How to Bake a Perfect Life Page 20

  She’s an excellent helper. One of the things I like about her is the way she flings herself into a task. Watching her from the corner of my eye as she explains the various forms of muffins, I can see that it’s good for her to be here, to have people around to love her and take care of her. The hair is still crazy, but no one has yet been able to talk her into a haircut. When she helps in the bakery, she wears a white cap with every bit of hair tucked under it, a compromise I thought she’d resist. She only shrugged and pulled it on. It shows off her pale-green eyes, the olive smoothness of her skin.

  Back at the bakery, we have a lot of work to do to get ready for an extra day of sales. Katie is a great runner, dashing into the front with a tray of muffins, dashing back with whatever empties there might be. Heather is training her how to use the cash register, how to protect the breads and pastries when bagging them, how to make small talk. Customers like her, especially the old folks.

  She’s making change for one of our regulars, a slim beauty in her sixties, when Sofia calls on my cell phone. “Hi, Mom. Is this a good time? Is Katie around?”

  It’s hard to tell whether the news is good or bad. I glance over at Katie, wrapped double in a baker’s pale-green apron. “She’s here. Is everything okay?”

  “It’s good. Um, Oscar’s awake. I wanted to tell Katie in person.”

  “Oh, my God, Sofia! That’s fantastic! Let me get her.”

  “Mom.” Her voice is serious. “There’s more to this. I’ll call you when you’re up by yourself, okay? Tonight.”

  “Sure. Anytime, Sofia. Anytime you want to call me, I am always here.”

  “Thanks, Mom. I know.”

  “Let me get Katie.” Holding the phone to my chest, I duck behind the counter and crook my finger, then point to the phone. “Sofia is on the phone.” I smile. “Good news.”

  Her eyes widen, and she pulls off her cap as if her hair is some magic protection. She takes the phone through the side door to the porch. “Hello?”

  I leave her to it, rubbing the dull spot between my ribs where worry lives. What is the rest of the story? I hate it that Sofia is alone, pregnant and afraid. Maybe, I think, going back to the kitchen, I should close the bakery and go to her. Katie and I could help her—

  Great idea, says some cynical voice, and what will you live on? The bakery might be in trouble, but at the moment we are still afloat, and it is the only revenue stream I have.

  But I hate it that she’s so alone. It makes me feel helpless. As I return to the tasks at hand, I poke the problem from a dozen directions.

  Katie bounces back into the kitchen. “He’s awake! My dad is awake!” she cries, and for the first time ever, she flings her arms around me. That’s when I realize that she’s grown taller than me this past week or two, and her arms are powerful with all the gardening and baking. I hug her back. “Sofia thinks it was my letter that helped him wake up.”

  “Hooray!” When she lets go, I point upstairs. “By all means, you should write him another one right now.”

  She leaps toward the stairs, then whirls around. “What time are your aunts coming over?”

  Poppy and Nancy are coming down for dinner. “Five. I know it’s early, but I have to get to bed.”

  “I know. I just wanted to get it in my head. Do you think I should put on something nicer?”

  “Sure.” I smile through my worry. “We’ll make it a celebration of your dad’s awakening.”

  “Thank you!” She whirls around and dashes for the stairs, and I think of Tinker Bell, moving like a dragonfly, feet barely touching the floor.

  Katie

  When Katie signs on to the Internet to write to her dad, there is an email from her mom. Katie’s heart leaps into her mouth, and she opens it as fast as she can, looking over her shoulder in case somebody comes upstairs and catches her.

  TO: KATIEWILSON09872@NOMECAST.COM

  FROM: LACEYMOMSOLDIER@PRT.COM

  SUBJECT: GETTING BETTER ALL THE TIME

  HEY BABY!! I WAS SO HAPPY TO SEE A EMAIL FROM YOU, SORRY THAT YOURE DAD IS WONDED, BUT HE IS STRONG, HE’LL GET BETTER FAST YOU WAIT & SEE. DOING GOOD HERE. ON THE STRATE ROAD FOR 23 DAYS NOW, WHICH IS THE BEST I’VE DONE FOR A LONG TIME. MET SOME NEW FRENDS HER AND HOPE YOU CAN COME SEE ME SINCE THEY AINT GONA LET ME SEE YOU ANYTIME SOON, MAYBE IF YOU CAME WE COULD GO TO THE PARK OR SOMETHIN AND TALK ABOT LIFE, I’M LOCKED UP AT SUNNYSIDE, WHICH IS A JOKE, CUZ ITS DARK HERE, BABY, DARK WITHOUT YOU AS MY SUNSHINE, REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE, SWEETS, AND DONT FORGET YOU’RE MAMA LOVES YOU AND NEEDS YOU AND THINKS ABOUT YOU ALL THE TIME. I DREAM ABOUT YOU ALL THE TIME, I HATE TO ASK CUZ I KNOW YOU AINT GOT ANYTHING YOURSELF, BUT MAYBE SOFIES MOM’S GOT SOMETHING, SO IF YOU CAN SEND ME SOME MONEY, IT WOULD REALY HELP A LOT. CANT BUY NO CIGARRETES WITHOUT CASH, AND I COULDN’T EVEN GET NO TAMPONS, YOU BELIEVE THAT? THEY GIVE YOU PADS, BUT NO TAMPONS, WHICH IS TOTALLY F’ED UP IF YOU KNOW WHAT I MEAN. I AM GROWING OUT MY HAIR AND THERE’S A GIRL HERE DOES MANICURES, SO MY HANDS LOOKING BETTER, AND YOU KNOW ME, I LIKE LOOKING GOOD, JUST LIKE MY BABY GIRL. WRITE ME SOON NOW, HONEY, AND I LUV YOU.

  MOM

  Katie stares at the email for a long minute, feeling strange. Kind of dizzy and a little bit sick to her stomach. Looking over her shoulder, she hits the print button, then closes her email and takes the printed page upstairs. She sticks it inside her notebook and then puts it out of her mind. Tonight she wants to be happy. She wants to celebrate her dad waking up and the aunties she’s heard so much about coming down to dinner.

  But even as she puts on the green halter dress Lily bought for her, she can feel the cold tentacles of Lacey sliding around her ankles.

  Ramona

  I awaken from my nap by a quarter to four, take a shower to get a fresh start on the evening, then head into the house kitchen to start a simple supper of veggie tacos and strawberry shortcake for dessert. Poppy and Nancy are vegetarians, and I take pride in trying to find excellent recipes for them. This recipe is from the Green Gate Organic Farms cookbook; it uses grilled sweet and hot peppers, onions, broccoli, and squash, with goat cheese. I wonder if Katie will eat them and check to make sure there’s something else for her to eat just in case. Earlier, I made a tomatillo salsa and left it to brew in the fridge.

  My mother is the first to arrive, bringing fresh tomatoes from the store and a bunch of cilantro clipped from her garden. She’s wearing crisp capri slacks in lemon yellow with an orange and yellow striped tank. Her earrings are whimsical lemons and oranges that match her bracelet. I wish I had inherited this dressing gene, but I did not. I think of Steph in her turquoise tank and jeans and sandals, her hair cut in a mod, angular style. She’s the one who got it. When we were teens, she was the plump one, always draped in oversize T-shirts and jeans. I can’t remember now when she started looking so together all the time; it’s been long enough that I can’t remember much about her adult self other than this one.

  Maybe I am as self-centered as she says I am if I can’t call up her transformation period.

  “Cute jewelry,” I say to my mother, hoping to start the visit on a high note. We haven’t really talked since the day she found me in the kitchen with Cat, and I’m irked at her for telling Stephanie, but tonight is not the time to bring that out into the open. I’m jumpy, thinking of Sofia and Oscar and what her news might be, and between those emotions are the juicy plum edgings of Jonah’s arrival in my world.

  Which I am keeping to myself.

  “Where’s Katie?” my mother says, putting her bags on the counter.

  “Upstairs.”

  “Good. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

  “Mom. This is not the time.”

  She puts a hand on her hip. “Haven’t you learned one single thing about men all these years, Ramona?”

  In a rush, I think of her driving me to Poppy’s house, of her storming into the record store, of a dozen other times she thought the worst of me without giving me a chance to explain. Putting my knife on the counter, I face her, unaware that
I am mimicking her posture until I feel my hand on my hip. “Has it ever occurred to you that you could give me the benefit of the doubt?”

  She makes a noise that would be a snort in anyone else. “You are going to stand there and tell me that you are not having an affair with Cat Spinuzzi?” Cocking her head, she adds, “Do you think I’m blind, Ramona?”

  “Actually, I am going to stand here and tell you that. But you know what, Mom? I’m forty years old and single. And I don’t appreciate your speculation or the fact that you discussed it with my sister. My love life—or lack thereof—is none of your business.”

  “Well, you know, Ramona, you haven’t exactly shown the greatest discernment in the area of men.”

  “Oh, is that right? Which man are you thinking of, Mom? The one who fucked me when I was a child—”

  “Watch your language!”

  “—or the one I married, the one everybody approved of so much and who ended up being as faithful as a tomcat? Everyone sure seemed to like him when I married him.” She opens her mouth, but I hold up a hand. “I’m not doing this. I’m a successful, independent”—not quite true, but I’m on a roll now—“divorced businesswoman who raised a fantastic daughter.”

  “With help!”

  “Absolutely I had help. Thank you.” I step toward her, keeping my voice low. “But I’m tired of apologizing for a mistake I made when I was fifteen. I’m sick of being treated like a teenager. It’s ridiculous.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about today, and you know it. Cat Spinuzzi is one of the biggest womanizers in this town! You want to be just a notch on his belt?”

  “Mom! Stop. That’s not what you care about. You care that it will infuriate Dad, but I’m not sure why it matters anyway, since all we ever are is polite to each other.”

  “And who started that?”

  I sigh. “I’m sure I did. But it’s not like that with Cat, anyway.” I shake my head, realizing it won’t matter what I say. “He’s my mentor, and that’s all.” I hold up a hand. “I swear on all that’s holy.”

  “That’s not what I saw.”

  I want her to shut up and leave the subject alone. I want to retreat into silence. I want to stonewall her. But if this pattern is going to change for any of us, somebody has to start. “Mom, will you listen? Please?”

  She takes a breath and crosses her arms—shutting me out physically if not mentally—and I do something it has never occurred to me to do. I step forward and put my hands on her arms, gently taking them apart. “Really listen.”

  Her shoulders ease the smallest bit.

  “He was my lover for a while.” The truth, I say to myself. “Maybe a long while.”

  Her mouth tightens. “He’s much, much too old for you.”

  “I know. But he’s also charming and kind, and he’s very good to me. He made me feel good about myself when I was feeling like the ugliest, stupidest, most pathetic woman on the planet. Does that make any sense to you at all?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes cloud. “I’m so sorry you felt that way. I hope you don’t anymore.”

  “I don’t. He gave me that gift, Mom. But I also realized that he is too old for me and I was using him to avoid facing my real life. So I ended it. Well over a year ago.”

  “I see.” She presses her lips together. “Thank you for telling me.”

  The doorbell rings and I shout, “Come in! We’re upstairs!” To my mother, I say, “Can we keep this between us, please? Please?”

  She nods but doesn’t look at me.

  Whatever. It’s a start. It’s the best I can do for now.

  Nancy and Poppy fell in love that summer I stayed in Sedalia, and they credit me with their long and happy partnership. It’s been a boon for both of them. They’re now in their late sixties but quite vigorous from daily yoga and the walking treks they take all over the world. Poppy is still plump and busty, but she’s taken on muscle in her calves and shoulders from all that exercise. Her hair is steel gray and clipped to her shoulders, and tonight she is wearing a simple athletic top and hiking pants with Tevas. Nancy, tall and rangy and very tan, wears a straight blue-and-white-striped shift. She reminds me of Julia Child, with that same vivid zest for life, and as she comes in bearing bags and boxes, she fills the entire room with a soft violet light.

  “Hello, hello!” she cries, bending to kiss my cheek. “It’s so good to see you! Lily, you look terrific as always. That color is excellent for you.” She puts her parcels on the table and inhales deeply. “It smells great. Is that our dinner?”

  “Yes.” I laugh, hugging Poppy and feeling all the tension flow out of me. “What’s all this?”

  “Well, we thought we should welcome a new member of the family in a proper fashion. Where is she?”

  “I’m not sure. She was getting dressed. Let me call her.”

  But before I move to the door, her herald arrives with his tail in the air, happily snuffling the hands that reach for him. “Oh, who’s this?” Poppy cries, getting down to look him in the eye. He sits politely, as if he is well trained, and licks his lips but doesn’t lick her.

  Nancy smiles fondly. “What a mutt!”

  And there is Katie, leaning like a garden creature against the doorjamb, her wild hair springing around her head. She’s wearing a sundress my mother must have bought her. It’s made of some airy fabric the color of new leaves, a shade that brings out her eyes and flatters the warm tone of her skin and makes her look even more like a dragonfly. “He rescued me,” she says. “His name is Merlin.”

  Nancy smiles and offers a hand. “You must be Katie. I’m Nancy.” She gestures toward the table. “We brought you a few things to welcome you.”

  A split second before she speaks, I realize Katie is in haughty mode—that nose tipped up in the air. “I’m not an orphan, you know. My parents can buy me things.”

  “Katie—” I begin, but Nancy gently waves her hand my way.

  “Absolutely. I’ve met your dad and he’s fantastic—I can’t wait to see him again.” She gestures toward the bags and boxes. “This is the extravagance of women who never had daughters of our own to spoil. We do the same thing to Ramona and Sofia.”

  “It’s true.” I nod my head. “No matter how I protested, they spoiled Sofia rotten.”

  Katie looks to Lily, as if for permission, and my mother gives a slight nod. Katie eases forward. “What is all this?”

  “Open it and see!” Poppy says, and brushes dog hair from her shirt. “If I’d known about the puppy, I’d have brought him something, too.”

  Katie opens the parcels to reveal outdoorsy clothes and shoes and gardening gloves in two colors, plus a big book, used but in good condition, on dahlias. “Oh,” Katie breathes, “this is beautiful. Did Lily tell you about how much we’ve been planting? And we’re going to go to this flower show together in a couple of weeks.”

  “What are some of your favorites?” Poppy says, drawing the girl to sit beside her. I glance at Nancy over their heads and smile. They’ve always been so good at nurturing.

  We eat heartily—even Katie loves the tacos, much to my surprise. Afterward we take cups of herbal tea down to the backyard, and only then do I bring up my idea. “I’m worried about Sofia,” I say. “She’s due to deliver in a few weeks, and I think she needs somebody with her.”

  The aunties and my mother all sit up straight. “What are you thinking?” Poppy asks.

  “I’ll go,” Lily says, and only I catch the flicker of dismay that crosses Katie’s face before she hides it, bending over to pet Milo, who has followed us down, weaving through human and chair legs, brushing his tail along the backs of knees.

  I give my mother a look, one she misses. “I think it would be better if it was Poppy and Nancy. They like to travel, and they can go hiking or whatever. And Nancy is a midwife.”

  “Retired,” Nancy says.

  “Officially,” Poppy laughs, taking her hand. “I’m in! How about you?”

  “Of course. Whatever we
can do to help.” Nancy inclines her head. “Is that all right, Lily?”

  My mother’s mouth is pinched. “Well, I’m no midwife, but she is my granddaughter.”

  “Mom,” I say, standing. Something brushes over my face and, thinking it’s a spiderweb, I swipe at it with a shudder. Instead, I feel something almost silky moving over my skin, like a scarf. For a moment I am reminded of my grandmother and even fancy I smell her perfume. Wishful thinking. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  Not happy, she follows me, and I’m so mad at her by the time we make it to the kitchen that I could cheerfully slap her. In a low, fierce voice, I say, “Did you happen to notice that there’s another girl who might need you right now?”

  “What are you talking about, Ramona? I’m only expressing a preference—”

  I put my finger to my lips. “Katie worships the ground you walk on, Mom. She needs you.”

  “Oh.” She looks over her shoulder, and when she looks back, tears glisten in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Ramona. I wasn’t thinking.”

  “It’s all right. Let’s just go fix it.”

  But Katie has gone upstairs by the time we return to the yard. “She said she’d be right back,” Nancy says.

  Of course she isn’t, and after a while, during which we hammer out a plan for Nancy and Poppy to head to Texas, my mother goes upstairs to see if Katie wants to spend the night. She declines.

  A small wound, I think. She’ll heal quickly enough.

  • • •

  I’ve finished pouring white and wheat flour into the vast kneading machine for our first round of baking this morning when Sofia calls. It’s just past three, and I take the phone into the backyard again. “Hi, honey. How’s it going?”

  “Not good, Mom. Oscar is awake, but he doesn’t want me here.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He told me to go home. And it wasn’t even a nice kind of go home, where he asked me to go home and be safe or take care of Katie or anything like that. He won’t even look at me.” Her voice thins. “He’s so angry.”