My Bittersweet Summer (6 page)

She winked at me. “Chef’s choice.”

I giggled. “So I get a challenge after all, huh?”

“No nuts,” my dad said. “Terrence hates the texture. And nothing fried for dessert. Olivia won’t like it. Small portions, and end it with a touch of class.”

“Got it,” I said. “Shouldn’t be too hard. I’ll look around and find something they’ll like.”

He leaned in and kissed my forehead. “You’ve got this, Margie. See you when I get back.” He waved and saw himself out.

“Any more questions,
mija
?” Rosie said as she glanced at her watch.

I laughed and pushed her towards the door. “Nah. You’ve thought of everything. Go have fun with your family. I’ll call my dad if I need something.”

With a last hug, she hurried out the door. Taking a deep breath, I cracked my knuckles and pulled a brown apron off of a peg on the wall. It was time to get cooking.
 

Deep breaths. I didn’t have time to panic.

By six o’clock, I’d run through almost every dessert option I could think of, and I was no nearer a solution than when I started. For everything I thought to make, at least one or two ingredients were missing. How could a kitchen the size of the Robinsons’ not have gelatin or cream of tartar or strawberries or about a dozen other things that thwarted me? I could make a killer bananas foster, but I wasn’t about to go ask where they kept their liquor. They didn’t have ice cream anyway. Who didn’t keep ice cream in the house? Especially when they had more money than God.

Time was running out. Fifty minutes to go.

Determined, I opened up the pantry one more time. There, a bag of super expensive semisweet chocolate chips imported from Switzerland stared back at me.

Really, why not? If my cookies were good enough for everyone else, they were good enough for the Robinsons.

I set the oven to preheat and dove into the pantry to collect everything I needed. Flour and sugar flew fast and furious, and the stand mixer kept time with my hurried activities. Setting a cookie sheet in front of me, I paused to think. Grinning, I started scooping out tiny drops of batter, creating mini-cookies by the dozen. I used the first sheet as a time test, so I wouldn’t burn the final product or have it be too dry or undercooked. Within twenty minutes, I had an awesome-smelling kitchen and at least one perfect batch to plate.

As the second sheet baked, I returned to the fridge. Buried deep in a corner, a jar of
crème fraîche
gave me an idea.

Milk and cookies, with a touch of class.

The rectangular dessert plates were large enough to hold three cookies each, arranged in a diagonal to the left. On the right, a pulled puddle of
crème fraîche
, offset by dots of chocolate syrup in a swirling trail. A single raspberry and a precise dusting of powdered sugar later, and I had a dessert that would make any foodie shiver with delight. With extra seconds to spare, I snapped a quick photo and sent it off to my dad, hoping he’d get a kick out of my creativity.

Lettie hurried into the room the moment I hit send. “They’re asking for dessert. Is…” She stopped short, her dark curls bouncing in front of her with forward momentum. “Wow.”

I ducked my shoulders, not sure how to take her reaction. “Is that a good wow or a bad wow?”

She giggled and put her serving tray on the counter, carefully loading up the plates one by one. “A good wow. Rosie is an amazing cook, but she’s not much for the fancy presentation. Do you always turn your dishes into artwork?”

I laughed. “Uh, no, but I don’t get too many chances to pretty things up. Think they’ll like it?”

Hefting the tray, she smiled at me. “If the way the kitchen smells is anything to go by, I don’t think you’ve got a thing to worry about.” Not wasting another moment, Lettie disappeared with dessert, leaving me to worry on my own.

With a sigh, I wandered over to the island and sat for a minute, letting the dishes wait until Lettie was back to help me clean up. I picked up a cookie and chewed on it thoughtfully, already planning on bagging up a bunch of them to take home for my parents. Two cookies in, the kitchen door banged open, and I jumped, dropping a half-eaten third one on the floor.

Zachary Robinson made a beeline for the island and set his dessert plate down with a thunk. “What are these?” he demanded.

Bristling, I pushed most of my temper down, but couldn’t keep it out of my voice. “Cookies,” I said, pointing at his half-eaten serving. “Never seen one before?”

His eyebrows knitted together beneath his perfectly tousled locks of hair. “I know they’re cookies. Where did they come from?”

I pulled back a little, trying to figure out if he was serious or not. “From the oven, where I usually get them. You know, after I put a bunch of stuff in a bowl and mix it together. That’s generally how it works.”

“You made these?”

I snorted a laugh. “Do you think I’d serve store bought cookies to Terrence and Olivia Robinson? Seriously?”

He fell silent, staring at his plate. “I always thought Rosie made them. Wondered for years why she changed the recipe whenever I asked her to make them again.”

Crossing my arms, I was trying really hard not to be insulted. “Guess it never occurred to you to ask?”

His gaze lifted to me, the softness in his eyes startling me. “Why would I? I was a complete jerk.”

My mouth hung open, stunned. Who was this guy, and what happened to the Zach I knew?

“You look surprised.”

Snapping my jaw shut, I wasn’t sure what to say to that. Instead, I walked around the island to a cabinet, removing a few storage bags from inside. “I have things to do. If that’s all you wanted, you’re welcome to leave now.”

He followed me around and leaned up against the counter beside me. “You can’t make me leave my own house. And since you can’t leave either, this seems like my best chance to talk to you.”

“A forced conversation.” I started bagging up cookies. “Well, that’s charming.”

“All I’m asking for is an opportunity to say a few things. That’s it.”

“And, what, I’m somehow obliged to give you that?”

Zach shrugged and stole a cookie before I could put it away. “No, but I was hoping you’d be a better person than I ever was and hear me out.”

Had he been talking to my mother or something? Why was everyone so insistent that I be some sort of paragon of sainthood? In my experience, all turning the other cheek ever earned me was both sides of my face stinging from the blows.

“You have no idea what kind of person I am,” I said, settling on that when nothing better presented itself.

“You’re right,” he said, “but I wouldn’t say no to finding out.”

A vague throb of pain flared up behind my left eye, prompting me to close my eyelids for a moment. Of course I’d get a migraine. Why not add to my misery?

“Say whatever you want. I figured out how not to care about your opinion a few years ago.”

A long moment later, he took a deep breath then focused his gaze on my face. “I’m sorry, Margie. For everything.”

I looked at him, eyes wide in fake surprise. “You are? That’s fantastic. I can finally move past the crushing nightmares and health problems hardwired into my brain. Magically cured. Poof!”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Look, I get that maybe it doesn’t mean anything to you. I deserve all kinds of hate for what we put you through back then. I just…” He blew out a breath, looking defeated.

I winced. If I was ever going to get a handle on my anger problem, I needed to at least try. “What?” I asked, softening my tone.

When he glanced at me, I was shocked to see real hurt in his eyes. “I’m trying to be a better person. I wanted you to know that.”

Unable to come up with a reply, I nodded briefly and went back to bagging cookies. After a minute of watching me, he seemed to decide that was probably all he’d get and returned to his plate on the island, taking it and three more cookies with him. He stopped with his hand on the door, ready to push it open.
 

“Thanks for dinner, Margie. I’m glad Rosie got the night off to spend with her family. And for the record…”

I looked up at him, waiting for him to finish.

His lips turned up in grin. “These cookies have always been my favorite.”

Stunned beyond words, I watched him leave. I had no idea how to respond to kindness from him.

Zachary Robinson was definitely a pod person. What other explanation could there be for such a transformation?

*
 
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*

U busy? Need to chat.

I sent off the text message to Destiny and rolled over on the air mattress. I was completely at a loss with how to deal with the Zachary situation. If anyone would understand my confusion, it was Des.

My phone rang a few seconds later.

“What’s up?” Destiny said the moment I picked up. “You okay?”

“I have no idea. Got time? It’s kind of a long story.”

“Tell ya what,” she said. “I’m getting off work in like thirty minutes. Want me to swing by?”

“That’d be awesome. I have cookies, if you need some incentive.”

“How do you have cookies? I thought your stuff didn’t come until tomorrow.”

I grimaced. “That’s part of the story. Would your mom have extra snickerdoodle cupcakes laying around? I could use one. Or fifty.”

She laughed. “I’ll see if I can snag any. See you about nine-thirty?”

“Sure. Any chance for chai, too? We’ve got nothing here. I promise the story I’ve got is worth it.”

“Geez, you’re demanding,” she said, and I could practically hear her eyes rolling. “But yeah, I’ll get them before Len cleans the machine for the night.”

“Thanks, Des. You’re the best.”

“Yeah, I know. Okay. Gotta run. See you in a bit.”

I hung up with her and wandered out to the kitchen, dumping a dozen mini-cookies onto a paper plate and hiding the rest for my parents. Before I could shove the bag in a cupboard, however, the front door opened and closed. My parents’ voices drifted back to me, followed by my mom tiredly wandering in.

“Hey, Margie.” She looked exhausted, and the restaurant wasn’t even open yet. “How’d dinner go?”

Rather than tell her about my Zachary problem, I shrugged it off. “No trouble. I have a treat for you.” I handed over the bag with a smile.

She grinned and took two. “Your father passed on your picture. Milk and cookies, hmm?”

“Seemed to go over well. How was my plating?”

“You could’ve gone a little lighter with the cream, but it looked pretty great overall.”

“Didn’t get any complaints, so I assume I did all right.” I zipped up the bag again. “I asked Des to come over for a little bit. Is it okay if we hang out if we’re quiet?”

My mom cast a brief glance down the hallway and sucked in air between her teeth. Whenever she was about to say yes to something she wasn’t sure my dad would agree to, that was her go-to response. “I don’t know. It’s been a long day, and with the movers coming tomorrow…”

“I swear we’ll keep it down,” I said. “You won’t even know she’s here.”

She crossed her arms and gave me a skeptical look.

“It’s a nice night. Maybe we’ll sit outside instead. Would that be okay?”

She sighed, defeated in the face of my persistence. “All right, fine. But if we have to tell you even once…”

“You won’t.” I grinned at her and briefly kissed her cheek. “I promise. Thanks, Mom.”

In preparation for Destiny’s arrival, I set two folding chairs in the tiny backyard, along with lighting the six citronella torches lining the space between the house and the trees. Back around front, I sat on the steps and waited for her, messing around on my phone until her car pulled into the driveway at nine thirty-five. I couldn’t help grinning at the little blue box I knew held at least two cupcakes, and hurried to help her with the drinks.

Settling down in the chairs out back, she didn’t give me a second to catch my breath.

“Okay, spill. What happened?” she asked, blowing through the lid on her chai latte.

Sighing, I swiped a finger over the frosting of my cupcake, sucking off the sweetness as I thought. “So, you know that text I had you send last night? The one to Zach?”

“What about it?”

I frowned. “I think he saw it as a challenge, rather than a refusal.”

Destiny made a face. “Of course he did. That’s how he got Felicity Manning to go to prom with him our sophomore year. She told him no, that she didn’t date high school boys, even though she was only a junior. He went all out with these big romantic gestures, like banners and stuff in the school hallways, and I heard he got a band to play on her front lawn, like that John Cusak movie, only with live musicians instead of a… what did they used to call those stereo things?”

“A boombox.”

“Right,” she continued, “a boombox. Anyway, he had the whole school cheering for him by the end of it, and she finally gave in. They were dating for almost two years. Heard they broke up a little while ago, but that wasn’t surprising with her off at Stanford. All that’s beside the point, though. What did he do?”

I recounted the mouse with a cell phone from that morning, followed by the weirdness in the kitchen at dinner. Destiny listened quietly to my story, her eyebrows getting closer and closer together the longer I talked.

“It’s just so bizarre, Des.” I crumpled up the cupcake wrapper and tossed it onto the empty paper plate she’d relieved of cookies. “I don’t know what else to say to him to make him go away.”

“And you’re sure that’s what you want?” she said.

Going by her face, it seemed like a serious question. “Of course I do. I had to take two migraine pills to fend off the headache he gave me tonight. You think I want to subject myself to more of that?”

She shrugged. “Not that, specifically. I mean would you really rather he ignore you than be nice to you?”

“My PTSD says yes,” I grumbled.

“Come on.” She giggled. “You have to admit the mouse picture was kind funny.”

“No, I don’t.”

She made a face at me, but it softened when she saw I wasn’t joking. Leaning back in her seat, she tilted her head up to look at the sky. “You know, he hasn’t been the same since Chad died last fall. Zach’s been different. I’m not around him a ton, and even I could see it. Alexia Carmichael says she doesn’t see him in the Grinder with his crew all that much anymore, and James Clark said he didn’t show up for the senior graduation party at his house. Zach’s been a fixture at that thing since he was a freshman.”