The Matchbaker (A Romantic Comedy) (15 page)

I push off from the door and head back to bed. Maybe tomorrow I’ll feel better about all of this. Surely, in the light of day, pursuing my dream of being with Colin will feel like the absolute right thing to do.

Fifteen

Okay, maybe I was wrong, on all counts. I don’t feel better. In fact, I feel worse, if that’s even possible. Holly’s been crying all night, that much is obvious. Her normally perfect blonde hair is greasy and matted against her face. If she was wearing any makeup, she cried it all off.

I feel like a bitch and a hypocrite as I ask, “You okay, Hol?”

Crap. I’ve opened up the floodgates again. Her bottom lip quivers as she looks at me.

“I don’t know what happened,” she cries, the tears making their way down her cheeks. “What’s wrong with me? I thought things were going so well…I thought he loved me.”

This prompts her to go from crying to full-out sobbing. I worry she’s going to cry into the moldable sugar, so I surreptitiously move the bin out of the way. I don’t want to appear insensitive, after all.

“I’m sure he did,” I say. “Maybe he’s just being stupid—men do that from time to time, you know?”

She vigorously shakes her head. “No, not Colin.”

“Well, what exactly did he say, anyway?” I pull up a stool and sit down across from her at the table.

Holly is fighting to get the words out as she says, “He told me there’s someone else.” More crying. “I mean, I didn’t even know he had time to meet someone else. He goes from here to his apartment and back, and I’m with him pretty much all the time!”

Oh, no. She’s mere minutes from figuring this one out. This is not good.

“Maybe it’s an online friend?” I suggest, the self-loathing growing stronger with every sob from my sister and every lie I tell.

Holly gasps. “Oh my God! That’s it.” She climbs down off the stool. “He
has
been spending a lot of time on his computer lately. I bet that skank who broke his heart is trying to get him back.”

“Skank?”

“Shelby, Shelly…I don’t know, but she ruined him, Candy. Ruined him!” She pulls her apron off and grabs her purse.

“Where are you going?” I’m slightly alarmed Holly is running out the door before the day has even begun. I know nothing about making sugar molds.

“I have to go see him. Well, I have to go see his computer. I bet they’ve been sending love letters to one another this whole time.
Oh, I miss you. Oh, you’re the only man I’ve ever loved. Oh, I really messed up, please take me back
. I’ll be damned if I let her sink her talons into Colin again.” Joan of Arc could have learned a thing or two from my sister.

“But what about the cupcakes?” I ask.

“They’ll have to go naked today. They’ll have to go naked.”

And with one last dramatic flourish, Holly disappears from the kitchen.

~*~

“Is she gone?”

Colin is peering around the door like a hopeful puppy, and I’m beginning to worry at my constant inclination to compare him to a puppy. It’s not terribly attractive on a grown man.

“Um, yeah,” I say.

He pushes through the door and crosses to where I’m slowly adding egg whites to a meringue frosting. He says nothing—just stands in front of me, waiting. For what, I’m not entirely certain.

“Big day today, huh?” I finally say, desperate to break the awkward silence. Although, I’m pretty sure I’m the only one who finds it awkward.

“Who cares?” He inches slightly closer. “When can we be together?”

The million dollar question. “I don’t know, Colin.” I turn to face him. His eyes are big and pleading. His body language and tone of voice are desperate. What have I done to him? “My sister is pretty upset. She thinks it’s your ex, and she’s headed to your place now to go through all your emails and Facebook statuses.”

“She won’t find anything.”

“I know she won’t!” I yell, backing away. I have to make myself busy or I’ll go insane just standing there so close to him. “But she’ll find out about us eventually.”

“So?”

“So?” I’m incensed. Didn’t we have a similar conversation last night? Why do I have to spell everything out for him? “Look, Colin, this is a bad idea.”
And it’s not even real!
God, I feel like such an idiot. What was I
thinking
?

“Just give me a chance.” He’s pleading with me now, and I pray he won’t drop to his knees and beg. “That kiss last night…was amazing.”

It was, wasn’t it? Damn it, this isn’t good. We’re going to have to come clean to Holly, and who knows what the repercussions will be. God, I need to talk to my mom.

Mom! That’s it! Why didn’t I think of it sooner? I’m sure it’ll cost them a fortune to talk to me from the outer reaches of the planet, but it’s an emergency.

“Let’s not do anything rash, okay? Holly needs time to heal before she hears her ex left her for her sister.”

A wide smile spreads across Colin’s face. “Does that mean you’re going to give me a chance?”

I take a deep breath. “Yes, Colin, of course. I-I’ve liked you for a long time.” This, along with Madame Antoinette’s prediction, are justification enough, aren’t they?

“Really?”

“Ever since seventh grade,” I admit with a little shrug, though deep down the guilt is churning in my gut.

“But I was such a dork back then.”

“You still are,” I tease. “Now get out of here before Holly comes back. We’ll work this out, okay? We just have to be patient.”

~*~

It takes me a good half hour to track down my mom that night, but I finally reach her. Relief settles over me as her voice comes over the line.

“Candy, what’s wrong? You didn’t burn down the bakery, did you?”

“God, Mom, no! But thanks for the vote of confidence.”

“Well, it is you, Candy, and Ricardo told me you were frantic. I just assumed…”

“I wasn’t frantic,” I say, indignant. “It’s just…I need your advice.”

The line goes silent. I know it’s so unlike me to ask for advice from my mother—I’m more inclined to call Lucy. But Luce can’t help me with this one.

When she doesn’t respond, I keep going. “You see, I may have made a teensie weensie mistake, and now I’m not sure what to do about it.”

“Candy, if you put flour in the icing, you’re going to have to throw the whole batch out. You can’t serve raw flour to customers.”

I roll my eyes. “Could you please stop jumping to conclusions? I didn’t put flour in the icing. I’m pretty sure what I did was much worse…”

I tell her about the cupcakes I made especially for Colin, and she’s completely silent the entire time. Which makes me really nervous. My stomach is in a million knots.

“Mom, are you there?” I ask when the story is done.

“I’m here,” she says, her disappointment loud and clear. “I must say, first of all, that I’m very disappointed in you.” See? “You’re not a teenager. You’re a grown woman—you should know better than to use your powers so carelessly.”

“Excuse me,” I interrupt. “But maybe if you would have given me a few more clues about what the hell was happening to me, and maybe even a little time to get used to the idea, I wouldn’t have felt compelled! I had to learn about all this from Mrs. Shoemaker, by the way. I may be a grown woman, but I’m a newborn witch. Or whatever I am.”

Mom breathes in sharply and lets it out on a sigh. “I expected you to act with a little more caution. I thought not telling you everything might make you a bit more careful, but apparently I was wrong.”

My pulse has calmed. None of that matters anymore. I just need a solution. “So what do I do?”

“There’s no need to panic, really,” she finally says. “The spell should wear off within a week. Its length depends on the strength of your emotions at the time of conception. As long as you didn’t do something as stupid as binding the spell, he’ll snap out of it by week’s end and you can patch things up with Holly then.”

I close my eyes and release the breath I’ve been holding ever since I gave him that damned cupcake. It’ll be a mess to clean up next week, but we’ll get through it. Maybe I can even make a Fughettaboutme cupcake for Holly so she won’t remember a thing.

“Great! Thanks so much, Mom,” I say, and then something that she said registers. “Hey, what did you mean by ‘binding the spell’?”

“Hold on, sweetie.” I hear her talking to Dad in the background. “Candy, Dad says hi. I have to go now—shuffleboard in ten. You wouldn’t believe how good your father is!”

“Wait, Mom! Binding the spell. What does that mean?”

I can tell she’s getting flustered because she’s doing that high-pitched hemming and hawing—clearly she’s worried about being late for shuffleboard, but I have to know what she meant.

“I’m coming,” she says to Dad, then to me, “As long as you don’t kiss him, the spell will wear off on its own. Yes, dear, I’m coming! All right, sweetheart, we’ll talk soon. I love you!”

I stare at the phone, my heart in my throat. Oh, my God. Have I really bound the spell for all eternity? 

My stomach churns. I think I’m going to throw up. Not only have I ruined my sister’s life, but I may have ruined my own as well. The Colin I wanted was the Colin Holly had—the confident, fun-loving Colin. Not the desperate, puppy-faced Colin. But that’s what I’ve turned him into, and now there’s no way out of it. I could run far, far away, fall off the grid so he could never find me, but that wouldn’t solve much, would it? He still would never be in love with Holly again…or anyone, for that matter. Three lives would be completely ruined, all because of one stupid little cupcake.

There must be a solution. There has to be.

I look over at my computer sitting on the little desk I have down here in the basement. I’ve barely turned the thing on since I’ve been here—no need to. It’s not like I could Tweet to all my former work friends that I’m now a magical baker. I’d be laughed right out of Twitterverse. But maybe it can help me tonight.

I power it on and pull up the Internet browser, then head straight to Google.

How do you undo a spell?

The first link I click on tells me to gather a candle, water and a black bowl, so I head up to the kitchen. All I can find are birthday candles and a green Fiestaware bowl, but they’ll have to do. I follow the instructions—melt the candle until it stands upright in the bowl, fill it with water, then meditate until it goes out. Unfortunately, I only get a third of the way in because the stupid candle won’t stand up in this stupid bowl.

Whatever. That was to break a spell that someone put on me, but as far as I know, my life is a living hell just naturally.

I bound back downstairs to the computer and look at the next link. That one requires way too many ingredients I’m certain I won’t be able to dig up at this time of night, so I keep going…and going…and going. Until I can hardly see the screen anymore. My vision is blurred and my head aches. However, when I see a link on page fourteen of my Google search that says, “Book of spells,” I feel my energy return.

I click on it and read…

Every witch should have a book of spells. Formulas they record and can pass down to their progeny in case they are unable to be present to teach them. These diaries are very important, especially if one’s powers are passed down through a bloodline, though many witches are reluctant to reveal the book to their offspring as oftentimes the book can open a whole new can of worms they are not prepared to handle. In this case, the elder witch may cast a spell on the book that will allow it to only be revealed when absolutely necessary.

I stare in wonder at the article. A book of spells. Of course. Mom must have one around here somewhere, but why didn’t she tell me about it? Surely it could help me out of this predicament.

I glance around, hoping the book will pop out from behind the wood paneling. But nothing happens. It’s silent, except for the low tones of nick@nite reruns playing on the TV. But I know she has one—she has to.

With a newfound purpose, I bounce off the couch and take the stairs two at a time until I’m on the top floor, standing at the door to Mom and Dad’s bedroom. It’s open, of course, but I still have to fight the urge to knock. They’ve always been really strict about letting us in their bedroom, and I have the strangest feeling I’m going to get reprimanded for going in uninvited.

That’s just silly, of course, since they’re on the other side of the world. At least I think they are—I never did ask where exactly they were right now.

I click the bedside lamp on and rummage through the nightstand drawers, dressers, armoire and the little desk off in the corner, but I come up empty handed. Mom and Dad are quite meticulous. Their drawers are sparse and contain no more than a hotel drawer might: pen, notepad and a book. Romance novel for Mom; sci-fi for Dad.

“Candy?”

Startled, I look up to find my sister standing in the doorway to Mom and Dad’s bedroom. “God, Holly. Were you trying to give me a heart attack?”

“Sorry…” She looks around, then focuses on me. “What are you doing in here?”

I close my eyes and shake my head. “Looking for something that may not even exist. What else?”

Holly narrows her eyes. “What are you talking about?”

“I need a, um…book,” I say evasively.

“Are we talking boring novel because I can’t sleep book? Or something more…interesting?”