Heartbreak Cake (9 page)

It is all so visible on his face, his confusion, his conflict, and his inability to make a decision either way. And it just makes me angry.

“We can visit Indira at her shop. Wait till you see it. Lots of big cakes and pretty cupcakes.”

“I would love that, Eloise. You can help me frost and decorate, too, just like we used to at the house. I always think of you when I make yellow cupcakes with pink frosting. Maybe you can help me make some?”

She throws me a sunny smile and looks at Josh, who gives her a loud kiss on the cheek.

“Get in the car peanut, and I’ll be right there,” Josh says to Eloise. “Just give me a second with Indira.”

Eloise gives my waist a hug and then scampers off to the car that’s parked in the valet driveway.

“She’s growing up so fast.”

“I know. She was just two when you met her, and now she’s carrying around a purse and wearing watermelon lip- gloss.”

We both laugh, and I cringe because I’m not ready to do this. I’m not ready to talk about his life that no longer involves me.

“I am not sure that I will ever get over you.” Josh looks uncomfortable, but his candor surprises me. It’s not like him to be so open, and I’m not sure what to say. So I say nothing.

“I know that’s not what you want to hear. But I don’t know what else to do.”

“You could try saying sorry, Josh. You made a lot of promises and you haven’t stuck to any of them, not even the ones you made to your daughter. How could you not talk to her about us? God, do you just stick your head in the sand and hope for everything to work itself out?”

Josh says nothing and I clench my fists in frustration. “Did you honestly think I’d wait for you forever? Be happy being your sometimes girl? Squeezed in between dinner with your wife and camping trips with the family? If you love me why in the world would you want that for me?”

“It’s not that black and white,” Josh begins to explain.

“I’m done. Done being the other woman, and done trying to get this relationship to be what I want it to be. I’m embarrassed by what I’ve done, and if Valentina has her way, the whole town is going to know about it, too.”

“I’ve asked her to be discreet,” Josh says, and he turns to look at Eloise who is sitting in his Mercedes SUV, watching us curiously.

“Did she tell you she went to see Rebecca’s husband yesterday? Out of all the doctors in Long Beach, she picked him. Why is that?”

“I have no idea.” He actually has the decency to look perplexed.

“I know, Josh. I know all about it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he says tiredly.

“I know Valentina is pregnant. Message received loud and clear. And congratulations on your bundle of joy.”

Josh doesn’t move. His face is expressionless, but his eyes shift in just a way that makes me think he is just as shocked as I was to find out.

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” he says without emotion. “I’ll talk to her about being more respectful toward you.”

“Please do. And stay away from the Wright-Hemsley wedding while you’re at it. I don’t know what you’re planning, but I won’t let you take that away from me.”

“We’re trying to get a table at the wedding. Just a presence. It’s business. Don’t take it personally.”

“Only someone like you would say something like that. Of course it’s personal. But why I am even surprised that you lack any kind of loyalty.”

“I think there’s nothing more to say here.”

“I guess not.” With my arms crossed against my chest, I glare at him hoping he won’t know that my anger is actually sadness.

Josh turns and makes his way back to his car where Eloise waits for him. And there’s something about the way he’s retreating from me that makes me call out to him.

“You did know, right? You knew Valentina was pregnant, right?”

He nods at me and then flashes me his big famous Crystal Cove grin.

Damn, he didn’t know.

Chapter 8

When I get to my apartment, I sit in the car for a few minutes taking a bite from the last Nutella sandwich cookie Noah packed for me, and I can’t stop thinking about Josh. I’m certain he didn’t know about Valentina’s pregnancy, which makes me wonder why she kept it from him.

Subtlety is not her strongest character trait, but why then would she want me to know? Maybe she honestly didn’t know it would get back to me?

It doesn’t matter, I say to myself as I get out of the car and slam the door shut with a hip bump. What I need is distance, perspective, and a vacation from the drama that has been my life for the last year. Truthfully, I need to get a life and stop riding the coattails of someone else’s marriage.

He didn’t know about Valentina being pregnant
, I text Rebecca and hit send.

I will let this all go after I get a few answers. I instantly get a beep back from Rebecca.

Drop it, Indira. You need to just let this go. It’s not your problem.

I knew she was going to lose her patience with me. Rebecca is a highly successful attorney known for her no nonsense approach to the law. There’s right, there’s wrong, and everything else goes into the “bullshit excuse” box, which is where she put Josh the day he asked me to move out so he could work on his marriage.

I spent several months trying to explain to her why Josh was a dedicated father, but to Rebecca, he was nothing more than a “manipulative, cake-eating ass.”

I reply back using the word closure in a sentence, and I am so distracted by Rebecca who has started to send texts that include angry emoticons that I stumble over one of my brides, Teresa Ludlow, who’s sitting Indian-style on my front stoop.

“Teresa? What are you doing here?”

I have three “golden rules” every new client must agree to before we shake hands and start to talk about the cake lollipop versus the French macaroon.

Rule 1: Your fiancé must attend tastings.

I swore to never assume a bride knows everything about her husband-to-be the day I watched, in horror, a groom go into an anaphylaxis seizure after his new bride fed him a forkful of peanut butter and chocolate wedding cake. Lesson learned. Rule 1 was established.

Rule 2: I don’t talk about my personal life.

I once got friendly with a bride and confided that I was dealing with the breakup blues. Later that night I got a visit from a good-looking groomsman with a bottle of champagne tucked under his arm saying they were both a gift from the bride. I took the bottle of champagne and sent the groomsman packing, thus implementing rule 2.

Rule 3: I am a pastry chef, not a therapist.

I can turn chocolate into a sunburst flower and can frost a cake faster than I can shave my legs, but what I cannot do is give you counsel. After more years than I’d care to admit to working the wedding circuit, I have discovered that weddings make people crazy. Notice I said people. Not just women, but men, grandmas, aunts, definitely mothers, and I even get the occasional power-tripping best man, who seems to think he knows everything. Guess what? He doesn’t.

Weddings are fun. There’s free food, plenty of booze, teary toasts and about the only place you can openly dance to “Play that Funky Music White Boy” without being mocked. But the road to wedded bliss is rough terrain. Brides-to-be are almost always in a haze that hovers between bliss, anxiety, panic and rage. Since I’m the gatekeeper to chocolate and spun sugar, a lot of them seem to think I know the secrets to love. I know nothing. Alas, rule 3 was born.

“Before you get mad, I know I just showed up here without calling,” Teresa says trying to scramble up from the steps, but keeps falling back down while eyeing me nervously. “I broke rules 2 and 3, but trust me I have a good reason.”

“Get up from the floor, Teresa. I nearly maced you thinking you were some wild animal.” I give Teresa my hand and pull her up.

“Pedro gave me your address. He said that you handled all bride one-on-one questions.” Teresa gives me a big smile. “I told him I needed some advice on the wedding details and he said you’d be more than happy to help.”

Oh man, Pedro is
piiiissed
. Sending a client to my house on a Friday night and encouraging her to share her feelings with me? It’s war.

“If there are any changes or questions you have, Pedro knows just as much as I do. Are you changing your mind about doing the individual apple-caramel pies? It’s really a great idea, since it’s a fall cerem…”

“Actually, I’m going to call off the wedding!” Her face crumbles, and she throws her arms around me as I stand there with both hands at my side, unsure of what to do.

Pedro is going to pay.

“Hey, hey, hey, what’s happening?” I pat her back gingerly and detangle her arms from around me, so I can unlock my front door. “You want some wine,” I ask Teresa, who nods like a small child and follows me up the stairs to my apartment on the second floor. “Come on in, I have some brownies that will taste great with a glass of Cabernet.”

I set my purse down and pull out an 8-inch cake pan from the fridge and hand her a fork. “Dig in. Walnuts and chocolate. You can’t go wrong when sticking to the basics.”

Teresa stares at me with such gratitude that I can’t help but feel like her older, wiser, slightly screwed up sister. She reminds me of a combination of Alicia Silverstone in the movie
Clueless
mixed in with that pretty little cocker spaniel in
Lady and the Tramp
. It’s very hard not to like her and to not feel protective.

“What’s going on between you two? Oscar dotes on you! I can’t imagine him doing anything to make you want to stop the wedding.” I pour us both wine and slide the glass over to her. “Are you getting cold feet?”

“Why do you think it’s me?” she says while stuffing a chunk of brownie in her mouth.

Bull’s-eye.

“Just a feeling. I know a thing or two about being afraid. I can often see it in other people too.”

Teresa lowers her head, embarrassed.

“Am I really ready to be someone’s wife? That just seems so grown-up and official. What if I change my mind? What if I can’t do this day-in-day-out? What if Oscar changes, or I do, and then we grow apart?”

“That’s a lot of what-if questions, and unfortunately, I don’t know if anyone can answer them, ever. You just take a chance and hope for the best.”

Teresa nibbles on her thumbnail nervously. “What if we don’t make it?”

“You got a fifty-fifty chance just like everyone else. I’ll tell you this; I meet couples every single day, and you two genuinely seem to like one another. It’s infectious. I always feel a little better after I see you both.”

“Thanks.” Teresa smiles fondly at the idea. “I told Oscar I was afraid, and it hurt his feelings. He said he never hesitates when it comes to me. So, it made me wonder if maybe that meant…I didn’t really want to marry him.”

“Everyone responds to things differently. There’s no doubt that you love Oscar. Getting scared is part of the process. Just call him up and say that, and everything will be fine. You guys are going to be great.”

Teresa looks thoughtfully at her engagement ring, twisting it around her finger over and over again while I sit and drink my wine quietly, giving her space to think.

Josh and I used to talk about our wedding—it would be a beach wedding, with fire pits and one long farmhouse table placed in the middle of the sand where all of our friends and family would sit together. Simon would cook dinner and Pedro would design the cake, of course.

It was the only time in my adult life that I had allowed myself to daydream about a wedding day. And it hurt to even think that I was so…optimistic about another person. Who am I to give advice to Teresa? I have seen hundreds of couples get married and had heard about so many of their divorces. But why would I tell Teresa that?