.”
“Rose,” her shoulders droop, “make fun all you want, but these things are proven to work.”
I can’t argue there. Sabrina is an attention-grabber. “Fine, I won’t knock them ‘til I try them.”
“There you go. Now practice it because Caleb will be here any minute.”
“What?!”
She laughs. “He texted a few minutes ago, asking where you were, so I told him.”
Oh, my God! I need to get out of this dress, or he’ll think I dolled up for him.
I unzip and begin wriggling out when Sabrina grabs me by the shoulders and stares at me square in the eyes. “Rose, you’re not as fat as you think you are. You’re full, and you’re fabulous, and you’re way more beautiful than you give yourself credit for. Do not ever again be surprised by the fact that guys want to see more of you. Got it?”
I love her. So proud to call her my friend. “Got it.”
“Good.”
Ten minutes later, back in my jeans and shirt, the doorbell rings. I let out a squeal to rival Wilbur down at the Zuckermann’s farm. “He’s here!”
“Relax, Rosie the Riveter. It’s just a guy.” Sabrina rolls her eyes.
“Oh, right.”
We sprint to the door, then paused to catch our breaths, while Sabrina’s mom watches from her office nook, laughing at the two freaks we are. Sabs fixes a strand of my hair. “Remember, it’s all in the eyes.”
“I can do this,” I whisper behind the door.
“You’re a goddess! Own it! Do it, girlfriend!”
“Stop that.”
“Stopping now.”
With a nod to the mistress of confidence, I unlock the door and open it all the way, imagining I’m Aphrodite standing on her seashell surrounded by sea foam. “Hello, Caleb. Nice to see you.”
“Hey, Rosie, I thought I might find you here.” He laughs, playing with the loose straw of a scarecrow porch decoration.
“You could’ve just texted. I would’ve told you where I was.”
“Yeah.” He laughs so soft and cute, so shy-like, I realize it’s the perfect time to stare him down like Sabs taught me. He’s only a boy inside a hot god’s body.
I force my nerves aside and stare right at him.
“Right, so anyway…” His golden-green gaze shoots past me at Sabrina who I imagine looks weird lurking in the doorway. “Oh, hey.”
“Hi, Caleb,” she says.
I turn and smirk at her. Go away. She takes the hint and shuts the door, but if I know Sabrina, her ear is pressed to it, eavesdropping.
“So, anyway.” I bite back the nerves in my throat.
“Yeah, so…you want to sit?”
“Sure.”
He gestures to the wooden swing on the porch, and we sit on opposite sides of two Halloween stuffed animals—a goofy Frankenstein and the other, his wide-eyed, shocked Bride.
Caleb props one leg up on the bench. “Wow, so, people are really talking about you and Wendy and the bake-off competition. That’s cool. I can’t believe that’s you, Rose. I’m like, hey, I know that girl. She’s my neighbor!”
That’s goddess neighbor to you, mister… “Yeah, I can’t believe it. Who would’ve thought, huh? As long as I don’t have to talk in front of people.”
“Oh, I know, right? And I heard through the grapevine that you have special matchmaking skills. Whoever gets your cake falls in love with whoever gave it to them. Is that true?”
“Oh? Where did you hear that?”
He leans in, and I catch a whiff of something cheesy or burgery off his clothes. “That’s what people are saying. So, I was wondering, if you aren’t too busy, because I know you have homework, and your mom doesn’t want you baking and stuff…if you could help me out.”
“What do you need?” I ask all breathless and sexy.
“A small favor.”
I gulp down a ball in my throat. “Whatever you need.” Eyes. It’s all in the eyes. Do not break contact. He must know I’m not afraid of him. I’m ready to play the game. “I’m here for you.”
Our gazing war overcomes him. He glances away. Holy crap, it works! “There’s a girl…”
My stomach crunches into a tight ball. This is it…
“I see her all the time. She’s awesome. But I don’t think she thinks of me in the same way.” He sighs deeply.
“I’m sure she does,” I offer.
He looks up underneath sexy brows. “Rose, can you make me a small cake, just a tiny one, for her, something cute for when I ask her out. Please?”
He’s going to give this cake right back to me, isn’t he? It’s just like Papa said. “Of course I’ll help you.”
His whole face brightens. “Aw, thanks, Rosie. Any flavor—vanilla, chocolate—is fine. Can you have it tomorrow, or is that too short notice?”
“Geez, I’m not a bakery, Caleb,” I say, even though I have every intention of having it ready for him tomorrow morning.
“I know. I’m so sorry to bother you like this.”
“Well…” I sigh so he won’t think I’m bending over backwards for him. “I have an order for a hundred cupcakes I need to start tonight due Friday. But I suppose I could make a little side cake from the same batter. How’s that?”
He touches my hand, and I almost go into psychogenic shock. The old Rose is back. I can’t speak. All I can do is feel his strong boy-man hands touching mine. His skin feels warm and a little sweaty in the palms. I swoon from the electricity between us, like the Frankenstein doll’s hand touching his bride’s.
“Rosie, that’s perfect. Just tell me how much I owe you, and I’ll have it tomorrow.”
“It’s nothing,” I squeak. “Really, you’ve delivered enough cakes for me, it’s the least I can do. I’ll dress it up real pretty with pumpkins and ghosts, it’ll be adorable.”
“Wow, you rock. Thank you.” He jumps up, planting a kiss on my cheek. “So much.”
“Not a problem. She’s a lucky girl, whoever she is.” I touch my cheek.
“Yeah,” he says.
Whew! I manage not to faint and slam my head on the porch deck. I have to say, I’m not bad at this flirting thing. I even spoke in coherent sentences. A happy fog surrounds me.
This happy fog will follow me all night, as I bike to Papa’s in the waning light, as I dance past my grandfather and his girlfriend holding hands on the front porch, as I bake half my cupcake order. Most of all, it’s going to follow me into the kitchen as I listen to my 40’s tunes and make the tiny cake for Caleb.
Love is real. Love is happening.
Blood red velvet is what I’ll make, because it’s October and it’s my favorite. I’ll infuse it with the good cocoa and top it with cream cheese buttercream, an amalgam of sweet and tangy, like I imagine Caleb’s lips to be when we finally kiss in the very near future.
Sabs joins me on the porch where we quietly smile. The plan is falling into place. Next up, world domination.
Together, we watch Caleb take off into the black and white twilight, like Frankenstein being summoned to his castle by the sweet vibrato of a distant violin. And I, his lovesick bride at the laboratory, wrapped in bandages on my slab, awaiting my unraveli
ng, my exposure to the world. On the horizon, a lightning storm threatens to shut down my whole baking operation if I don’t get a move on.
Yet, the lightning also sparks something inside me. My nerves tingle, my heart palpitates as if being awakened from a deep slumber. My eyes are wide, alert, eager to see through the sheer overlay that blinds me.
I’m becoming a new person, a new Rose, thanks to my creator.
I feel the hands of my mistress, Dr. FrankenSabs, peeling away the gauze, layers of my former self, until finally, she reveals my eyes. I blink. And for the first time, she peers at me—her creation, and I know this is a new era—my rebirth. A new, improved woman will emerge from this moment forth.
My creator knows it, too. She regards me with joy, satisfied exasperation after all the hard work she’s been through. The lightning cracks again, and my mistress cries, “She’s alive! Alive!”
Thirteen
OMG, OMG, OMG.
Caleb’s on his way to pick up the cake! Thankfully, my mom is still in bed, mysteriously texting under the covers. As if I can’t see the screen’s glow every time I walk by. Not that I mind. It means she won’t ask why I’m dolled up for school this morning in a cute orange top and spider necklace, or why my hair cascades in rolling tresses, or why I’m holding this tiny, boxed cake by the front door while staring out the window, because Caleb will be arriving any moment to get it, give it right back to me, and ask me out.
OMG.
I need drugs to calm me.
6:50 AM, 6:51 AM, 6:52 AM. Finally, Caleb’s car pulls onto our grass. I must remind him that we have an actual driveway. Relax, Rose. Breathe. Remember all the Great Sabrina has taught you. Eye contact, peer up at him from underneath bashful eyebrows, hand on hip, stick your hip out…
Doorbell.
OMG. This is it. Calm, easy, open door.
“Hey, you.” Tad flirty, not overdone. Good.
“What’s up, cake girl? You look nice.” His eyes rove over my ensemble, as he runs a hand through his sexy, floppy hair.
“Thank you. Your cake is done.” I slip a finger into the space between the lid and the edge of the white box and pull up the lid. A poof of sugary, cream cheesy scent bursts from inside. In the morning light, the four-serving mini cake glitters with black diamond dust and shimmery orange pumpkins. In the middle, a single fondant spider perches atop a pearly white web. So stinkin’ cute.
