by K. Bromberg
EIGHT DAYS LEFT
TWITTER
@SweetChks Can anyone tell me how many people are in the world? #GrudgeCupcake #10Days #ShipsAhoy #WordsRCheap
“Mr. Dixon.”
“Hayes? What can I do for you, son?” The deep baritone of Jenna’s father vibrates across the connection.
“Sorry to bug you, Paul.”
“Is it Jenna?” There’s concern and trepidation in his voice, and I hate that he immediately thinks of the last time I called him after I found out about Jenna and her suicide attempt.
“She’s fine but she is the reason I’m calling.”
“Yes?”
“Do you know where she’s hiding? I’ve been trying to find her, and she’s not returning my calls.” I pause for a moment. Let the lie roll off my tongue. “It’s about scheduling for The Grifter’s press junket.”
“No need to lie, Hayes. She threw you to the wolves because she was jealous you found someone else. Probably hoped to scare that woman of yours away. Typical, selfish Jenna move. I’m sorry about that. Her actions are inexcusable and not something I’m proud of.” His words shock me. Seems he’s just as tired of her stunts as I am. “Last I heard she was at the place in Malibu.”
“Thank you, Paul.”
EIGHT DAYS LEFT
Ignore them.
Don’t let them distract you.
I tell myself to focus on the new idea that woke me up out of a dead sleep last night and left me staring at the ceiling trying to conceptualize it.
A flash on the screen of my cell. Another glance up from the cupcake I’m designing to see yet another notification in and endless stream of them.
Quit distracting me.
I set down the piping tube and grab my cell. My will power is nonexistent when it comes to wanting to read the responses to Hayes’s tweet from earlier this morning. I’m not quite sure why he’s asking about the world’s population or what it has to do with me but it helps to pass the day.
@MindiSocksLou
@SweetChks @HayesWhitOffcl Seven billion #ThanksGoogle What’s a #GrudgeCupcake? I love you Hayes!
Focus, Saylor.
On the new idea. On what flavor combinations would complement the concept best. On how this little flash of creativity has gotten me down from the apartment where I’ve been hiding from prying eyes and back into the work area of the bakery.
And while I’ve relegated myself to the work area only, at least I’m there.
A notification flashes again.
The distraction works.
@BookLoverJeniB
@SweetChks @HayesWhitOffcl A bazillion. Why are you asking? #GrudgeCupcake?
I dirty my hands in the frosting, working on design after design trying to perfect my vision. I’m picky and particular and throw ten designs out for every one I keep, because I have to get this right.
Plus throwing myself into full-creative mode means I’m distracted. And distracted is so much easier than thinking about how much I miss Hayes and how frustrated I am with him and his damn ten-day rule.
So, creativity helps to pass the time slowly ticking away until I get to see him again.
My screen flashes.
This time I try to avoid getting frosting on it when I pick it up.
@TBartley86
@HayesWhitOffcl Leave @SweetChks and marry me. I kiss better. #GrudgeCupcake – Answer: Population 7 billion
The bell of the door alerting new customers is steady while I work. Curiosity is clearly still strong. Despite the sign that Ryder put on the door that says No Cameras, the photographers come in, buy a cupcake, and take a seat with the hopes that I’ll step into the front where they can sneak a picture of me on their cell phones. The female fans stop in to buy a cupcake with stars in their eyes looking around in case Hayes shows up.
They’re wasting their time. If they were true stalkers, they’d know about his ridiculous ten-day rule.
All the while the tweets continue to flash.
@Hollywood732
@HayesWhitOffcl @SweetChks 6.9 billion. Is this a trick question?
“You’ve been awfully quiet back here.”
Ryder. I smile softly, knowing he’s bailing on his regular workload during the days to help out (meaning keeping a big brother eye on me) and then going home and catching up on his own responsibilities.
“Just messing with an idea,” I murmur as I step back and scrutinize my design.
“Hmm. So you being back in the kitchen . . . does that mean the new oven’s too hard to resist or you’ve talked to Hayes and have figured stuff out?” He narrows his eyes as he waits for an answer.
“He’s not giving me an option.” I shrug. I don’t fight the smile because I do feel better with the elephant’s foot of pressure removed from my chest.
“He’s not?” He raises his eyebrows and nods.
“Nope. And you didn’t even have to clock him this time around to knock some sense into him.”
“I was only trying to protect you.” His expression is guarded, unsure if I’m going to be mad at him for interfering all those years ago.
“I know.” I think of all the other things I could say to him: how I was a big girl and could make my own decisions. How he might have been the reason we never got back together. But I don’t say any of them. Maybe we wouldn’t have appreciated each other and the connection we rekindled if we hadn’t had other experiences to compare them to.
“What’s up with his tweet this morning?” It’s my turn to show shock, surprised he noticed. “Hey, I check your social media following. Visibility is a good thing—means possible sales—and you gained several thousand new followers this morning.”
Huh. Always looking out for me. And always business-savvy.
“I don’t know. He’s trying to win me over.”
“I think he already has.”
I start to say maybe, but stop when I see his head angle to the side as he notices the fondant tops in front of me.
Nerves jitter within as I step back and try to look at the cupcakes through his eyes. The first one looks like it has a needle sewing together the fondant with the words “Oats to sow” in cursive above it. The one beside it looks like shattered glass with the words “One to throw” in block letters across the top. The next pair is the same color scheme, just a darker tint. The first cupcake has no design and says “One to smash” with its partner saying “He can kiss my ass” and a pair of lips outlining the lettering.
“These are awesome. Who are these for?”
“Me.”
“You?” He looks confused. “I thought things were getting better.”
I laugh and nod. Then I proceed to tell him about Hayes and his grudge cupcakes. How cathartic it felt smashing them and the fun we had with it. And then how when Hayes told me the other day if he didn’t win me over with his charm, his last resort was another grudge-cupcake match.
“So . . .” I shrug, “. . . he got me thinking about grudge cupcakes. And if people would actually buy them for their friends when they break up. So I make one to eat and one to smash; in a container it’s a 50/50 split with cute slogans. It’s the perfect therapy: chocolate and aggression.”
When he doesn’t smile at my quip but rather just holds a finger against his pursed lips as he thinks it over, I suddenly feel ridiculous thinking this could work or have customer appeal.
“It was just an idea. It would probably never—”
“Would they be normal-sized? Smaller since you’re smashing them? Give me specifics.”
“You and your specifics,” I mumble with a roll of my eyes but feel a little more at ease knowing he hasn’t immediately rejected the idea. “I haven’t gotten that far yet. I suppose we could make the ones to smash smaller but then we get into needing custom inserts for the boxes and the trade-off in cost. I haven’t thought that far, Ryder. I’m working on the creative side for now. You know what? Never mind.”
“I think it’s brilliant, Saylor.” He does?
“You do?”
“Completely.”
I stare at him. Wide-eyed. Shocked. Feeling accomplished. “Wow.”
“Now we need to figure how to go about marketing it so we can get the word out.”
Our eyes hold and I’ve never been more thankful to have him as a brother than I am right now. He’s always been protective of me but after our parents died, he stepped up to the plate more than I’d ever imagined he could. It was us against the world. He’s stuck by my side and been my number-one supporter throughout all the ups and downs, sorrows and joys.
Sure I’d had Mitch to pull me from my grief, but it was Ryder who was my rock.
Still is.
A small part of me knows my parents are smiling down on us right now and that gives me hope that things might finally be turning around.
My screen lights up.
The distractions continue.
I’m so engrossed in perfecting little details on the cupcakes that it takes me a bit longer to check my phone. And when I do, I have to scrape a splatter of frosting from the glass to read the tweet.
And I finally have an answer.
@HayesWhitOffcl
The public has spoken. 7 billion people in the world. And I CHOOSE YOU @SweetChks ONLY YOU
#GrudgeCupcakes #ActionsRLouder
Wow. Now there’s a declaration in one hundred and forty characters or less if I’ve ever seen one. The man certainly knows how to get my attention.
Yes, Hayes, actions are louder.
SIX DAYS LEFT
FACEBOOK
Hey @SweetChks . . . Just giving you back all of the things I stole from you over the years . . . Whatever could I mean? #GrudgeCupcakes #DayFour
“Hayes.”
“You’re a hard lady to track down.” I don’t hide the spite in my voice or the fuck you lilt in it. Jenna repositions herself on her lounge chair where she sits in the sun so her cleavage is more prominently on display. “I can see the recovery’s been rough on you.”
I catch her ghost of a smirk before her lips turn into a pout as she slips on her mask to embody the part of depressed victim.
“You have no idea, Hayes. It’s so good to see you. Thanks for coming to check on me. Why don’t you sit down?”
When she puts her hand in mine and tugs on it, I glare at her. A do you really think I’m buying your bullshit right now look on my face.
In the moment I question my judgment of character. How I ever looked at her and saw anything other than what she really is. An attention-hungry junkie willing to use anyone and every situation to her advantage.
“This isn’t a social call, Jenna. This is me coming to you because you’re too chickenshit to answer your phone and deal with the mess you created.”
“Oh, Hayes.” She chuckles that fake laugh of hers and it feels like nails on a chalkboard. “Relax. No one’s talking about it anymore.”
My fists clench as I try to restrain myself from picking up that tall glass of gin sitting next to her and smashing it to make sure I have her attention. But a part of me wants her to not take me too seriously. If she blows me off then she’s had fair warning, and I’ll gladly handle this on my own terms.
“Here’s what’s going to happen. Next Wednesday, you’re going to get your ass in the car I’ll have here to pick you up. It’s going to take you to Saylor’s bakery. You’re going to walk in there and apologize to her, face to face. And you will be nice. Then you’re going to walk out to the little café where I’ll be holding the press junket interviews, sit down beside me, and explain how long ago and why we broke up. You’ll explain that no one cheated and we were simply a case of two people not meant to be together. And then you’re going to publicly apologize for letting the press think Saylor was the reason we had broken up and for not correcting them.”
“You’re being ridiculous. I can’t do that. People would think that I lied and—”
“You DID LIE,” I shout, fingers itching to pick up the glass again.
“I think I have a hair appointment that day.”
Fucking unbelievable.
“Cancel it.”
“No.”
“Cancel it,” I repeat as I squat down and take my sunglasses off so we are at eye level. There will be no mistaking my threat when I speak next. “Or I’ll hold the interviews myself and explain how difficult the filming was because you’re an addict and then casually mention your suicide attempt. How you did it as a publicity stunt because you’re so goddamn in love with yourself and you didn’t think you were getting enough attention. I’ll explain why your daddy has disowned you, how the studio has threatened not to pay you, and why your career is hanging by the same thread your human decency is.”
“You asshole.” She grits the words out. My smirk in response is visual sarcasm. “You can’t do that. What about the NDA? Our paychecks? You just can’t—”
“Yes, actually I can. There are some things more important than money, Jenna. And Saylor is one of them.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Her hands tremble and voice wavers with a mixture of disbelief and anger.
“Try me, Jenna.” I lift my eyebrows before putting my sunglasses back on. I stare at her a second, let her know I’m not fucking around, and then leave without saying another word.
Fuck, that felt good.
SIX DAYS LEFT
FACEBOOK
Hey @SweetChks . . . Just giving you back all of the things I stole from you over the years . . . Whatever could I mean? #GrudgeCupcakes #10Days
1. Chocolate Chip Cookies
I look at the humungous box of chocolate chip cookies recently delivered to the bakery. And not just any kind of chocolate chip cookies—Chips Ahoy to be exact. Between the play on his nickname for me and the memory of how he’d steal my cookies after school, the gift makes me smile. The thoughtfulness behind it warms every part of me.
And frustrates me considering he won’t answer my call to say thank you. The only response? A text saying six more days. Agh.
Feeling more sure of myself today, I venture into the front of the bakery behind the counter. The talking ceases momentarily until the customers realize how noticeable it is and then start chatting loudly again as if that’s not obvious either.
I talk over the week’s astounding sales numbers with DeeDee as the photographers outside aim their lenses through the window. No doubt they’re grateful they can actually see me after sitting out there for days bored to tears. I certainly have the advantage of living and working in the same building so there is no guaranteed drive to work like most other people they stalk.
I rearrange the display case, wanting to keep my hands busy as I try to get used to the feeling of being watched. It’s almost as if they think I’m going to suddenly break down and confess to all of the horrible things their magazines say I did.
Hey @SweetChks . . . Just giving you back all of the things I stole from you over the years . . . Whatever could I mean? #GrudgeCupcakes #10Days
Chocolate Chip Cookies
Kisses
The delivery boy catches me off guard when he walks in the front door. At first I’m about to tell him to leave, mistaking him for a paparazzo acting as a delivery man just to get in the store somehow (silly, I know but I’m a bit paranoid with forty-plus pairs of eyes watching my every move), but then realize the package in his hand isn’t a camera bag.
I watch as he leaves, how the paparazzi go crazy clicking pictures as if he’s the secret messenger between Hayes and me. And when I open the package, I realize he is.
When I look inside the box, there is a cardboard partition that divides the box in half. One side is filled to the top with so many Hershey kisses I’m overwhelmed with the smell of chocolate. And the other side is empty save for a note taped to its bottom.
The box is half empty. I need the space because I plan on stealing a lot more in the future. -XO Hayes
My heart skips over a beat and a smile graces my lips as I do what any normal person would do. I pi
ck one of them up, unwrap it, and eat it while I watch the photographers mill around outside. A thought forms but I shove it away. Disregard it.
But as I venture into the retail front and wipe down a few tables, see some of the tabloid magazines with my image on the cover left there, and overhear conversations about bragging rights over who got the most for each photo, I start to think my idea isn’t a half bad one.
“Dee, I’m heading back into the kitchen for a bit.”
And of course when I get to my workstation, there is another box. Another returned item from Hayes. And this time I know DeeDee or Ryder had to have helped him but I love that he went to this much trouble.
Hey @SweetChks . . . Just giving you back all of the things I stole from you over the years . . . Whatever could I mean? #GrudgeCupcakes #10 Days
Chocolate Chip Cookies
Kisses
Time
I open the box to find an hourglass inside. My fingers reach out to touch it. I’m overwhelmed by the effort he’s put into these ten days so far.
I turn it over and watch the sand slide through the glass. Hypnotized by the sight, my thoughts drift. To how easily time passes. To Hayes. To not wanting to waste any more of it when it comes to being with him. Life is too short. When the sand runs out, the completed grudge cupcakes are visible through the curve of the empty glass.
Stop wasting time, Saylor.
I laugh out loud as pieces click into place for me. The paparazzi. They’re using me to make money. To sell the image they want of me. Why can’t I use them for the exact same thing?
Inspired, I grab my set of perfectly decorated grudge cupcakes and I waltz out of the kitchen, through the front of the bakery, and out the glass front door for the first time since I came home from my trip.
