How to Eat a Cupcake

by Meg Donohue

  Humor. An unusual choice for Julia. I looked over at her, thinking of what she’d said in that magazine article. Finally, I sighed.

  “Why don’t you come over,” I said. “We could probably both use something sweet. I made some cookies.”

  Her eyes widened. “Okay,” she said quickly, and started the car. A few minutes later, as we were driving, she asked, “Are they your mom’s ginger ones?”

  “Their bastard cousin.”

  Julia smiled, twisting to look over her shoulder as she expertly parallel parked near my building. “Sounds delicious.”

  We sat on the couch in my apartment, a plate stacked high with soft ginger cookies on the cushion between us. I saw Julia eyeing the San Francisco magazine on the coffee table.

  “Why didn’t you tell me about that?” I asked, nodding toward the magazine.

  “I didn’t know about it. I thought the little write-up they ran right after the shop opened was all they decided to do.” She hesitated, nibbling delicately at a cookie. “What did you think of it?”

  “It was pretty perfect,” I said matter-of-factly. “I’m sure it will be great for business.”

  Julia seemed confused by this. “Yes, but—I meant everything I said about you. About how much I admire you. I wasn’t saying that stuff for the publicity.”

  The weird thing was that even after everything we’d been through, even though I was still incredibly angry with her, I believed her.

  “I know,” I said. I pulled my knees up to my chest and peered over them at her. “I believe you think I’m a good baker, and I believe you when you say you want Treat to do well.” I paused and took a deep breath. “What I have trouble believing is when you say you’re sorry for what happened with Jake. How could you have done what you did to me and still claim you want us to be friends? Friends don’t go on secret dates with their friends’ boyfriends. Friends don’t kiss their friends’ boyfriends. Those are probably rule number one and two in the friend handbook.”

  “You’re right,” Julia said simply. “I’m a horrible person. I’m the world’s worst friend.”

  “They should make a coffee mug.”

  “I would use it every day as penance,” she said. I got the sense she actually meant it.

  I sighed. “Seriously, Julia, what were you thinking? Something must have been going through your head.”

  Julia’s lip trembled for a moment, sadness looming in her eyes. She shook her head slightly—I’m not sure she even knew she was doing it—and looked away.

  “I’m listening,” I said. Despite my anger, something instinctively made me ease some gentleness into my tone. “Just talk to me.”

  And then, to my surprise, she did.

  Chapter 22

  Julia

  “I was pregnant,” I said. Annie’s eyebrows shot up and I could practically hear her thoughts begin to race a mile a minute down a not so flattering, though not, I knew, terribly unwarranted path. “No, no,” I said quickly, feeling my face grow warm. “Not with Jake. I was pregnant back in the spring. With Wes’s baby.”

  I waited for Annie to say something, but she just looked at me, her heart-shaped face cocked to the side with all of her long, dark hair spilling around her shoulders. Something about her hair—its messiness, maybe—comforted and emboldened me. She seemed to display her flaws proudly, like well-earned war wounds. If I wanted any hope of repairing our friendship, I realized, I had to tell her everything. There was no other way.

  “I was working like crazy then,” I said quietly, “and I didn’t even realize I’d missed my period until I was nearly two months along. Wes was in China, so I took the test alone one morning. When I saw it was positive I was shocked. But happy.” I swallowed and breathed deeply through my nose. Strangely, I had no urge to stop talking. After all those months of keeping this inside of me, barely allowing myself to even think in any concrete way about any of it, I suddenly needed to articulate out loud exactly what had happened. This wasn’t just about repairing my friendship with Annie, I realized. This was about repairing me.

  “Wes and I had talked about how we wanted to start a family,” I told Annie. “Not right then, of course—not before we were married. But eventually. Kids were part of our plan. I remember looking at the pregnancy test that morning and thinking, Well, this is ahead of schedule. And then, I don’t know, I felt this flood of happiness wash through my whole body. I was standing there grinning ear to ear, all by myself in my bathroom.

  “I had an ultrasound to confirm the pregnancy and was amazed when this tiny little bean with a flickering heart popped up on the screen. I hadn’t wanted to tell Wes the news over the phone, but in that moment when I saw the baby for the first time, I wished he were with me. The ultrasound technician gave me a few photos and I decided I would surprise Wes with them when he got back from China the following month. It was a long time to keep the news to myself, but I had so much going on at work that I figured the time would fly by. I didn’t realize that being pregnant seemed to put everything else in slow motion.” I closed my eyes, thinking back to that time. “I’d sit in my office knowing I was supposed to be working on a presentation, and then I’d realize I had my hand on my stomach, and my eyes were half closed, and I was thinking about the bakery down the street from my apartment and whether it would still be open by the time I got out of work. I was beginning to have this strange stretching sensation in my lower abdomen, and I’d find myself envisioning my uterus growing to contain this life that was now, according to my online research, the size of a lime. I wasn’t sick, but I felt exhausted a lot of the time. I did everything you’re supposed to do—I stopped drinking, I stopped eating sushi, I choked down enormous prenatal vitamins every single day. It was hard to concentrate on anything but the thought of that little heartbeat inside of me. I’d get these crazy joyful tears in my eyes when I saw babies in strollers out on the street—me, teary-eyed! I’ve never even had PMS, and there I was, crying at soup commercials and American Idol.

  “And then, a few weeks after that ultrasound, I noticed a little spot of blood in my underwear. Of course I went right to my computer and learned that a lot of women have some bleeding during their first trimester and it was likely nothing to worry about. A part of me was concerned, but a larger part of me felt confident everything was fine. It had to be. The bleeding was scary, of course, but how could anything be wrong? I’m young and healthy.”

  I swallowed. How could I describe to Annie just how sure I’d been that everything was okay, how impossible it had been to even fathom that anything had happened to the little baby growing inside of me? How I had never expected to feel the way I felt when I was pregnant—that something I’d never known was missing had clicked into place inside of me, that I felt a new sense of purpose, a sudden and deep understanding of some critical part of life that I’d never before even realized existed?

  Annie looked at me, her brow furrowed with concern and encouragement, her front teeth pressing anxiously into her bottom lip. Still, she didn’t speak. I took another deep breath through my nose and continued, telling her how my OB had asked me to come in for an ultrasound just to be sure everything was fine. The nurse had me get into a gown in the ultrasound room and wait for the technician, who of course took forever. I must have looked at my watch a dozen times over the next twenty minutes, getting more and more uneasy as each minute ticked by. Finally, the technician came in. Right away when she touched my stomach with the ultrasound wand, an image of the baby came up on the screen. Even in the few weeks since the first ultrasound, the baby had grown so much. There was the little head, the round little body. Our perfect peanut-shaped baby. I remember just staring at the screen—at my baby—in awe, for several long seconds. And then I realized the room was silent. The tech hadn’t said a word.

  “She pushed at my stomach with the wand a little to get the baby to move, but nothing happened. The baby just lay th
ere, black and solid in profile, with its back curled against my uterus. There was no flicker of life. No heartbeat. I looked at the technician, and the look on her face said everything. I started sobbing—” My voice caught on the word and I cleared my throat before continuing. “The tech wiped the goo off my stomach and slipped out of the room. She never said anything.

  “My OB explained that it appeared the baby’s heart had stopped beating at some point in the previous week. So all that time that I’d been sitting at my desk with my hand on my stomach, my baby was dying. My doctor said there was nothing anyone could have done—miscarriages happened all the time. I wanted to scream. I’d never felt so betrayed in my entire life—and it was my own body. I just couldn’t believe this was happening—had happened—to me.” I took a breath and then plowed ahead with the truth. “It was the sort of bad luck, the sort of failure,” I said, “that happened to other people, not me.”

  I looked at Annie, almost willing her to roll her eyes at this comment—anything that I could use as an excuse to stop speaking. But she just sat there with her gaze locked on mine, her brown eyes deep and sad.

  I told her that my OB recommended a procedure called dilation and curettage. “It’s when they dilate your cervix and surgically remove the fetus. It was scheduled for the next morning, so I went all the way home and spent the night lying in bed cradling the little swell in my abdomen that held the baby whose heart had stopped beating. Even though I knew the baby had died, the thought of someone removing him or her from me was . . .” I swallowed, unable to finish this thought. “It was a very difficult night. The next morning, I cried the entire way to the hospital, the entire time while I waited to be put under, and woke up sometime later to the sound of myself still sobbing. The whole thing seemed surreal—the procedure is matter-of-fact to the hospital staff; they do that kind of thing every day. But it was the worst day of my life.”

  The sum of these words felt horribly, almost viciously inadequate. How to explain to Annie that losing a baby had felt like having my heart permanently branded with a feeling of loss? That it had produced a cloud of toxic smoke in my chest that hung dark and suffocating to that day, crowding my ability to think, to breathe even, the way I once had?

  “I was still crying when I went back to my OB a few days later. She told me that the hormones my body had been producing at that point in the pregnancy were at the same level they would have been had I carried the baby to term. I guess she was trying to make me feel better—I was dealing with the crazy hormones of a woman who had recently delivered a baby, but I had no baby to show for it. She told me she hoped that if I felt I needed to speak with someone, I would. She meant a therapist, of course. But I didn’t want to talk about it. I didn’t want to tell a single person. I didn’t want to do anything. I quit my job. I moved home.

  “And then I saw you at my mother’s party and I ate one of your cupcakes, and I felt, I don’t know, one tiny bit better. A tiny bit normal. It was something. It was a start. At least I thought it was.”

  I shrugged, my eyes finally welling with tears. My throat felt raw, like I’d been talking for hours. At some point, I realized, Annie had taken my hand in hers. Her eyes, too, were wet with tears.

  “Oh, Julia,” she said, her voice wavering.

  I wished I were done, but there was still more I needed to tell her. “And then,” I said shakily, “I started getting drinks every once in a while with Jake Logan. Being with him made me feel like the person I used to be—confident and strong and . . . unbreakable. It was selfish. But I swear I didn’t know you were dating him at that point, and I never meant for anything to happen between the two of us. I love Wesley. I would never want to hurt him. But being with Wes makes me think of losing the baby, and there’s this huge secret between us now, and it taints everything. When I saw Jake again, that last time, I thought you had broken up with him. I never expected him to kiss me. I didn’t want that—I wanted the opposite. I just wanted to spend a few uncomplicated moments with someone and not think about anything that had happened or that might happen in the future.”

  I looked down at my hand in hers. “I know I’ve been incredibly selfish. I understand if you can’t forgive me. I don’t know if I can forgive me.”

  Annie sighed. “You should never have gone through all of that alone,” she said softly. “I can’t begin to imagine how hard it’s been for you. I wish I’d known. I wish you’d told Wes, or me—or anyone. You have people who really care about you who might have been able to help.”

  “I know,” I said. “I don’t even recognize myself anymore. I’ve behaved so badly.”

  “It’s not that,” Annie said quickly. “I’m not trying to make you feel any worse. I’m just so sorry that this happened to you. Losing a baby . . .” Annie paused and gave my hand a squeeze. She looked me right in the eye and said slowly, “I am so sorry.” She waited, letting her words catch hold, before continuing. “I guess I don’t understand why you still haven’t told Wes. He seems so supportive and clearly loves you so much. He could have helped you through all of this.”

  It was hard to explain my actions to Annie when they hardly made sense to me. “My whole life has been smooth. Things come very easily to me,” I said. “And that’s the sort of person Wes expects to marry—someone perfect. I know that sounds crazy. But the woman he fell in love with had everything together, and now . . . I’m completely different. I’m not the same person. My body is . . . flawed. Maybe seriously flawed. I don’t know. I know miscarriages are relatively common, but mine was—later than most. I just have this terrible feeling this is just the beginning of a long, hard road. Wes didn’t sign up for this. His whole life is about helping children—that’s the mission of his company! He loves kids. I can’t take that dream of a family from him.”

  “Wes loves you for you. That was evident the moment I saw you guys together. He will love you no matter what.”

  I smiled wearily and pulled my hand away to take a sip of wine. “That’s nice to think. But I’m guessing the reality is a little more complicated.”

  “Julia, you have to give Wes a chance. You can’t make up his mind for him.”

  I stopped myself from responding right away and allowed her comment a moment to sink in. She had a point. Already, now that I’d told her about the miscarriage, my heart felt a little less leaden. Maybe she was right. Maybe Wes would love me no matter what.

  “In fact,” Annie said slowly, “I really think it’s time you tell Wes everything.”

  I looked at her. “You mean about Jake?”

  She shrugged. “I’m no relationship guru. I’ve never been engaged. Hell”—she smiled ruefully—“my last boyfriend turned out to be married and he hooked up with my friend.”

  Given the context, I tried not to smile too broadly at her use of the word “friend.” Still, I thought, if Annie forgives me, maybe Wes will, too.

  “I’m sure you’re right.” I sighed. “Wes should know everything.” I thought about the upcoming weeks—Christmas and then the New Year’s Eve engagement party that my mother had planned for us. “Maybe after the holidays?”

  Annie smiled. “You’ll probably know when the time is right.”

  I smiled back at her. A feeling of relief swelled inside of me. I felt lighter and more hopeful than I had in ages. Having Annie by my side didn’t make the pain of losing the baby any less acute—that was something I would live with forever—but I did feel stronger. I had been right to tell her everything. No more secrets, I thought. It was as good a New Year’s resolution as any.

  Chapter 23

  Annie

  If Lolly St. Clair was meant to do one thing with her life, it was throw parties. To see her in action as she directed her staff before Julia’s New Year’s Eve engagement party was to watch a veteran captain lead the crew of a large sailing vessel to port through a particularly treacherous stretch of coastline. I’d arrived at the ma
nsion early to put the finishing touches on the cupcakes I’d made for the party and had watched as Lolly clicked her way from one room to another, directing small teams of black-uniformed employees, turning enormous flower arrangements a half inch counterclockwise, sending monogrammed linen cocktail napkins back for a third round of ironing, and shaking her head tersely enough that even her lacquered bob shook at the caterer’s suggestion that the filet mignon station be placed near the entry to the living room rather than by the farthest set of French doors.

  By the time the grandfather clock in the foyer struck eight, the house was filled to the brim with extravagant holiday cheer—flickering candles in oversized crystal globes, giant red poinsettias, lush arrangements of white hydrangea and roses, strands of twinkling holiday lights, and a monumental, red-ribbon-swagged Christmas tree that would have given the tree at Rockefeller Center a run for its money. My cupcakes, on which I’d placed meticulously molded fondant stars and trees and doves, lined tray after tray along the kitchen counter, waiting to be passed to the more than one hundred guests expected that evening.

  The seven-piece swing band was three songs into the evening by the time Julia finally appeared downstairs, looking exceptionally thin and glamorous in a pale gold, one-shouldered dress. She hugged me so tightly that my shimmering red trapeze top crinkled like wrapping paper in her embrace. Before we had a chance to speak, Wes strode up and took Julia’s hand.

  “Hello, gorgeous bride of mine,” he drawled, spinning her skillfully into his chest and dipping her backward for a kiss. When he righted her, I saw her eyes were glittery with emotion. “Hey there, Annie,” Wes said, kissing my cheek warmly.

  “Happy engagement!” I said, hoping my voice sounded cheery. I’d never been particularly good at keeping secrets, and I had a terrible feeling that if I were left too long in Wes’s presence, I would let slip some hint about Julia’s miscarriage and emotional state. Perhaps Julia had anticipated this, because she suddenly looked beyond my shoulder and smiled, waving her wrist so rapidly that the tinkling of her diamond bangles could be heard even over the band.