Wedding Girl (34 page)

“At the moment, very little,” Herman says, gesturing to the empty store.

“Perfect. I'm eminently qualified to do very little,” Mark says, perusing the case. “These are some truly inspired holiday treats. I may have to do some tasting, just to be sure they aren't poisonous.” He walks around the counter and grabs a pumpkin Pop-Tart. “Hi.” He looks me up and down, and then smirks, talking at me out of the side of his mouth.

“Hi yourself,” I say.

“Interesting costume choice,” he says. “I would have pegged you to go for Colette. But Remy, that is a good one.”

I'm stunned that he knows the movie that well, and feel like an idiot that it didn't occur to me to just dress like the female lead. All I would have needed was a sleek black bob wig and my chef's whites. I shrug. “Well, you know how I love to be the star.”

“Remy is sort of perfect when you think of it, all the talent, but still needs someone else to be the public face. Kind of apropos.”

I can't tell if this is a dig, but he seems to be in something of a good mood, and he does get major points for showing up here in full regalia to support his dad. I wonder if he too knows how
dire things are about to get. “Yep. That's me. Plus I do like the idea of being able to make you my puppet.”

This comes out somewhat more double entendre-y than I intended, and Mark raises an eyebrow at me, and then winks and purses his lips. I can feel myself blush, but I also can't help laughing.

“What a merry sight this is!” Bubbles says, blowing through the door on a gust of autumn wind, carrying her large cooler bag with both hands.

“Let me take that from you, my dear.” Herman rushes to her side, kisses her tenderly, and takes the burden from her. They are so adorable I could just spit.

“Herman Jr., how lovely to see you. You look wonderful.”

“My love, I hate for you to pick up my bad habits, he really does prefer Mark,” Herman says, nodding at his son, who looks first surprised, and then sheepishly happy. I know that feeling, and I'm glad for Mark that his dad is honoring his wishes. I get the sense that with everything that has happened, the two of them have found more common ground, and seem to be closer. It makes me happy for them both.

“Mark it is, then. Mark, I hope you haven't had lunch, I've brought plenty,” Bubbles says.

“As a matter of fact, I have not. Someone warned me you might be stopping by with delectables, why do you think I'm in this ridiculous get-up? I believe in singing for my supper if necessary.”

“Wicked boy,” she says happily. “He's a good one, your son,” she says to Herman.

“He's the very best one,” Herman says, and Mark actually blushes.

“Okay, since someone has to mind the store, and we are moments away from high noon, and we know how the two of you love to keep to your schedules, why don't you lovebirds go
have a quiet lunch à deux upstairs, and when you're done, you can come relieve Mark and I and we can eat whatever you haven't snarfed up,” I say.

“A good plan, my dear, a very good plan.” Herman hoists the cooler bag and heads for the private door, Bubbles and Snatch close on his heels.

“I do feel so special, getting to use the secret entrance like this.” She giggles. “Behind the magic curtain, or off to Narnia or some such thing.” The three of them disappear up the stairs and the door clicks shut behind them.

“He hasn't been this happy since Mom died,” Mark says. “Your grandmother is a godsend.”

“She has that effect on people. For what it's worth, while I've never thought of her as unhappy, and I never saw her with my granddad, I know I've never seen her so glowy as she's been these past months.”

“Did you know the whole time, that they were . . .”

“Intimate pals?” He nods. “Nope. She fessed up when I busted in on them when your dad fell.”

“Yeah, he told me in the hospital.”

“Shocking, but kind of funny.”

“I'd say surprising more than shocking. I was really kind of relieved to know he hadn't just been fully alone all these years.”

“Yeah, that's how I felt for her. More ‘You go girl!' and not too much ‘Ewwww.'”

“He wants to marry her, you know,” Mark says.

“I know. He asked for my blessing.”

“Me too. He wants to give her his mother's ring. I have my mom's engagement ring, he didn't get the other one till my grandmother passed, so it wouldn't be the same one. He wanted to make sure I was okay with it.”

“And are you?”

“Of course. Although . . .”

“Although?”

“Well, it would make you my step-relative.”

“Indeed. Sorry, it appears you'll be stuck with me.”

Mark looks me in the eye. “I can think of many worse things.”

And before I can suss out his meaning, the door opens, and a gaggle of tiny Elsas and Annas and Minions fly in yelling “trick or treat,” with parents in tow and, hopefully, hearty appetites.

“He offered me the store,” I say to Mark as we are cleaning up our lunch plates. Bubbles didn't disappoint, with a hearty lasagna, which she makes with what she calls a “cheat,” layering large cooked cheese ravioli with homemade thick Bolognese sauce in lieu of dealing with the pasta and cheese separately. Mark and I devoured nearly half the pan, with some of the Caesar salad she had also made, and the sourdough baguette Herman had snagged on his way upstairs.

“Yeah, he and I talked about that too.”

“He said it was your idea.”

“Well, he won't need the same kind of equity that he would have now that he is just moving into your grandmother's place instead of into a retirement community. I know it might not be the right fit, but I figured it might be worth offering.”

“That is very kind.”

“Not really. I mean, if you think it would be good, great. In the meantime, the neighborhood keeps improving, the property value could increase significantly if he keeps it for a few more years, and goodness knows we couldn't ask for a better tenant. Are you going to take it?”

“I have no idea. He said he wanted to offer, in case it would help me forward my dreams. Which is so wonderful of him. If only I knew what my dreams were, I would know if this would be helpful.”

“Well, your options, since I presume you are planning on staying in the baking biz, seem sort of clear. You can go back into super high-end fine-dining pastry work. You can work at a mid-range restaurant. You can open your own restaurant. You can have a little bakery. You can specialize in event cakes and not run a retail operation at all. Or you can go work for some catering operation or hotel or something. Or you can teach . . .”

“Slow your roll, there, Sparky. I know my options; I just don't know what I want, what I need.”

“Well, you should maybe figure that out, no?”

“I know. I think . . . I think maybe after everything that happened last year, after everything that was leading up to what I always thought was my dream fell apart—my dream job and my dream guy and my dream life—I just don't know if I have it in me to dream that big again. If that makes sense.”

I've never said this out loud, never even wanted to admit it to myself, but when I hear the words, I know they are true. Why would I look for a whole new set of dreams when my last dreams did nothing but hurt me? Why else would I get so attached to Jake, who is still mostly theoretical, and let's be honest, unlikely to be everything I've built him up to be in my head, instead of pursuing something real, something tangible?

“Of course you do. No one knows that better than me. I watched you plan that cake, execute, do what you did here with my dad, for my dad. You have dreams in you, Sophie Bernstein. And I think it's high time you let yourself want them to come true.”

“Thank you, for the faith in me. It's duly noted.”

“Look, when you figure out what is in your heart, I hope you'll call me.”

I look over at him putting our plates in the drying rack, my heart beginning to race. He smiles at me.

“After all, I am pretty good at the whole business plan thing, so whether or not you intend to take my dad up on his offer, I
can at least help you go over the numbers, see if we can figure out the best way to get you where you want to be.”

I wish I knew why I'm disappointed that this is just about my business future.

“I thank you for that, and once I know, I'll be sure to let you know.”

“Good,” he says, drying his hands on a towel.

“Hey, how's Ella?”

“She's back in California. And I assume she is doing fine.” This sentence tells me everything I need to know. Good for him. “How about your Snuffleupagus guy that no one has ever met. Will he be in later?”

“He's away on business.” And before this can go any further, I add, “We should get back to work.”

“After you,” he says.

S—

I'm sorry to hear that things at your uncle's store are not looking good. I know it must be difficult to imagine shutting it down. But if, as you say, you are fighting a losing battle, sometimes the better part of valor is knowing when to surrender. And you both know that you gave it your all, went down fighting, all of those horrible clichés. There is no shame in fighting a losing battle, just in not fighting at all. And if, as you say, he'll be okay financially, then I would recommend just ripping off the bandaid quickly, so that he protects as much of what he has saved as possible, and doesn't keep throwing good money after bad trying to save it.

Regardless, you know that what you did for him was a gift, and you should be very proud of yourself for the efforts you put in. If it doesn't sound too weird, I'm proud of you for it!

J

J—

Thanks for your good thoughts, and support, it means a lot. Now if only I really knew what my next step should be . . .

S

If only indeed.

(1937)

Women don't like noble, self-sacrificing men. Women are not civilized like we are. They like bloodshed. They like forceful men, like me.

•
WILLIAM POWELL AS CHARLES LODGE
•

I love being here at the bakery at night. Herman is over at Bubbles's, having dinner and watching a movie, but I begged off to stay and work on Mom and Dad's cake. The wedding is this Saturday, and thankfully, I think it will be both beautiful and very much them. Dad's best pal, Russell, has gotten ordained on the Internet to perform the secular ceremony, and my mom's cousin Seth, who is a reform rabbi, will do the few parts of the traditional Jewish ceremony that are important to them. They are having a Middle Eastern feast, all buffet, with plenty of vegetarian options for the myriad aging hippies who are flocking to Chicago from all areas of the country to watch the vows and eat their weight in falafel and hummus. They've hired an old-school DJ who promises that he owns all of the Motown, psychedelic oldies, and classic disco that they will be able to handle. Mom is doing the flowers herself—being the gardener extraordinaire, she loves to arrange simple bundles of colorful blooms—and she's enlisted one of her former clients who is now a florist to help her out.

Bubbles and I took her shopping, and found her a lovely simple dress of antiqued lace embroidered all over with tiny colorful flowers, worn over an ivory sheath. It has more than a hint of California boho chic, but she looks like an elegant lady in it, and not like a Bonnaroo attendee. I even talked her into a pair of Stuart Weitzman pumps, since some of the new styles have a solid chunky lower-height heel that will be comfortable for dancing. She's never spent that much money on shoes before, but I caught a little glint in her eye, and I do think I might convince her that the occasional designer splurge is good for the soul. She bought me a lovely new dress in a beautiful blush pink with a hint of gray in it, and Bubbles got a snappy suit in dove gray, with a kicky peplum.

The cake is pretty simple; they didn't want anything too fancy. Two tiers. The bottom is the Frango mint tier from the cake contest, but the top is a new one. An almond cake with a whipped honey caramel filling and a layer of thinly sliced spiced poached pears, with vanilla buttercream. The whole cake will get a smooth white fondant coating, and then a detailed lace pattern hand-piped with white royal icing. They've opted out of toppers, so I've made some simple wildflowers out of gum paste, colored with the powdered food colors to look incredibly real.

Tonight I'm working on the cake layers, so that I can do fillings and frostings tomorrow, assemble tiers and put on the fondant on Thursday, and then decorate it on Friday. Mark offered to help, but I declined. I also declined Herman's generous offer of the store. I thought about it endlessly, but I know that I'm just not feeling like I want the pressure of launching something on my own. The more I think about it, the more I believe that I need to work with challenges that are strictly pastry related, and the pressure of managing every aspect of a business is just not for me, as much as I love the creative freedom. I'm not sure what I'll do, but I know it can't be here. Herman totally understood,
and said that he would be putting the place on the market, but not closing the business until it sells. So I could be out of a job next week or next year, depending.

I get the first chocolate layers in the oven, and sneak up front to grab a brownie. You'd think I'd get sick of my own baking, but I never get tired of sweet treats to keep my energy up. I'm stuffing half the brownie into my maw when there is a knock on the door. I look up, prepared to tell whichever hipster with munchies is trying to get in that we are closed, but I see MarySue Adams waving at me through the window.

“Sophie, how are you, sugar?” she asks when I let her in, locking the door back up behind her.

“I'm good, MarySue, how about you?”

“Busier than a one-armed paper-hanger, as you can imagine. I was leaving the store and saw you through the window, what are you doing here so late?”

“Working on my parents' wedding cake for this weekend.”

“That is so sweet; is it a big anniversary that made them want to do a vow renewal?”

“Nope, they've been living in sin for over forty years and figured they were finally sure it was gonna stick.”

She looks perplexed, but bounces back quickly. “That is just darling! Good for them.”

“Congrats on the opening, looks like you've got a huge hit on your hands.”

She smiles, blinding me with her huge choppers. “Thank you, it's been a labor of love, heavy on the labor, but really worth it. It's actually why I thought I would pop in, since you were here. I've been wanting to talk to you.”

“Really?”

“Really. Ever since I was in here and tasted all of your goodies, and then your cake at that competition . . . Really, Sophie, you are just so talented.”

I'm taken aback a bit by the sincerity of this statement. “Thanks, MarySue. That means a lot.”

“I'm here to make you an offer. I know you are committed to this place.” She waves her hand around. “But you also must know, deep down, that you can and should be doing so much more. And I'd like you to do it with me.”

“What?”

“I'm offering you a job. Creative Director of the new store. Once it's up on its feet, I need to step away and let it live without me, and while I do love and trust the team I have there now, there isn't a ton of oomph in the forward-thinking department. I want to bring in someone who can really make the place more than just an outpost of what I've always done, someone who can work with the existing brand, but keep things fresh and exciting. You'd be perfect, and you and I both know that this place, as darling as it is, will not likely survive very long. I'm sorry, I know that Mr. Langer is your dear friend, and I think he is the cat's pajamas, but it can't really be helped.”

I can't decide if I'm hating her or respecting her right now.

“You don't have to decide right now. But I know you'd be great, and I'd be lucky to get you.”

“MarySue, that is very unexpected and truly wonderful of you to even think of me, I just don't know where my head is with the idea of moving on. Herman and I are both aware that this community will not be able to sustain us both, but I won't leave him until he is ready to close, and my best guess is that he will not do that before he is able to sell this building. He lives here as well, so he is going to have to make sure that he comes out with a decent deal, and I don't know how long that might take.”

She looks me in the eye. “He's going to sell the building and the business or just the building?”

I can smell what she's thinking, and suddenly have a brain
wave. “Well, the place is zoned properly, so even if someone doesn't want to keep it as a bakery, they could do a small café or other food-related business here, so he would be looking to sell the building with the downstairs space priced to acknowledge that. Especially in this neighborhood, which is so up-and-coming, and could use some more food destinations.”

“I see. And is the property listed yet?”

“His son, Mark, will be handling the sale, I'm happy to give you his info if you think you know someone who might be interested . . .”

She nods, and I reach for my phone and give her Mark's information. Hell, she's got plenty of money, and her fiancé is a billionaire. Let her buy this place and turn it into some peaches and cream café or cupcake outlet store for all I care. I'd love to get Herman out smooth and with a nest egg. After all, he's going to have to take good care of Bubbles.

“Can I put together an offer memo for you?” she asks, and then looks at me with eyes full of savvy. “Or do you need to have your head clear? I can wait till after you have an official store closing date.”

I smile. “I do think that waiting would be better. Who knows how long a sale might take, or who else you might find in the meantime while I'm still encumbered over here?”

She nods. “You're a smart girl, Sophie, a very smart girl. I'll be back in touch soon. For what it's worth, I thought you and your boyfriend should've won that cake competition. And I think if Dexter and Cookie hadn't been there, you would have, by a landslide.”

“He's not my boyfriend, and we were proud of second place.”

“Really? I watched you both all day, you have such a great energy between you, I would have sworn you were a happy couple. Oh well. Anyway. We'll talk again soon. You have a great night.”

“Will do. And MarySue?”

“Yes, sugar?”

“Thank you. I don't have any idea where I will land once all of this goes away, but it really does mean a lot to me that you would think of me and want me in such a key position in your new store, and whatever happens, I'll always be grateful for the interest.”

“Don't be thankful, honey. I'm a coldhearted businesswoman these days, and I only do things that I think will make me money. I smell success on you, and I'd rather have it in my house than competing with me in someone else's house.” She winks, and heads out the door. I lock up after her and head back into the kitchen to get the cakes out of the oven, and to call Mark to warn him that he might be getting a call about buying the building, and to keep the price as high as he can.

“Diane and I want to thank everyone so very much for sharing this special day with us. It is a day we never really thought would happen, but now that it has, we couldn't be happier or more in love or more thrilled to have you all with us.”

My dad is beaming, with his arm around my mom, their new wedding bands glowing on their fingers, surrounded by family, and decades' worth of friends, the tent warm with the heat of nearly a hundred people who have been dancing up a storm.

“And now, we have a special surprise.” He says, “Mom, will you come up here, please?”

Bubbles walks over to my parents, and kisses them both on the cheeks. She and Herman have been cutting a rug together, sort of standing and swaying to the beat in each other's arms, and Jean keeps elbowing me to point them out, while Ruth rolls
her eyes and says that we get it, they're really cute old people in love.

Suddenly Herman appears at Bubbles's side, and takes the microphone from my dad.

“You all don't know me, but I'm Herman Langer, and I am a friend of this beautiful lady.”

Bubbles smiles at him, and takes his hand. He turns to look at her.

“And I want to take this opportunity to say that it seems only appropriate as we all celebrate this wedding that was so beautiful, to be moved to say to my love that she has changed my life for the better, and made me happier than I ever thought I could be again. They say that it is never too late, and I believe that. So I hope that you will do me the great honor of becoming my wife. I'd get on one knee, but I fear I'd never get up . . .”

Bubbles claps her hands, and nods yes, overcome by emotion. The place goes nuts. Herman pulls the ring out of his pocket and puts it on her finger, and we all go crazy again. I head across the dance floor to meet them, and we end up in a giant family hug. When we pull apart, the DJ is playing “At Last,” and the two couples, newlyweds and newly engaged, take to the floor.

“Shall we?” Mark says at my elbow, opening his arms to me.

“Of course.” I curtsy, and let him pull me into his embrace. He's a shockingly good dancer, a strong lead, and I let myself just float around the floor where he moves me.

“Those crazy kids, think they'll make it?” he asks.

“Which ones?”

He laughs. “All four, I guess. It does make you believe in love a bit, though.”

“Didn't you believe in love before?”

“It always seemed like a good idea. But often better in theory than in practice.”

“Yeah, I know what you mean. But still, one can hope.”