Confectionately Yours #4: Something New (12 page)

C
ons:

•   Pees on posters

•   Chews sweaters

•   Fur on everything

•   Dog breath

•   Poop bags

•   Slobber

•   Has to go for a walk, even when hail is falling from the sky like it’s Armageddon

•   Doesn’t speak English

Pros:

•   Saved us from a fire

•   Best dog ever

I don’t think that dog is going anywhere.

“I
t still smells a bit smoky in here,” Mom says as she opens the window at the end of the living room. “Ugh, now that’s making it worse.” She shuts it again.

It’s six in the morning. The firefighters worked for three hours to put out the blaze. When it was over, the restaurant was pretty much a smoking ruin. The whole street stinks of smoke.

“Never mind,” Gran says, crossing to the back window. “We’re very lucky, and this will all air out quickly.”

The doorbell rings, and Mom pulls it open to reveal a very worried-looking Mr. Malik. “Esther!” he cries. “Oh, thank heavens you’re all right!”

He hurries to my grandmother and gives her a warm hug.

Gran looks a little embarrassed. She’s still wearing her overcoat and her nightgown, and she doesn’t like to be caught looking so rumpled. She smooths a hand over her hair, which doesn’t really have any effect, except to kind of switch the messy part from the right to the left. But she’s smiling up at him, and he’s smiling down at her, and it’s pretty cute, actually.

“But the flower shop!” Chloe cries.

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Chloe dear,” Mr. Malik tells her. “I have insurance.” He takes both of Gran’s hands and squeezes them. Then he looks around at all of us. “Everything I truly care about is unharmed.”

Mom makes him sit down on the couch and then offers everyone some tea. I go to the kitchen and put a few leftover cupcakes onto a plate. Why not, right? I mean, a cupcake is just a muffin with frosting, and it’s after six in the morning. Breakfast.

When I come back into the living room, Mr. Malik is saying, “Yes, yes. It’s true. This will be very hard on the business, I’m afraid.” He turns to me. “Oh, thank you, Hayley, these look lovely. I will take one, thank you very much.” He
looks at Gran very seriously. “My dear, I’m afraid I have something very difficult to tell you.”

“Yes?” she asks.

“Well, I’m afraid that the wedding will have to be put off for a while,” he admits. “You know, these insurance companies can take a while with the payments, and the flower shop will have to be renovated. The café wasn’t harmed, was it?”

“Just a bit of smoke damage,” Gran tells him. “Nothing worth speaking of. I might have to replace a few chairs.”

“Well, the flower shop will need quite a bit of work, which means that I think our wedding will have to be … postponed, you see. There simply isn’t time to plan much.”

Gran’s eyebrows fly up, and she glances over at me.

“I hope you aren’t terribly disappointed,” Mr. Malik says.

Gran smiles a smile that reaches up to her eyes, which sparkle like stars. “The blessing of a tragedy,” she tells him, “is that it puts your life into perspective.”

“Yes,” he agrees. “It makes it easy to remember what’s important. Don’t you agree, Hayley?”

I look at Chloe, who is cuddling Tessie on the couch. My mother comes in with a tray loaded with teacups and a
teapot. She’s rumpled and tired and her hair is sticking out madly, but she still looks beautiful to me. The soft light gathers at the window, illuminating the room — the carpet with the torn corner, the couch with the hole at the arm, the nicked coffee table — making it look cozy. I love everyone in this room.

I love them so much.

“I think we’re very lucky,” I say, and everyone agrees.

And then we all have cupcakes for breakfast.

“C
ome on!” Chloe shouts as she hurries ahead, leaping from one railroad tie to another. We’re hiking a trail with Dad and Annie, and this part is a little marshy. The railroad ties serve as a makeshift bridge through the spring muck. Above us, the trees are still stark, but small fiddleheads are uncurling at their feet. The air is chilly but not uncomfortable as we walk. “I see a lady’s slipper!” Chloe shouts over her shoulder.

Annie hurries to catch up with Chloe, and they trek off the path a bit on the other side of the marsh. Dead leaves and sticks crash at every footstep.

Dad and I don’t rush. We just pick our way slowly after them.

“How’s your Gran?” Dad asks. “Is everything all right after the fire?”

“It’s fine,” I tell him. “There wasn’t much damage at all.” I explain about Mr. Malik’s shop, though, and Dad says it’s too bad.

We’re quiet for a few moments, and finally I know that if I don’t say it now, I never will. “Dad,” I say slowly, “I don’t want to go to Islip Academy.”

He’s silent for a moment. I think I really surprised him. “Why not?”

“I just — don’t. It doesn’t feel right.”

“But it’s such a good school,” Dad says. “They’re grooming the leaders of tomorrow!” That’s right out of the catalog, by the way.

“But what if I don’t want to be a leader of tomorrow?” I ask him. “What if I just want to be a normal kid of today?”

Dad steps off the railroad tie and down onto solid earth. The path winds ahead of us, disappearing into the woods. It makes me think of this poem I read once, by Robert Frost. It’s about two paths in the woods, and choosing which one to walk on. I guess a lot of stuff in life is like that. You have
to make choices. And for everything you choose, there’s stuff you give up.

And there’s stuff you gain.

“They have a great science program.” Dad is still talking about Islip Academy. “And the arts.”

“Dad, I know. It’s fancier, that’s for sure. But I have really great teachers, and I think that’s the most important thing. Besides, baking cupcakes is my favorite extracurricular activity. I don’t want to give that up to do photography, or Irish step dancing, or whatever.”

“But Irish step dancing is beautiful,” Dad argues.

“I know, Dad, but —”

“Hayley, I’m teasing you.” Dad takes my hand. “I mean, I do like Irish step dancing. But you shouldn’t do it if you don’t want to. And I’m not going to make you go to school anywhere you really don’t want to go. I just want you to get a good education.”

“I’m getting a good education. In fact, Señor Derby has already started us on ninth-grade Spanish.” And then, before I can stop myself, I say, “Which costs one hundred thirty dollars, by the way.”

Dad nods. “Right,” he says, as if the memory has been lurking at the back of his mind, and suddenly jumped out at him. “Right — I think your mom mentioned it.”

I want to say that I know she did, but I don’t.

“I think I owe her for the dentist, too,” Dad adds.

“You should talk to her about it, maybe,” I suggest.

There’s a crash and an
ouch!
and then Annie appears, followed by Chloe, who races past her and back onto the trail. “We found a whole bunch of lady’s slippers!” Chloe cries.

“I had never seen one before!” Annie exclaims. “They’re so pretty!” She’s looking very dressed down in yoga pants, a short parka, and bright blue running shoes. I remember the first time we went apple picking with Annie. She wore high heels that got stuck in the mud. She’s come a long way since then.

“Come on,” Chloe urges as she plunges back into the woods, “I’ll show you where they are! Not far!”

Dad puts his hand on my shoulder and we start after Annie and Chloe, leaving the beaten path behind us.

W
hen I was eight years old, I bought my father a tiepin for his birthday. It was gold — well, gold-plated, anyway — and shaped like a duck. I had wanted to get him something nice, and I had saved my allowance for over a month to get it. When he opened it, he said, “Why a duck?”

I told him that it was because I thought it was cute. And my father said, “A gift should really show that you put some time into thinking about what the person would like.”

That was all he said.

And I never saw him wear the tiepin.

Here is the thing about my dad: He isn’t a bad person. Not really. He just acts like it sometimes. He doesn’t always
seem to get how other people might feel about the stuff he says and does.

You have to take the time to explain things to him. But if you do that, he can usually get it. And when he gets it, he makes up for it.

Some people get it quicker. But I guess what really matters is that he gets it in the end.

Honey-Sesame Cupcakes

(makes approximately 12 cupcakes)

INGREDIENTS:

INSTRUCTIONS:

1. Preheat the oven to 350°F. Line a muffin pan with cupcake liners.
   
2. Place a skillet over medium heat, then add the white sesame seeds to toast them, constantly stirring and watching until they start to brown. Immediately remove the skillet from the heat and place the seeds into a bowl to cool.
   
3. In a large bowl, sift together the flour, baking powder, baking soda, and salt.
   
4. In a separate bowl, stir together the milk and apple cider vinegar, and let sit to curdle a bit. Once good and curdled, add the honey, vanilla extract, and oil.
   
5. With a whisk or handheld mixer, add the dry ingredients to the wet ones a little bit at a time, stopping to scrape the sides of the bowl a few times, and mix until no lumps remain. Then mix in the black sesame seeds and 1/4 cup of the toasted white sesame seeds, conserving the rest for the frosting.
   
6. 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.
   

Sesame Buttercream Frosting

INGREDIENTS:

INSTRUCTIONS:

1. In a small food processor, or with a mortar and pestle, grind the remaining 1/4 cup of toasted white sesame seeds until pulverized into a powder.
   
2. In a large bowl, with an electric mixer, cream the butter until it’s lighter in color, about 2–3 minutes.
   
3. 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 ground sesame seeds and continue mixing on high speed for about 3–7 minutes, until the frosting is light and fluffy.