The Matchbaker (A Romantic Comedy) (22 page)

I turn to look at him, and his face is contorted into a painful frown.

“As stated in our handbook, chapter 5, page 232,
Two people possessing magical powers may not have relations with one another. If they do, one, or in some cases, both, will lose their powers. Therefore, for the sake of maintaining the balance and integrity of the magical world, the joining of two magical beings is forbidden.
”

Twenty-One

My entire world comes crashing down around me. This can’t be happening. The first time I actually, truly, really start to fall for a guy—and not like the I’m-obsessed-with-the-idea-of-him kind of falling, like I did with Colin—I’m talking
the real deal
—I’m in breach of my magical…whatever? This is heinous. Completely and utterly ridiculous. After all I’ve been through. After all this stupid family curse has put me through, I’m now being told that my one shot at true happiness isn’t
allowed.

I want to scream. I want to throw things. I want to tell everyone to fuck off and leave us alone. But I’m so mad I can’t even produce any sound when I open my mouth.

I turn to Joe. He doesn’t look thrilled either, but he’s known about this, the bastard.

“You knew?” I say, my tone way more even than I expected it to be. “Why didn’t you say anything? Why did I have to come here to be humiliated? Why did you lead me on?” My voice is barely above a whisper, and everyone is leaning in to hear what I’m saying. But even worse than that, tears are pricking at the backs of my eyelids. Damn it!

Now all I want is to be back in New York City, in my own apartment, alone. Maybe meet up with acquaintances for drinks after work. Have meaningless sex with someone I don’t care about. I just want to not care.

And the worst part of it all is that I have the power to make myself
not care,
but I’m not allowed to use that power on my bloody self! It’s the worst catch-22 there ever was.

“Candy, please,” Joe is murmuring as he leans over the arm of his chair. “Please don’t cry.”

“Oh, why?” I bite back, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “Because I might embarrass you? I might humiliate you in front of all these people?” I’m nearly yelling now, I can’t help it. This couldn’t get any worse, right?

“Ms. Cooper, we understand your frustration,” Joe, Sr. says and I don’t care how sick or old or powerful he is. I despise him and this entire community of people with all my being right now.

I stand, ignoring Joe the Elder, and focusing all my attention on the Younger. “You—” I jab a finger so near his face he flinches “—You could have saved us all this evening. You could have spared me, and my feelings. You could have been honest, God forbid. But you weren’t.” The realization strikes me and my anger turns quickly into sheer sadness and disappointment. Very quietly I finish my thought. “So perhaps you’re not the man I thought you were. I wish that made this whole humiliating night easier to stomach.”

As I walk toward the door, my mother shouts across the room, “Candy, don’t you dare walk out that door.”

But my dad issues a warning, “Dorothy,” which shuts her right up.

I don’t bother to turn around. I just need to get out of here and get very, very drunk. A tiny part of me knows I should probably find another outlet for my sorrow that doesn’t have to do with food or alcohol, but I’m too upset to think about that right now. I’ll think about it tomorrow.

~*~

This is Holly! Leave a message!

BEEP

“Hey, Hol, it’s me again. Just seein’ what you’re up to. I don’t know if I mentioned it in the last thirty-eight messages, but I’m kind of having a crisis over here, so…call me back! Love ya!”

I press END on my phone for the thirty-ninth time. Seriously, why isn’t she picking up? Doesn’t she know this is an emergency?

A banging sounds at the door at the top of the stairs, startling me, until I realize it’s probably just Mom.

“Candy, open up!” she yells. “We need to talk about this!”

There’s nothing to talk about, so I don’t even bother responding. I’ll just let them think I’m asleep or in the shower. They’ll go away eventually, I’m sure.

“Come on, sweetheart. This isn’t our fault,” she continues. “And we’re here for you. Let us be your shoulder to cry on.”

Ha! As if.

I grab the remote and click on the TV. Maybe if I turn it up loudly enough she’ll get the hint and leave me alone. I flip through the channels trying to find something interesting to watch and land on The Food Network.
Cupcake Wars
is on. I’ve never actually watched the show, but I find it amusing I share the same first name with the head judge.

I watch intently for a few minutes, blaring the volume to drown out my mom’s pleas to open the door so she can comfort me. The two main judges are really laying into this poor baker who looks like she’s about to cry. I would be too. Apparently she’s sunk her entire life savings into starting a bakery and now these two “experts” are basically telling her she’s a horrible baker. Of course, the third guy, who seems to be a guest judge, is giving a non-committal, “It wasn’t bad.”

The show sucks me in and eventually my mom goes away. I’m feeling much better until a knock sounds at the downstairs door. All the blinds are tightly shut, so I have no idea who it is, but I can only guess it’s Mom trying another tactic.

“Go away!” I yell, my frustration causing me to shriek a little.

“Candy, it’s me.” Joe’s dejected tone makes my heart constrict.

I close my eyes and mentally coach myself to breathe calmly, in…and out…in…

“Candy, we need to talk.”

My jaw clenches, but I’m still breathing in…and out…

“I know you’re in there.”

Damn it!

“Leave me alone!”

I want to cry. I want to open the door and fling myself into his arms. But I’m so angry and conflicted. I need time.

“Fine,” he says, the hint of a pouty little boy in his tone. “If you won’t let me in, I’ll just have to talk to you through the door.”

He waits for me to say something, but I’m not inclined to speak right now. I’m even contemplating going into the bathroom to take a shower, but part of me is the tiniest bit curious what he’s going to say.

“I was an idiot.”

Good start.

“I should have told you what I knew, but…I didn’t want to ruin things. Everything was going so well.”

That’s what
I
thought too!

“For some stupid reason, I thought we might be able to slip under the radar. That the elders might not realize we were seeing each other. In retrospect, we probably should have been a little less obvious, what with our first date being out in public and all.”

Aha! So it
was
a date! My stomach flips victoriously, despite the fact I’m still furious with him.

“That’s why I thought we should lay low for date number two, but then your parents walked in, and…” There’s silence as he’s obviously contemplating what to say next. “I was just as shocked as you were tonight.”

I look toward the door in disbelief.

“Okay, maybe not
as
shocked. But honestly, I thought it was going to be about the whole Colin thing. I knew what we were doing was wrong, but I didn’t know Dad knew about it already. He’s got a really good poker face.

“At any rate, I feel terrible, and I…I just wanted you to know that.”

Silence again. I’m tempted to say something. Really, really tempted. But my stubborn streak has settled in, and I’m more interested in making everyone around me suffer. So I say nothing.

Eventually, he speaks again. “Well, I guess maybe you’re sleeping, or something. But I hope you heard me, and I hope you know how sorry I am. About everything.”

I swallow over the lump forming in my throat. I want so badly to open that door, literally and figuratively. But the risk we might
have relations
is too high. And as much as I despise all this magic business and would gladly give up my own powers—which would probably solve a lot of our problems—I couldn’t ask him to do the same. Since we don’t know the repercussions of the spell, or curse, or whatever it is, it’s best we just leave the door firmly shut.

At long last, he mutters, “Goodnight, Candy,” and then I hear his footsteps crunching along the gravel path back up to the driveway.

Part of me wants to sit here and cry all night. It’s tempting. But it won’t make things better. It won’t make the problem go away. I’ll still have to see him every single day, or at the very least, his shop, staring at me from across the street. I’ll wonder, every moment, what could have been. And I’ll never be able to move on.

I’ll still be in love with him.

I throw my head back and groan. How did this happen? When did I fall in love with him? When did I let him in?

My stomach dips and my heart races. God, this is the worst feeling in the world. This is why I never, ever wanted to fall in love. Maybe I would have been better off staying the course—focusing on work and all the lovely material things I’d amassed.

Even as I think it, I know it’s not true, but still…I wouldn’t have known this horrible, sick feeling that’s plaguing me now.

I shift my gaze upward as I hear my parents’ footsteps above me. Mom is back. There’s no reason for me to be here anymore. She can run the bakery again. Holly will be here to help, along with Colin. It won’t be nearly the amount of work she had when it was just her and Dad. They’ll all be fine. Nobody needs me anymore, and I certainly don’t need the mess that is this town and this life.

My resolve set, I hop off the couch, dry my eyes and reach for my suitcases tucked into the back of the basement storage closet. I roll them out and start dumping my clothes into them. I could get out of here much faster if I only took the ones that currently fit, but part of me is hopeful that once I’m away from all the stress and cupcakes, I’ll drop back to my usual size. The size that fits easily into the gorgeous Marc Jacobs skirt I just threw haphazardly into the suitcase.

A half hour later, there’s not a trace of Candy Cooper left in the basement. Except, of course, for Candy Cooper herself.

I look around at the little space that’s been mine for the last couple months. Why am I getting choked up? It’s my parents’ basement for God’s sake. Sure, it’s been cozy and comfortable. A haven from the outside world. A place where I’ve vegged out eating cupcakes and watching TV.

I shake my head. Such stupid things to be nostalgic for. If I’m going to be nostalgic, it should be for that amazing night I spent at the Mandarin Oriental in the Time Warner building with my friends from work. Or that epic private party Luce and I got into at Soho House in London. Not some old pull-out couch and sitcom reruns.

It’s just past ten o’clock now, so Mom and Dad are surely in bed. I sneak out the basement door and tiptoe as quietly as I can up to the driveway. I look back at the house. The lights are all out, as I expected they’d be. Once I’ve loaded my luggage silently into the trunk, I gingerly push it closed, making sure not to slam it. Then I do the same with the driver’s side door once I’m in. After a deep breath and one last look at the house, I start the car and pull out of the driveway. I’ll call in the morning to let everyone know I’m all right, but I refuse to stop until I reach NYC.

To be honest, I don’t miss the city that much. Not nearly as much as I anticipated I would. But anything has to be better than Connecticut right now. Even if it is breaking my heart to drive away from it.

I’ve hit the highway but I slow down and move to the right hand lane as my eyes fill with tears. Damn it. I hate crying. And I’ve done way too much of it lately. I never cried in New York, as long as you don’t count the day I was ripped from my apartment.

I take a deep breath and dry my tears, reassuring myself that I’ve made the right decision as I press my foot more firmly into the gas pedal.

~*~

I’m startled awake by a loud pounding in my head, only to realize, once I’ve come to, the pounding is actually
on
my head. Through the window of my car, which I’ve been sleeping against for who knows how long.

I look up to see a homeless man gesticulating wildly at me. It takes me a minute to figure out what he’s trying to say, but when I see the tiny meter maid car in my review mirror, I realize he’s trying to prevent me from getting a ticket. Crap. I’ve gotta move.

I wave my thanks to my homeless friend and start the car. I’m almost out of gas, so I decide, since I have nowhere else to go, that I’ll head for one of the overpriced gas stations along the West Side Highway. There’s one not too far, right near the entrance of the Holland Tunnel. Which is also right near my old spin studio.

I look down at my stomach rolls, wishing I could afford a class. Unfortunately, the bakery biz doesn’t pay that well, so I don’t have any money for frivolous expenses. I’ve got enough to get an apartment maybe in Riverdale or—
shudder—
Brooklyn. But either way, I’ll have to get a job quick. At least my skill set has expanded. I could go for high-powered executive
or
frosting smearer.

While I’m waiting for the car to fill up, I decide to text Luce to see how she’s doing.

Hey! How are you?

She texts back as I pass the twenty-dollar mark.
OMG! I miss you!

I miss you too. Life sucks.

No! Why?

Magic sucks. Fell in love, but can’t be with him. Some vague, stupid rules. Left CT. Back in NYC.