by Becky Monson
“Guys like that?” I ask, looking back and forth between the two of them. “A thong?”
“Oh, yeah,” Brown says, raising her eyebrows, her head bobbing in affirmation.
“I send texts like that to Jonathon all the time,” Anna says, and I internally gag, for many reasons. I believe that is the thousandth time she’s mentioned Jonathon, and also I’d rather not know my baby sister is sexting her fiancé. So many levels of ew.
“I don’t know.” I stare down at the floor. “I’m not even wearing any, and I haven’t even had a pedicure.”
“What are you talking about?” Anna regards me strangely.
“A picture of my thong?” I point down at my feet. They both bust out laughing. I don’t follow.
“Jules, she’s talking about thong underwear,” Brown says through her amusement.
“Oh, my gosh, Julia, no one even refers to flip-flops as thongs anymore.” She wipes the pooling tears away with her fingers.
“Well, Mom does!” I say, trying to defend myself.
“Julia, Mom still refers to her pants as ‘slacks.’” They both start laughing again.
Okay, so that was a flimsy defense.
“I’m just saying you could pull the side of your thong out and we could snap a picture,” Anna says once she’s able to compose herself. “Like this,” she pulls out the side of her underwear for a split-second and from behind us a bunch of guys whistle. How did they even see that? It’s like they all have a sixth sense of knowing when underwear is exposed.
“Well that’s not possible,” I say and shrug.
“Oh, come on, Jules, we’ll go into the bathroom.” Brown prods me.
“No, it’s not possible because I’m not wearing a thong.” I purse my lips together, feeling uncomfortable that we are discussing my underwear.
“You’re not wearing a thong? Then what are you wearing?” Anna asks, confusion in her voice.
“Um, just my normal underwear. I don’t like thongs.” Why would I want something purposely going up my butt? Isn’t the point to avoid a wedgie?
“You’re wearing granny panties?” Anna snorts out, and I shush her as more glances come our way.
She and Brown start laughing again, and I scowl at them.
“Okay, fine. Jules, just take a picture of your bra strap,” Brown says, grabbing my arm. “You are wearing a bra, right? Or do you have a sports bra on?” She and Anna start up again.
I’m so thrilled to be the comic entertainment for the evening.
With lightning speed, Brown snatches my phone out of my purse and Anna tries to pull my shirt down so my bra-strapped shoulder is visible.
“You guys! No way,” I say, pulling away from them and adjusting my shirt. “I’m not doing this in the middle of a club.”
“Oh, you spoilsport,” Anna says. “Fine, we’ll just do it in the bathroom.”
“Yeah, come on,” Brown agrees. “Do it while you have liquid courage.”
Little do they know I’ve been drinking soda. Someone has to drive us home, after all.
They start dragging me, and I mean, literally dragging me, to the bathroom, giggling the whole time. I hear Anna say something about granny panties and then her and Brown bust out in hysterics again.
We get to the dimly lit bathroom and Anna pushes me into one of the leather lounge chairs. I have no idea why it’s even in the bathroom. Do people actually hang out here? She pulls down my shirt so just my shoulder is revealed, and Brown starts snapping pictures of my shoulder with my exposed bra strap.
When she feels like she’s taken enough, she and Anna go through the pictures and finally settle on what they think is the perfect one. Brown gives me my phone.
“There. Send him that one.” She looks over at Anna and they both nod their heads like they’ve found the perfect picture.
It’s my shoulder. With my bra strap showing. That’s it. I start thumbing through the other pictures and they are all the same. Why is this particular one the best?
“Come, on, just send the text already,” Anna says.
“Okay fine,” I say while rolling my eyes.
I type a quick “thinking of you,” attach the picture to the text, and send it off without overthinking it like I want to.
We stand around waiting for a beep, some kind of response from Jared. I won’t lie, I’m kind of feeling a small bit of excitement. This is daring of me. I don’t do daring things like this.
My phone beeps.
Everything okay?
I read the text out loud and give the girls a strange look. They gaze back at me, confused as well. That seems like a weird response for Jared to send back.
I scroll up to reread my text, just to make sure what I sent him was clear and that’s when I see it. The word “Dad” at the top of my screen.
“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” I scream and practically drop my phone. How did this happen? How could this happen?
I’ve just sexted my dad.
“What’s wrong?” Anna asks, grabbing my phone away from me. It takes a minute for her to figure it out, but when she does, her eyes widen and she immediately collapses on the bathroom floor, unable to control the laughter. I take my phone away from her.
I need to do damage control. Must do damage control.
“What’s going on? What’s so funny?” Brown looks from Anna to me.
“I sent the text to my dad,” I say, horrified.
“But . . . but . . . how?” Brown gawks at me and then glances down at my phone.
“I don’t know. My dad is listed right under Jared’s name in my favorites. I guess I pressed the wrong person.” I want to throw up. Is there a bridge nearby for me to fling myself off of?
Brown has now joined Anna on the floor, laughing so hard she’s unable to speak or get up.
“Oh, my gosh, I can’t wait to tell Jonathon this story!” Anna says through fits of giggles.
“No!” I yell loudly. “No one is telling anyone anything. Understand? We will never speak of this again. Never!” I point my finger back and forth at each of them, trying to emphasize the importance of never talking about this with anyone.
They both start laughing again. I have a feeling this will be spoken of, and quite often.
What do I do? What do I say to my dad? “Gee, Dad, sorry. I was trying to send a sexy text to my boyfriend?” No, I can’t even admit to it. The horror of it all.
I text back.
No, everything’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Anna was playing with my phone.
Yes, that’s right. I blamed Anna. She’s the darling of the family, they won’t even question it.
And this is why, boys and girls, you should not sext. Sexting is bad. Very, very bad.
CHAPTER 6
I’m clearly a girl who can’t say no. It’s becoming very obvious that this is a fatal flaw of mine, and just might, in fact, be the death of me if I keep going like I am.
After spending all day Saturday and all day Sunday practicing and practicing and practicing until the smell of cupcakes literally became gag-worthy, plus staying up until the crack of dawn for Brown’s bachelorette party Saturday night (it was more clubs and no strippers, thank goodness), somehow, I unknowingly agreed to dinner with my family on Sunday night.
Unknowingly, because my mom caught me in a moment of complete exhaustion when she asked me to come, and I agreed to whatever she was asking just to get her off of the phone. It wasn’t until I got a text Sunday morning asking if I’d bring dessert that it finally registered. I doubt anyone will be surprised with what I bring for dessert — cupcakes, of course.
We have had so many cupcakes to sell at the bakery, I’m starting to wonder if my patrons are getting sick of them, too. I doubt it, though. The flavors have been exciting and different from anything we’ve ever served. It’s been great to have so many taste-testers. The most popular cupcake flavor so far? Oddly enough, it was jalapeño. Granted, the jalapeño was very subtle and gave just a little kick at the end.
Right now I’m sitting in the sitting room (how fitting), trying to have a moment to myself before I go into the kitchen where the chaos that is my family is currently gathering.
It once again really stinks that Jared didn’t come home this weekend because it would have been nice to have him here with me. As it stands, I’m the only person without a significant other with me. Lennon and Jenny are here with baby Liam, and Anna is here with Jonathon, of course. I’m so excited to hear about how smart and amazing Jonathon thinks he is. So very excited.
“There she is,” my dad says loudly as I enter the kitchen. And here I was trying to just blend in. So much for that.
There has been no word about the text to my dad, so hopefully he just let it go. I did find his phone and deleted the picture and the text that went with it. That way if he ever looks back at his texts, it won’t be there to remind him that his oldest daughter sent him an inappropriate text that was actually supposed to be inappropriately sent to her boyfriend. Just the thought of it all makes me want to die all over again.
It would have been so much better had it gone to my mom instead of my dad. Well, I mostly wish it had just gone to Jared, its intended recipient. But my mom would have been the better other (unfortunate) option. She’s not text savvy. For example, about five months ago my grandma was sick and in the hospital, and my mom sent out a group text that said, “Grandma is in the hospital, please keep her in your prayers. LOL.” She thought it meant “lots of love.” I doubt she has any idea what sexting even is. She probably would have texted back “oh Julia, isn’t that bra strap darling!”
I spy Jenny and Lennon over by the large kitchen island, playing with Liam. I walk over to them and hold out my arms and Jenny hands him over without any protest. She knows better. I tend to be a baby-hog when it comes to Liam (or so Anna has referred to me). To say that I’m head-over-heels in love with little Liam would be an understatement.
“You can be my date tonight, okay wittle Wiam Wiam Wiam?” I say in my best baby voice as Jenny gently gives him to me. I glance over at Lennon who’s staring at me with much disdain. Lennon does not like baby talk, and we’ve all been strictly forbidden to talk that way to Liam, which is why I do it even more when Lennon’s around. It’s my job as his older sister to be as annoying as possible. Plus, it’s hard not to talk that way around Liam. He is, after all, a baby.
“Nice to see you again, Julia,” a pompous sounding voice says from behind me. I turn around to find Jonathon staring at me. Or rather, Jooonathon. You must accentuate the “Jon.”
He’s in a suit, which is no surprise. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him out of one. He’s not bad looking, but he’s not my type at all. There’s no way else to describe him, except that he looks smart. Perfectly coiffed, light brown hair, glasses over unspectacular blue eyes, and a smug little expression that sometimes makes me feel like punching something. To be fair, I haven’t really given Jonathon a chance to try to like him. And tonight it won’t be happening either. I’m just too dang tired.
I say a quick hello and then start dancing around and smooching on Liam, giving Jonathon the hint that I’m not up for small talk. He’s actually rather astute. He gets the hint and walks away. I feel a pang of guilt but shake it off. There will be plenty of time to get to know Jonathon, since he’s about to become a permanent fixture in my life.
The dinner table is set, and we finally make our way to the table to start eating. Thank goodness since I’m starving and for something more than cupcakes. I feel like that’s all I’ve eaten for the last ten days. I may never eat cupcakes again at this point. That’s a lie. I’ll still eat them.
The conversation is light and fun and it feels refreshing. I’m feeling glad that I came to dinner tonight, even after my initial reluctance. I do have a wonderful family, and now that I’m not such a disappointment (they never made me feel that way, but come on, I lived in the basement for ten years—not something your parents would brag about), I can appreciate them for what they are: my family, and really, my friends.
Geez, what the heck was that? I’m getting all sentimental and sappy. This whole Cupcake Battles thing must be frying my brain.
“Jonathon has some news,” Anna says, interrupting everyone else’s conversations, and my out-of-character cheesy thoughts. Everyone’s attention moves to Anna and Jonathon.
“He won the Marxton case!” Anna says, beaming proudly. Everyone starts clapping. I’m just joining in to be nice, because I have no idea what the case was about or even who this Marxton person is, if it even is a person.
So that must be why he’s too busy to help with the wedding plans. I guess he will have the time now. I go to say something about just that, but then stop myself. No need to open that can of worms.
I peek over at Lennon and raise my eyebrows. He just shakes his head at me and sits back in his chair. It’s been nice to bond with Lennon over our mutual dislike for Jonathon. That sounded harsh. It’s more like our mutual not-really-loving Jonathon as much as we should. He’s going to be family soon, after all. We’ll just have to learn to deal.
“Well done, Son,” my dad says after everyone has quieted down. Jonathon smiles pompously. Okay, it wasn’t pompous at all, but I’m sure there was underlying pompousness to it that was just undetectable.
My dad, on the other hand looks proud. Lennon works at the firm, too. I wonder if it bothers him that my dad is so enamored with Jonathon. One glance at Lennon and I can tell he couldn’t care less. Lennon has never been one to feel inferior, a trait I wish I had picked up.
I suppose there’s no threat. Lennon is a senior partner, and when my dad retires, which will be soon, if my mother has anything to do with it, Lennon will take over the firm. A win for the firm is a win for Lennon, too.
We settle back into smaller group conversations. My mom and Anna talk about the wedding (of course). My dad and Jonathon talk about the Marshton/Martin/Moab case (whatever the name was), and Jenny and Lennon make googly eyes at Liam while Lennon bounces him around on his knee. I just sit there in silence, pushing the food around on my plate.
I hear a clinking sound and look up to see my dad tapping a knife against a glass. “I’d like to say something before we all finish dinner and go our separate ways.”
We all look at him. My dad is not a man of many words and tapping his glass to get our attention is not something he would normally do. In fact, I don’t know that he has ever done anything like that in my entire life. If he wants to get our attention, he usually makes my mom do it.
“I think we all need to drink a toast to someone who has made some amazing strides recently.” Oh great, more Jooonathon accolades. Gag. “And that person is Julia.”
Huh? What? I glance around the room as everyone looks at me with big grins, agreeing with what my dad is saying.
“Julia, we are so proud of you and how far you have come with the bakery. And we wish you the best of luck in the cupcake competition.” He beams proudly at me. He struggled with the words “cupcake competition” as if he couldn’t find the words to say. Obviously he’s never seen Cupcake Battles. I wonder if anyone told him it’s five channels away from Fox News.
I’m speechless, which is not something that happens often. I look at everyone and at my dad and suddenly tears sting my eyes. Oh gosh, public crying. I hate it. Honestly though, I’m not sure my dad has ever given me a look of pride. I have not given him a lot to be proud of, even though he’s never said anything. The proud looks were always for Lennon, or Anna (albeit undeservedly). I know I’ve gotten it before, but it’s been a long while.
“Thanks everyone,” I choke out, my tight throat constricting my voice.
“We brought everyone here tonight to wish you well and also to give you this.” He reaches under the table and pulls out a gift bag.
And here comes the waterworks. This dinner was for me?
“Sorry, you guys. I’m super tired.” I apologize for my tears. I’m so great at ruining a moment. Can’t I just let my cry
ing show them my appreciation without downplaying it? I’m terrible at emotional, sentimental moments. It’s probably good Jared hasn’t told me he loves me. I’d probably make some weird joke and laugh it off, totally ruining any romance. It’s what I do.
My dad hands me the bag across the table. I take it and start pulling out gobs of decorative tissue. Obviously the wrapping was done by my mother; I’m not sure my father would know what to do with decorative tissue. At the bottom of the bag is a package wrapped in more tissue paper. I pull it out and gently and carefully pull the tape off.
Just kidding. I hate it when people do that. I rip right into that sucker. Inside there is a chef’s hat that has my name embroidered on it, and a fancy, black and white polka-dot apron with “Julia’s Bakery” embroidered in light blue on the front. It’s adorable. I’ll totally wear it. I tell them that and thank them so many times it gets awkward. I’m not very good at thank you’s and especially sentimental ones.
My dad raises his glass. “To Julia,” he says, and everyone else raises their glass and echoes him.
I don’t think I’ll forget this moment for as long as I live.
CHAPTER 7
Well, this is it.
I don’t even have time right now to indulge in the pukey feeling that is lying dormant, probably waiting for the worst timing ever to rear its ugly head.
I’m on a plane to California to tape Cupcake Battles. Me. Julia Warner Dorning. The girl who just over a year ago was living in her parents’ basement, working at a dead-end job, with no thought of ever meeting anyone or dating.
Now I own my own bakery, live in my own high-rise apartment, date a total hottie, and am about to appear on a national television show.
And there’s the pukey feeling. National television show. What the hell am I thinking?
