Love and Cupcakes

by Susan Bishop Crispell

  Something shifted in his mind—a memory he couldn’t quite bring into focus. He could see Jack, young and smiling, with icing on her lips. He closed his eyes to concentrate, but the image dissolved before he could place it. He looked for the couple outside to re-trigger it, but they’d walked on.

  He tried to keep his voice light when he said, “Messing with your sister is not the best way to fix things.”

  “I don’t get you, Graham. You don’t seem to like the idea of her dating other people, yet you haven’t staked a claim. As far as I know, you’ve never even stepped in that direction. You can’t have it both ways.”

  “I know,” he said, blowing out a frustrated breath.

  “Just don’t wait too long.” Harper walked over and sat on the counter facing him. “Sometimes you only get a small window to figure things out and if you don’t, your whole life goes to hell and you’ll end up running away just to make it hurt less.”

  For a second, Graham could see it. If he left things with Jack alone, he’d wind up watching her fall in love with someone else. If he made a move, he’d lose his best friend—Hutton had made that clear years before. Either way he’d lose someone he loved. It might be easier, as Harper suggested, to pack it in and move on.

  Seeing the resignation he felt mirrored on her face, he said, “I’m sorry, Harp, for whoever you left behind.”

  “It is what it is. Now, can we just make cupcakes? I have a special delivery tonight. Oh, and I’m gonna need some gum paste.”

  ***

  The knocking boomed through the haze of sleep. It morphed from a light tapping of a woodpecker in her dream to a full-blown banging as the tree fell over. Jack lay on the sofa and pulled the blanket over her head. Small threads of light wormed through the holes in the yarn.

  Harper called her name through the door. She didn’t think her sister knew the spare key was hidden in the top of the porch light, but she knew Harper wasn’t going to give up easily. Pushing the blanket aside, she stood and shivered. She clicked on the light and shielded her eyes from the glare.

  Harper held out a cupcake box when Jack cracked the door. “Peace offering.”

  She opened the door wider and stared at her sister. After a few seconds, she took the box and asked, “Is it poisoned?”

  “That wouldn’t be very peace-like, would it? Just open it.”

  The lid untucked with a soft pop. Inside were two pink-frosted cupcakes with black cutouts of the cupcake-and-crossbones icon Jack loved. The designs were so precise that Jack wondered for a moment if Harper had printed them and stuck paper on top instead of something edible. But before she even touched the velvety gum paste, she knew her sister had hand-drawn and cut them.

  She moved out of the doorway.

  Harper followed her into the living room, and they both sat on the sofa. “Did you know that you have a company policy not to give out employees’ personal information?”

  “No, I wasn’t aware of that one,” Jack said.

  “I thought that might be the case. Graham’s not good at lying.”

  “Who was he lying to?”

  “Pete came by after we’d closed up tonight. He wanted to take you to dinner. I don’t think Graham liked him much.”

  “What’s not to like?” Jack asked. “He’s a sweet kid.”

  “That statement right there would crush his little heart,” Harper said.

  They laughed the same melodic laugh.

  Jack pointed to the couch, a silent make-yourself-at-home then went to grab napkins.

  “Hey, that’s mine,” Harper said. Her voice cut through the quiet room.

  The accusation pulled Jack from the kitchen. Anything Harper had left when she took off had been fair game, though Jack couldn’t remember taking much, much less what she would have on display in the living room.

  Harper was staring at the painting she had done of downtown Sugar that hung above the china cabinet in the dining room.

  “Oh yeah,” Jack said. She studied the swirling brushstrokes and vibrant colors that were distinctly Harper. It had taken her months to track down the one painting on an indie artists website. Not that she’d admit that to her sister. “I found it online a couple years ago.”

  “It’s the only picture of Sugar I put up for sale. I always wondered who bought it.”

  Jack watched her sister for a minute, tying to remember the last time they’d been around each other this long without fighting. She wondered if it was some kind of record. “What happened to us, Harper? We used to be friends.”

  “Do you really want to talk about this?” Harper asked.

  “If we’re going to work together, we have to be able to talk to each other. And right now it feels like every time I try, you throw it back in my face. I guess I just want to know why.”

  Harper slipped off her shoes and pressed her toes on the coffee table. It shifted an inch on the floor. “You push, Jack. You were never happy with who I was. My grades were never good enough, I didn’t spend enough time on my art, the guys I dated didn’t meet your standards. I looked up to you, but I didn’t want to be you. And you could never see that.”

  The words weren’t harsh, but they cut just the same. Jack wrapped her arms around her middle.

  “I never wanted you to be me, Harper. You had—have—all this potential, yet you seem content to let it slip by. Everything came to you so easily when we were younger—grades, friends, art. I worked my ass off and it was so frustrating knowing that if you gave even the tiniest bit of effort I’d never be able to catch you. But you never did.”

  “That’s not true,” she said.

  Their eyes met. They both knew it was.

  “I guess it’s fitting that the day you finally decide to put all of that talent to use it’s on something of mine.”

  “I didn’t do it to ruin anything. I just, I don’t know. I heard you and Graham brainstorming about it and I could just see it, all the details and how the colors would swirl together around the scene, and I knew I had to make it.”

  “And you couldn’t ask first?”

  “I’m not trying to justify it, Jack. I know I should’ve talked to you before doing it, but it wasn’t really a conscious decision. I saw a picture in my head and painted it.”

  Jack remembered how her sister’s face would set—eyes squinted and lips pulled tight in concentration—when she was painting or drawing. She used to joke that the bright colors put Harper in a trance. Sometimes she’d sit for hours watching Harper, waiting to see how long the art could hold her captive. She’d always wondered if bringing images to life was Harper’s ability.

  She shifted on the love seat, tucked a leg under her. “I’m only going to say this once—”

  “I know,” Harper interrupted. “I screwed up.”

  “Would you let me finish?” Jack groaned when Harper tried to cut in again. “I loved the cupcakes.”

  “Say that again. I’m not sure I heard you correctly.”

  “Not a chance, sister. I’m still pissed at how you went about it.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” Harper’s voice was quiet, firm. “Really.”

  A gush of sweet air brushed against her arms. It wasn’t a specific flavor, just the desire, the need for sugar. She opened the cupcake box again and handed one to Harper. “Want some milk?” She went to the kitchen when her sister nodded and poured two glasses. “Thanks for this.”

  When she came back, she picked the logo off and set it on the box top. Then she dug her fingers into the fleshy side of the cupcake and ripped the bottom off. Inverting it, she fit it onto the icing like a sandwich. She watched her sister do the same.

  “So, how about this,” Jack started. She took a bite before continuing. It melted in her mouth. “I’ll let you play around with some designs if you promise to get approval from me and Graham before starting.”

  “Does this mean we’re okay?”

  “Not yet. But we’ll get there.”

  eleven

  A friend h
ad once told Jack that you didn’t have to do laundry until you ran out of underwear. She felt the same way about grocery shopping and milk. With all the desire for bottles of Cheerwine, cartons of Mayfield’s mint chocolate chip ice cream, and Moon Pies pouring off of people as they walked the aisles, she put it off as long as possible.

  Though it was almost eight in the morning, the sky was still dark. It wasn’t raining, but the air was thick with moisture. It tasted bitter, like burned chocolate. Standing on the sidewalk, Jack rubbed her hands up and down her arms to obliterate the goose bumps and hoped Mr. Quito would unlock the door early.

  The lights flickered on aisle by aisle. She watched Mr. Quito carry the cash drawer up front, where he counted it twice before setting it in the register. He waved to her as he disappeared around a display of paper towels. She waited.

  Someone shouted her name. It was a brash, wicked sound.

  Tabitha stalked down the sidewalk. Her ponytail swung violently back and forth. She stopped inches away from Jack, her face contorted and red. “Where do you get off tellin’ my husband I’m cheatin’ on him?”

  Jack took a step back. She pressed against the glass window, trapped. “It was a misunderstanding, Tabitha.”

  “Like I’d believe that. I know you did it on purpose. Just because you can’t keep a man doesn’t give you the right to go out and drive other women’s husbands away,” she snarled.

  “That’s not what I was trying to do. We were just talking and I mentioned I’d seen you in the shop. When you said you were celebrating an anniversary, I assumed you meant yours. I honestly didn’t mean to imply anything to Jerry. I’ll be happy to talk to him and—”

  “Do you really think I want you talkin’ to him again? Tellin’ him more lies?” Tabitha’s head whipped to the side and she glared at the empty street.

  The low murmur of voices and scratching of sneakers on concrete grew louder. A couple seconds later, a group of ten or so women in the local fitness group power walked around the corner.

  “Do you go around talkin’ about all of your customers this way? If so, I think the rest of ’em have a right to know.” Tabitha’s voice echoed off the buildings across the street.

  The women skirted them, but every pair of eyes was locked on Jack as they overheard Tabitha’s threat. A few craned their necks to keep watching even after they’d marched past.

  Mr. Quito stuck his round face out of the front door. He narrowed his eyes at them. “Is everything okay, Jaclyn?”

  “It’s fine, Mr. Quito.” Jack said. Her voice shook with anger, but she smiled at him.

  “No, it’s not,” Tabitha added. “She’s a home-wrecking bitch who doesn’t know when to keep her damn mouth shut. And now everyone’s gonna know.”

  “I think you should go on home, Tabitha,” Mr. Quito said. “You too, Jack.”

  Jack straightened. Her blood was pumping hot and fast. “Sorry,” she said and brushed past them.

  Shaken, she pulled out her phone and hit the speed dial for Graham. She listened to the shrill rings, counting each one until voice mail picked up. “Hey, it’s me,” she said. She stopped on the corner and looked back to make sure Tabitha hadn’t followed her. “I forgot you’re out biking. So, never mind. I’ll see you later.”

  Figuring Hutton was with Graham, she dropped her phone back in her purse and exhaled a long, frustrated breath.

  There was no point in going home. Jack’s bad mood would just fester without some sort of distraction. Better to channel that energy into something productive. She left her car parked near the grocery store and walked the three blocks to work.

  The lights in Harper’s apartment caught her eye as she turned onto Pearl Street. She could hear the low beat of music that pumped out of the open window. The violent, heartbroken voice of the singer tugged at her heart.

  Harper moved into view, paint streaked on her forehead and shirt. She had one paintbrush clamped in her teeth, another in her hand. She looked up, caught sight of Jack, and disappeared.

  The music shut off first, then the lights. Jack stared at the lifeless apartment. The disappointment burned in her chest. She fished her keys out of her purse, but before she reached the door, Harper pushed it open.

  “You look ready to kill someone,” Harper said.

  “Tabitha,” Jack seethed.

  “Can I help?”

  “Don’t you want to know what she did before agreeing to commit a felony with me?”

  “Nope.”

  Jack dropped her purse on the counter and sat next to it. “Thanks, Harp.”

  “So, what did she do? It must’ve been bad for you to be this riled up.”

  “She’s cheating on her husband and she got caught because she came in here flouncing around like a lovesick teenager and told me she was getting cupcakes for her anniversary. And when I saw Jerry last week, I stupidly asked how it was.”

  “Well, yeah. You’re nice like that. Me, I wouldn’t have thought twice to ask. Hell, I wouldn’t even have remembered. But, lemme guess, she blames you that he found out?”

  “She just came up to me outside Quito’s and started yelling at me and made sure everyone around heard that I’d wrecked her marriage.”

  “Bitch,” Harper said.

  “Bitch,” Jack agreed.

  When the air filled with strawberries, Jack smiled.

  Harper winked at her and grabbed two cupcakes from the case. She handed one to Jack. “You’re not worried about what Tabitha says, are you? ’Cause no one’s gonna listen to her. This town loves you, Jack.”

  She stared at the strawberry icing. It was piled high in even thick, swirls of pink. Peeling the wrapper off, she bit in. It was sweet and crisp. After a moment she said, “I know it shouldn’t matter, but the way she was spinning it, like I was gossiping about customers behind their backs, they might listen to that.”

  “If they do, we’ll set them straight.” She said it so matter-of-factly that Jack couldn’t argue. “Okay, I hate to run if you’re still mad, but I want to get back to up there before I lose the light.”

  “What light?” Jack asked.

  “Exactly. It makes for one hell of a painting. I’ll show you when it’s done.” She took the cupcake with her and headed back upstairs.

  Harper cranked on the music a moment later. It rattled the ceiling for a few seconds before she turned it down. Jack popped the last bite of cupcake into her mouth, licked the remaining crumbs and icing from her fingers then went to the kitchen to rinse her hands.

  She stopped in front of the bulletin board that now held a dozen sketches of ideas Harper wanted to turn into cupcake art. She untacked the Twilight drawing. The lines were rough, almost sloppy. But she’d seen how Harper had translated that into something precise and beautiful.

  As a planner though, Jack couldn’t leave the details up in the air. They needed a system to calculate the number of cupcakes a design would take instead of relying on Harper’s instincts.

  She taped the sketch to the front window. The drawing wasn’t quite to scale but it would do. She wasn’t looking for precision. She just needed to know that they could, in fact, do it. Grabbing a pencil, she layered a sheet of graph paper on top of it and began to draw circles in each box. There was enough light from the spotlights underneath the awning to make her impromptu lightbox work.

  She started in the center of the design and worked her way toward the right edge. She lost count after the first hundred. Her fingers and palm burned from the strain. She eased her grip and flexed her hand. The skin was red and throbbed as she clenched and curled. She kept her other hand splayed across the paper, plastering it to window so it couldn’t budge.

  It took the better part of an hour to complete. She counted it three times before she was certain she hadn’t overlooked any circles.

  “Eight hundred forty-two,” Jack said when Graham came in later that morning.

  “Dalmatians?” Graham asked.

  “The number of cupcakes it’ll take to really
make Harper’s Twilight masterpiece.”

  “How’d you come up with that?”

  She slapped the graph paper on the table. “Plotted out every damn last one of ’em. And I’m gonna have to do it again, mind you, to make it life-sized. But I think it’s doable.”

  “Wouldn’t it have been easier to make the design fit a set number?”

  “Yeah. You know me, I like to do things the hard way,” she said. She picked at the edge of the table. “I think I can make a template on the computer to do the work for me, I just needed to sketch it all out to see what I’d be working with.”

  Graham slipped the paper from between her fingers when she tried to take it back. “Not so fast, Grabby.” He studied it for a moment, his eyebrows pulling together in a V as if trying to see the finished cupcakes.

  “It’s just a bunch of circles. Nothing exciting.”

  “Just give me a minute. You know it takes me a little longer to catch up to what you’re thinking. So, how exactly will it work? On the computer I mean.”

  “Well, we would place the cupcake template, similar to that,” Jack said, pointing to the graph paper, “on the actual design at full scale. Then when we print it out, we’ll have a precise layout that shows how the individual cupcakes need to be iced and how they need to be arranged as a whole. The template would be scalable so that we can take one design and alter the number of cupcakes it’ll take, depending on the client’s needs.”

  “I’m not sure we have enough room to try this. Scratch that, I know we don’t. Unless we plan on using the floor.”

  Sitting on the counter while he started pulling out trays of cupcakes to frost, she said, “Yeah, I thought about that—”

  “Of course you did. If I could bake as fast as you think, I’d be home by nine every morning.”

  “You don’t come in ’til ten,” Jack said.

  “Precisely. But back to your solution.”

  “I think we’re gonna have to do it in chunks. And once each section is complete then we’ll put them on trays or in boxes in the correct arrangement and stick them in the cooler. The first time we’re going to see the whole thing together is when we’re setting up at the event.”