by Harper Lin
Matt popped open the passenger-side door and nestled the box of coffee on the floorboard for the nearly quarter-mile trip from the café to his house. He shut the door again.
“Well, I guess I’d better get back inside,” I said. I leaned in for a quick peck on the lips, but he stopped me.
“Actually, there’s another reason why I stopped by.”
“What’s up?” I tried to sound casual, but something in his expression had me on edge.
He leaned back against the car and sighed. “I feel really bad about this.”
Now I was really worried.
He stared at the ground and ran his fingers through his hair. Finally, he looked up. “I dropped the ball. I totally forgot that your birthday’s coming up. I wanted to do something really special for you, but then this project came up, and I’ve been so busy I haven’t even done laundry in three weeks, let alone planned something for your birthday. I—I can’t even think of anything you’ve said you want. I was thinking a necklace or some earrings or something, but you don’t wear very much jewelry. And then I thought maybe a sweater, but that wouldn’t be a good gift, would it?”
I shook my head. “Not this time of year, no.”
Matt sighed. “I know this is terrible, but could you just tell me something you want and I’ll get it for you? And if I can get it online, that’s even better because I don’t know when I’m going to make it to the store.”
“Aw, Matty!” I leaned in and gave him a hug. “Don’t worry about it. It’s totally not a big deal.” He started to protest, but I stopped him. “All I want is to get to spend some actual time with you. We can go out to dinner somewhere nice, maybe Osteria di Monica, just enjoy each other’s company.”
He relaxed a little, but still looked uneasy. “I want to get you something, though. You deserve to have a present on your birthday—more than one!”
“But I don’t need presents. All I need is you.” I looked up and saw the expression on his face. He wasn’t going to be happy with just taking me out for a nice meal. “But if you really feel that strongly about it, look at the USA Today bestsellers list and get me whatever book looks interesting. I’ll read it and love it and always remember that you got it for me.”
He looked doubtful but nodded slowly. I could tell that he was too exhausted and distracted by work to argue anymore. We exchanged goodbyes, and I herded him into the car to head home. I secretly hoped he would fall asleep on the couch before he even got his laptop open, but I suspected he would actually start chugging the coffee as soon as he walked in the door and be wired well into the night.
I watched him drive away and then went back inside. “I’ll be in the back,” I told Ephy as I passed her. I closed the office door behind me and sat down at the desk with my head in my hands. I was worried about Matt, yes, especially since he skipped out on the office birthday party, but there was something else—something worse.
Matt had been worried that he didn’t have a present yet for my birthday, which would come up in three weeks, but his birthday was even sooner than that, and it hadn’t even crossed my mind until that moment.
Chapter 5
I spent most of that evening curled up on Matt’s couch, trying to think of what to do for him for his birthday while he furiously worked away, barely even acknowledging my presence. Latte, my beloved Berger Picard rescue dog, lay curled up against my leg, nudging my hand insistently whenever I failed to keep with his petting needs. I otherwise amused myself with a marathon of a reality show featuring a gaggle of glammed-up, look-alike sisters constantly bickering with each other over who borrowed whose dress or something else equally insignificant. In one episode, they planned a birthday party for one of their interchangeable boyfriends, but I didn’t think I could afford a private jet to fly us to Mexico for an alcohol-soaked party with one hundred of Matt’s nearest and dearest. I didn’t even think Matt had one hundred people who would qualify as his nearest and dearest.
That episode did give me one great idea, though. Jetting off to Mexico might have been a no-go, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t throw him a party. I loved throwing parties! They were a prime excuse for baking. Not that I needed one, but a party did give me a reason to make something a little fancier and more time-consuming than the standard fare we served in the café.
I nudged him. He didn’t move. I nudged him again. Without looking up, he held up one finger. I leaned over so I could see his screen. It was some kind of diagram with rainbow-hued lines zig-zagging across it. Matt used his cursor to grab onto one of the orange lines and drag it the tiniest bit to the side. He changed views, changed it back, and nudged the line over a tiny bit more.
“Okay, what’s up?”
“There’s something I’ve been thinking about, and I wanted to run it by you.” I conveniently left out that I’d been thinking about it for the past five minutes, not five weeks. “What do you think about throwing a big party for your birthday?”
He stared at me for so long that I started to wonder if he hadn’t heard me. Then, very slowly, he said, “A party?”
I nodded, shifting my position on the couch so I was facing him more. Latte army-crawled his way back onto the prime position he preferred on my lap. I stroked his head with one hand and put the other on Matt’s shoulder. “Yes! It would be so much fun! We’d invite your friends over, I could make all the food, we could put a football game on—”
“It’s May, Franny.”
“I know! Your birthday is in May!”
“There’s no football in May.”
I waved him off. “Oh, well, whatever. We can put something you like on. Just think how much fun it will be!”
He looked skeptical. “It would just be four or five guys, Franny.”
I mentally counted up the number of guys he hung out with, and four or five might have been a little high. “Well, not when you invite their wives and girlfriends too. And we could invite some of my friends and people we know in town to round things out. It would actually be really fun!” I was set on this idea now. Completely committed. All I needed was for Matt to agree. “So what do you think?”
“I think it sounds more like a Fran party than a Matt party.”
“Except that it’s for your birthday.”
He looked at me, and I saw the corners of his eyes beginning to crinkle in the way that made me feel like a sixteen-year-old with her first boyfriend again. “How about we make it a combined party for both our birthdays?”
I wanted to protest, to argue that this was something I wanted to do for him, not for myself. I didn’t need a party. I didn’t need to have a gathering of all the people I knew and loved, who’d made my time back in Cape Bay so wonderful. I’d been down and broken when I arrived, and yet my friends—new and old—had made it a better experience than I could have ever imagined. I didn’t need that. But who was I kidding? I definitely wanted it. “Are you sure? I meant this to be something special for you, not a party for me.”
He smiled tenderly and brushed my hair back from my face. “Nothing makes me happier than seeing you happy.”
I studied his face, trying to figure out whether he really meant it or if he was just trying to get me to leave him alone so he could get back to work. At the same time, I fought with myself over whether it was wrong to give in to the idea of a joint party. Finally, I gave in and threw my arms around his neck. “It’ll be great, I promise.”
“I know it will.” He patted my arm and kissed my cheek. “And I know you’re going to be very excited about planning it, but I need to get back to my plans here now, so if you need my input, we’ll have to talk about it later. But I’m sure that whatever you want to do will be great. Especially if you’re catering.” He grinned at me for a second then gestured at his computer. And as quick as that, I’d lost him to his work again. This time, though, I didn’t mind too much because I had a party to plan.
I pulled out my phone to find a good date on my calendar. There was a weekend between our birthdays tha
t would be perfect. I immediately sent Matt a calendar event so he would have that time blocked off. Now that I felt like the pressure was off, I quickly decided I’d get him tickets to see the Patriots... or Red Sox... or Bruins... or whoever had a game coming up I could get tickets to. We could go up to Boston and make a whole night—or even weekend!—out of it.
With that settled, I started thinking about all the delicious things I could make for the party. There would have to be cake, of course—it wouldn’t be a birthday party without cake. Two cakes, since there were two of us. His would be chocolate and peanut butter—or maybe caramel. I’d do something seasonal and fruity for mine. Maybe a play on a strawberry-rhubarb pie. That would be delicious. And, of course, there would be appetizers—bacon-wrapped asparagus, some homemade Italian meatballs, maybe lobster bites. Punch, of course. I had a great recipe that had been passed down from my mom and was always fruity and bubbly and delicious. We’d have some non-alcoholic for the kids, but we could spike another bowl for the grown-ups.
And desserts! I could make so many desserts. Maybe I could even enlist Sammy and the girls at the café to help me out so we could have more options. I’d have cookies and miniature pies and tarts. And I could use puff pastry shells for the tarts. I loved puff pastry! I hardly ever made it because of how labor-intensive it was, but for a double birthday celebration, it would be perfect. And with the party date I’d chosen still over a week out, I’d have plenty of time to make as much as I thought I could possibly need.
I started jotting down in my phone all the different things I could possibly make with puff pastry. Aside from tarts, I could make cream horns and mille-feuille and pigs in blankets and brie en croute. And those were just to start. Aside from the buttery, flaky deliciousness of the pastry, my favorite thing about it was how versatile it was. I could make a million different things with it, either sweet or savory. And they’d all have that perfect, delicious crust.
The more I thought about it, the more excited I got. Not just about the food, although I found that pretty exciting, but also about the prospect of gathering all our friends together and celebrating. I started mentally running through who I’d want to invite. Sammy and everyone from the café of course, as well as their significant others and families. I’d even invite Ephy. I barely knew her, but I didn’t want her to feel left out. Especially not when the more I thought about it, the more people I wanted to invite. Matt may have only had a few guys he hung out with on a regular basis, but I knew there were many more people that he was friendly with who he’d enjoy having there.
I stopped to take a look at the list of people I’d added to my phone. It was getting long. I looked around Matt’s house. It wasn’t big, and mine wasn’t any bigger. They were both built in the post-war suburban housing explosion and were simple mirror-image Cape Cod-style bungalows. We could have the party there, but I’d have to cut the guest list dramatically.
I sighed. Half the fun of the party would be having everyone there. The only way to invite everyone would be to rent someplace out, and Cape Bay wasn’t big enough to have a lot of party venues available, especially not when I’d want it to have a full kitchen so I could do my final prep there. Maybe I could charm one of the local restaurants into letting us have it there and allowing me to use the kitchen. Maybe Fiesta Mexicana? Or—
Matt glanced at me out of the corner of his eye as I smacked my forehead.
“Never mind,” I muttered, waving him off. I couldn’t believe I’d overlooked the most perfect, most obvious solution. We’d have the party at the café.
Chapter 6
By the time the day of the party arrived, an aching sensation had become my feet’s default state. Aside from the hours I worked in the café, I’d stayed late every night, working on the food for the party. I’d prepared everything I could beforehand and finished almost everything earlier that day. A few things would still have to be popped in the oven closer to party time, but everything else was done except for the punch and one last batch of puff pastry mini-tartlets I’d decided to make at the last minute. Unfortunately, I’d already gone through all the puff pastry I’d prepared, so I had to prep another batch. I’d considered whether I really wanted to go to all that trouble, but ever since the idea of lemon tartlets had crossed my mind, my mouth had been watering in anticipation of them.
I had the basic dough prepped and chilled, but that was the easy part. I got a one-pound slab of butter out of the freezer—freezing the butter made it so much easier to make puff pastry—and took it over to the granite countertop, where I had a sheet tray loaded with ice sitting. It was a trick my grandmother had taught me years and years ago—chill the countertop where you’d be working, and you’d buy yourself a little extra time with your dough before it needed to go back in the fridge.
I slid the baking sheet aside and layered the hunk of butter between a couple sheets of plastic wrap. Then, I grabbed my rolling pin and went to town, beating the two-inch by four-inch butter into a flat, six-by-six square.
“What’s going on?” Sammy asked, looking concerned as she came into the kitchen.
“What?” I paused my butter-beating so I could hear her.
“What are you doing? It sounds like you’re trying to break down a wall or something.”
“Oh! Sorry!” I held up the rolling pin and gestured at the butter before I realized that I’d made all the puff pastry after hours, and Sammy had never been there to witness the process. She’d tasted some of the finished product, but she hadn’t seen how all those buttery, flaky layers came about. “I have to pound out the butter to make the next batch of puff pastry.”
She looked skeptical, raising her eyebrows. “Will it take much longer? The customers look kind of concerned.”
I grimaced. I had been so set on making more puff pastry, I hadn’t really thought about how loud it would be out in the café. I looked down at the butter. It was getting close, but it still needed to be beaten a little thinner. I looked at Sammy. “Maybe another thirty seconds? Or a minute?” It didn’t sound like much time, but I knew it would probably seem like an eternity to the people sitting in the café, who were just trying to enjoy a nice cup of coffee and maybe a pastry. “I’ll get it done as fast as I can. Apologize to them for me. And make sure they all know about the party tonight.”
Once I’d come around to the idea of having the party at the café and discussed it with Matt, we both realized that we might as well make it into an open house instead of trying to pick out who we’d invite. We knew and loved almost everyone in town, so why not invite them all? We’d probably be inviting more people than not anyway. I’d had a sign up in the café for almost a week, and I’d made sure to tell the girls to mention it to anyone who came in. The more the merrier, after all. And it wasn’t about gifts either. We’d decided there wasn’t anything we needed or wanted, and we’d be much happier if the money people would have spent on a gift went to something more meaningful. The signs I’d put up around town clearly stated, “No Gifts, Please, but Donations to the Cape Bay Animal Shelter will be happily accepted at the door.” It was my way of including Latte in our celebration, since I couldn’t have him at the actual party—the health department wouldn’t have allowed it. Other than dogs, though, everyone in town was invited, and I hoped that Sammy reminding customers of that would go at least a little way in helping them to overlook the banging. The promise of pastry tended to do that for people.
Sammy nodded and left, closing the door tightly behind her for what little sound protection it would provide. It wasn’t meant for that, and I seriously doubted it would do any good, but I understood her point. Trying to be quieter wouldn’t do any good—frozen butter took a heavy hand to flatten. Besides, the last thing I wanted to do was to give the butter a chance to melt before I got it to the right size. Melted butter was death to puff pastry. All I could do was try to do it faster, so that was what I did.
When I finally got it thin enough, I grabbed the dough out of the refrigerator an
d laid it on the counter with the butter on top, covering the bottom two-thirds of the dough I’d already rolled out and shaped. I did a letter fold on it, bringing the unbuttered top section down over the butter then folding the bottom buttered part up on top. Now I had two layers of butter in between three layers of dough.
A good start, but two butter layers were nowhere near enough to get the delicate, flaky crust I was going for. I rotated the dough ninety degrees, rolled it back out to its original size, then did the letter fold again—top third down, bottom third up. By my estimation, that was six layers, but I still wanted more. I wrapped the dough up in plastic wrap and popped it back in the fridge to keep the butter layers nice and cold. It would need to be in there for twenty or thirty minutes before I took it back out and did two more letter folds. Then it would go back in the fridge for one more round. By the end, the dough would have nearly a thousand layers of butter that, when baked, would puff up the dough and create the flakiness I was looking for.
With plenty of time before I needed to work on the puff pastry again, I decided to get a head start on the punch. It was easy enough that it could be mixed right before party time, but I wanted to go ahead and freeze some for ice cubes. Nothing ruined a good bowl of punch like a bunch of melted ice cubes watering it down. I got everything I needed out of the refrigerator—some raspberry sorbet, pineapple, and a bottle of lemon-lime soda. Simple but delicious. Although it was counterintuitive, I had pre-thawed my frozen punch ingredients. In my opinion, it made the punch so much easier to mix evenly without odd pockets of different flavors as the frozen ingredients slowly melted.
I poured everything together into a large punch bowl and mixed it together thoroughly. Then I grabbed a ladle and poured some into a cup. It was so delicious. Fruity from the raspberries in the sorbet and light and bubbly from the soda. I’d add a dose of rum to one of the punch bowls at the party, but truth be told, it didn’t need it. It was every bit as good without alcohol as with it. I helped myself to another cup before making myself get back to work. I would have plenty of time to drink punch at the party.
