Confectionately Yours #3: Sugar and Spice (5 page)

L
ast year, Artie and I went to see a community theater production of
Annie
. It was, like, the worst show I’ve ever seen. The lead was pitchy. Daddy Warbucks couldn’t dance and looked like he was about twelve. And I couldn’t understand a word out of Rooster’s mouth.

Artie and I were pretty disappointed, because
Annie
had been our absolute favorite thing in the whole world when we were in second grade. I still love the music. So it was a bummer to see these people butcher it.

Anyway, we went back to my house afterward because Artie was going to spend the night. We headed into the kitchen, and I got out some milk to make cocoa. But the milk slipped out of my hand and spilled all over the floor, and at that
moment, Artie busted into “It’s a Hard Knock Life,” complete with dance routine.

That made me laugh, so she started acting out the whole show. She did all the characters: Annie, Daddy Warbucks, Miss Hannigan, Rooster’s girlfriend. Sometime around the song “Maybe,” I completely lost it — I was laughing so hard that my sides hurt. I was in pain.

But I still couldn’t stop giggling.

I took a sip of water to calm down, and that was when Artie let loose with a spunky rendition of “You’re Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile.”

Artie tap-danced around the kitchen and got so carried away that she slipped in the spilled milk and landed with a
splat
. Then I snorted my entire drink out of my nose, which made Artie laugh harder. She hauled herself up and tried to collapse on the stool next to me, but she knocked it over instead, and then we both cracked up some more.

We laughed as we cleaned up the kitchen. We laughed as we painted each other’s toenails. Then, even after we settled down, one of us would think about it again and start to giggle, then the other one would, too, and soon we were off again.

The laughter even trickled into the next morning, while my dad was making pancakes. Even now, I can’t hear a song from
Annie
without cracking up.

I swear to you: That really happened.

It seems like a dream now.

Orange-Creamsicle Cupcakes

(makes approximately 12 cupcakes)

INGREDIENTS FOR CUPCAKES:

INGREDIENTS FOR ORANGE DRIZZLE (OPTIONAL):

INSTRUCTIONS:

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line a muffin pan with cupcake liners.
   
2. In a large bowl, whisk together the milk, orange juice, oil, sugar, orange zest, and vanilla extract, and set aside.
   
3. In a separate bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.
   
4. Slowly add the dry ingredients to the wet ones a little bit at a time, and combine using a whisk or handheld mixer, until no lumps remain.
   
5. Fill cupcake liners two-thirds of the way and bake for 20–22 minutes. Transfer to a cooling rack, and let cool completely before frosting.
   
6. With your (clean!) thumb, poke large holes into the center of each cupcake. Alternately, take a small knife and carve out a cone from the center of each cupcake to create a well. (You can discard the cones, or eat them.)
   
7. Fill a pastry bag with the vanilla frosting. (You can also make your own pastry bag by cutting off a corner from a plastic Ziploc bag.) Insert the tip of the pastry bag into each cupcake, and squeeze it to fill the cavity you created. Then swirl the frosting on top of the cupcake to cover the opening.
   
8. OPTIONAL: Prepare the orange drizzle by using a whisk to mix together the confectioners’ sugar, orange zest, and orange juice until smooth. Add a little more orange juice if needed to ensure that the mixture has a runny consistency. Drizzle the mixture on top of the vanilla frosting.
   

Vanilla Frosting

INGREDIENTS:

INSTRUCTIONS:

1. In a large bowl, with an electric mixer, cream the margarine or butter until it’s a lighter color, about 2–3 minutes.
   
2. Slowly beat in the confectioners’ sugar in 1/2-cup batches, adding a little bit of milk whenever the frosting becomes too thick. Add the vanilla extract and continue mixing on high speed for about 3–7 minutes, until the frosting is light and fluffy.
   

I
’m sitting in the window seat, my knees pressed to my chin. I’m trying to read
To Kill a Mockingbird
for English, but it’s not working out too well. I really like the book, but I’m having trouble concentrating. Too many thoughts about Chloe and Rupert are floating around in my mind. They’re downstairs together now. Rupert is probably playing the piano. Maybe Chloe is reading; maybe she’s dancing. Maybe she’s just listening, her eyes half-closed.

Outside, the weather is what the forecasters call “a wintry mix,” and what I call “disgusting.” Rain falls and freezes, making the sidewalks into Slip ’N Slides. The days end early, so it’s already almost dark, and the streets are practically deserted. But then I notice a figure almost directly below,
taking photographs of the tree outside. The freezing rain has coated the tree with ice, and silver icicles sparkle in the fading light.

The figure is wearing a heavy coat with a hood hiding his face, but I can tell just by the way he’s standing there that it’s Marco.

That’s
so
Marco. To come out in the hideous weather just to photograph a tree. I wonder if he plans to come into the café for a scone or something before he takes the bus back home. I decide to offer him one.

I hop off the window seat and pad out into the hallway in my stockinged feet. My boots are downstairs, beside the door, along with my coat. As I head for the back stairs, I catch Mom’s voice on the phone in the kitchen.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Mom is saying. “I don’t know, Denise. It’s a bit overwhelming, to tell you the truth.”

Denise — that’s my aunt. For a moment, I consider asking Mom for the phone. I haven’t spoken with my aunt for a few weeks, and she’s one of my favorite people in the whole world.

But then Mom says, “There’s the girls. It looks like Chloe’s best friend is moving away. And the café is picking
up, but it’s a lot to manage. And now I might have a wedding to plan —”

It’s hard to describe what happens to me then. It’s like that freezing rain has trickled over my entire body, turning
me
to ice. Wedding?

My feet carry me forward, away from the kitchen, and into the stairwell.

Wedding?wedding?wedding?wedding?wedding?wedding?

I push the word away, sweep it into a corner of my mind. Is Mom planning to marry Ramon? I don’t even want to think about it! A few days ago, I was worrying that my dad would get married to Annie. But this would be way weirder. Way.

I step into my boots and pull on my heavy coat, which is still damp from earlier. I grab a red umbrella. I can dimly hear notes from the piano through the mudroom wall. The music fades as I step into the cold. The freezing rain taps like gentle fingertips on my umbrella.

“Hey,” I say.

Marco looks over. “Hey,” he says. “Everything okay?”

I shrug. “Life is weird,” I say.

“Tell me about it,” Marco agrees. He looks thoughtful, then snaps a photo of me.

“Oh, jeez, Marco, I must look horrible right now.”

“You always look pretty,” Marco says.

I feel myself blushing. I’m embarrassed, but Marco clearly isn’t. He just looks at me, as if it’s perfectly normal to tell someone that they’re pretty in the middle of the freezing rain.

Marco kissed me once last year. The moment comes back to me in a rush: my heartbeat as he leaned toward me, the softness of his lips. I’m afraid I might start to cry again, like I did then. Marco gives me another piercing look, and I wonder if he can read my mind. I hope not.

Marco looks away, and says, “Well, I should be getting home.”

“Okay,” I say. I don’t tell him to come inside for a scone.

He tucks the camera into his large pocket and heads off down the street, toward the bus stop.

I think about how Marco snapped that picture of me. I wonder what he saw at that moment. I wonder what that photo will look like, but more than that, I wonder what I look like to him.

∗ ∗ ∗

Chloe hits the
MUTE
button on the remote control. She always does that during commercials, which drives me a little crazy, to be honest. Chloe complains that commercials are annoying. But when she shuts off the sound, we just sit there watching silent commercials, which is even more annoying.

“I think Jen’s going to win,” Chloe says, curling her legs beneath her. “Pepe is so full of himself.”

“Lots of singers who are full of themselves win this show,” I point out.

Chloe sighs. “I know. But I never want them to.”

We’re on day two of a three-day
American Vocals
finale. Honestly, I don’t really know why we bother watching the first two days of this, but we always watch all three. It’s Chloe’s favorite show.

A detergent commercial flashes up on the screen.

“Mom invited Ramon to dinner this weekend,” I say ever-so-casually.

“That’s cool.”

I’m wondering how to bring up the idea that Mom might be getting married again. “He’s pretty nice.”

Chloe stares at the silent screen. “Yeah.”

I try to imagine watching quiet commercials with Mom on the couch and Ramon in the corner. What kind of stepfather would he be? Strict? Funny? Kind? Boring? What would it be like to have him around all the time?

I just can’t picture it.

“Can you imagine Ramon as our stepfather?” I blurt suddenly.

Chloe looks at me with an
Are you on drugs?
look. “Not really,” she says. Then she turns the TV’s sound back on. “Oh! Pepe’s going to sing another one. I hope he messes up. Is that mean?”

“I don’t think he can hear you,” I tell her.

Chloe giggles and turns to look into my eyes. “Don’t worry, Hayley,” she says. Then she leans her head on my shoulder.

Guilt pools in my stomach.
I should tell her what I heard
, I think. But it doesn’t feel right. Mom should tell us in some kind of official way.

It’s funny that just a few nights ago, I thought that Chloe
was freaking out because she thought our father might marry Annie. But she wasn’t. And now I really
am
freaking out because our mother might marry Ramon, and Chloe is trying to comfort me.

It’s a mixed-up world.

Y
ou’re thinking I should’ve said something.

But maybe I didn’t even hear Mom right. Maybe she said, “I have a sledding to plan.” As in, a sledding party.

I mean, people say that.

Right?

So why freak Chloe out?

She has enough to deal with.