The Matchbaker (A Romantic Comedy) (3 page)

3) Go barefoot (yuck)

4) Go in open-toed shoes that show my scabbing sores

5) Quit my job

I pick up my barely-charged phone to call Celia when my gaze lands on the bottle of wine I’d opened last night. I hardly drank any of it before I fell asleep. It would be a shame to waste it. And maybe a sip (or five) would help with the pain.

I toss off my shoe and rush to the bottle. A few swigs and three ibuprofen should do the trick.

~*~

Okay, I may have over done it just a little. But honestly, I feel
great!
I can’t even feel the blisters on my feet anymore. I mean, wow! I thought the wine would help, but this is fantastic. It took a few minutes for it to kick in, so the walk to the limo was a bit rough, but now that I’ve arrived, I can hardly feel the pain anymore. Or is just that I don’t care? Either way, I feel ebullient.

The chauffeur holds the limo door open for me. I smile up at him and he smiles back.

“Thank you so much,” I say as I stumble out of the car with a giggle. I’m not exactly sure why it’s funny, but I can’t help myself. “Um, can you pick me up in about an hour? No, make it two! No, wait…an hour and a half.”

The driver gives me a nod and shuts the door. I turn around and stare up at the massive building before me. It’s really tall. Like, the Michael Jordan of buildings. This thought tickles me and I giggle again. God, I’m drunk. Okay, I really have to get a hold of myself. I smooth my skirt down and run my fingers over my pulled-back hair. I’m ready.

It’s nine-twenty by the time I make it to the boardroom and everyone is standing, clearly getting ready to leave. Crap.

“Hello!” I say, and fifteen or so pairs of eyes turn to look at me. “Sorry I’m late, but, um…traffic was
awful
.”

“I am Pierre.” A tall, good-looking man approaches me with his hand outstretched. “You must be Candace.”

“That’s me!” I can tell I’m way too cheerful for this group of French business people but I can’t stop myself. It’s the wine. “Shall we get started?”

And now it’s time to panic because not only am I twenty minutes late to the meeting, but I’m about to show them a presentation with outdated numbers. Drunk. I start to pray for the fire alarm to go off or for someone to puke on the table. Preferably not me.
Anything
to get me out of this.

Everyone has taken their seats again. They’re staring at me, waiting for me to do something or say something. My heart is racing and my head is swimming. Deep breaths. I can do this. I can. I just have to focus.

I open my laptop and go to the Power Point presentation while Pierre connects me to the projector. And then I begin. Despite the fact I’m far too drunk to be delivering a presentation upon which my entire career rests, I’m doing a pretty good job.

Pierre casts a glance across the table to some woman with a pixie haircut. I take a brief moment while I scroll through the slides to contemplate whether or not I could pull off that style. Probably not. I really need hair to frame my face.

Pixie Girl leans over and whispers to the older gentleman beside her. They all look very serious, and I’m sure they’re saying what a wonderful job I’m doing.

A half hour later, I open the floor for questions and field them like a pro. The wine is starting to wear off, thankfully, so I’m able to think a bit quicker, though the pain in my feet is increasing by the second.

“Anymore questions?” I ask once it seems things have died down. No one else says anything. They just shrug or shake their heads. “Wonderful. Thank you all for your time.”

Pierre stands up with a smile on his face and reaches out to shake my hand again. “Very impressive presentation,” he says, and I nearly collapse. I can’t believe I actually pulled it off, even drunk and without the revised numbers. “I’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you,” I say. He leaves and I pack up my things, feeling giddy. Up next, meeting with Celia, then I can spend the rest of the day helping Lucy get through the Steve thing. Tomorrow I fly to Berlin for another presentation, but for today, I’ll finally have time to relax.

Once I’m back at the hotel, I knock on Lucy’s door. There’s no answer, so I assume she’s working in the lounge. It’s almost one, anyway, so I drop off my stuff in my room and head to Le Bar downstairs. Celia’s already there, waiting for me, tapping her shiny red nails on the marble table.

“Well, well, well,” she says as I approach. Her petite Chanel-clad body is ensconced in a deep, red-velvet chair. A snifter of scotch is before her, no doubt something that’s been aging for three thousand years and costs just as much.

I order an extra dirty vodka martini and take the chair opposite Celia.

“I heard from Pierre a few minutes ago.” She’s wearing her tight-lipped version of a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. It never does. “Well done, Candace.”

“Thanks,” I say. “Have they already made a decision?”

“You did it. They’re signing the papers as we speak.”

I’m tempted to jump up and shout “Hooray!” But I refrain, and instead say, “That’s great news,” in my most business-y of voices, as the waiter places my martini in front of me. “So, what about my promotion?”

She pauses and I’m certain it’s for dramatic affect. I take a gulp of my drink. Oh, God, please let it be good news.

“I’m sending you back to the states this afternoon,” she says at last.

My mouth drops open. “What? Why? I’m going to Berlin tomorrow. I’ll barely have time to brush my teeth before I have to be on a plane again—”

“You’re not going to Berlin.” Celia is looking at me like I’m crazy, and honestly, I kind of
feel
crazy right now.

“What are you saying, Celia?” Oh, God. Am I being fired? Did she find out I didn’t use the new numbers and she’s firing me on a technicality, even though I sealed the deal? This is so unfair! I’m about to tell her so, but she speaks first.

“I’m saying…
congratulations
.” She says the word slowly, as if talking to a room full of Kindergartners. “You got the promotion. But Bill is leaving ASAP, so you’re flying back today to prepare to take over his position. I hope you’re ready for this.”

I’m floored. I can’t speak. It’s my dream come true. Adrenaline is rushing through me as I hear the words I’ve waited so long to hear. “I am,” I finally manage. “I promise, I was born for this job.”

Now all I want to do is go find Lucy. I know she’ll be thrilled for me.

“Great.” Celia drinks the last sip of her scotch and then reaches into her purse. “Here’s your ticket home. You better get packed. The limo is picking you up at three.”

Three?
It’s one-thirty already. Crap. I need to find Lucy.

“Um, sure,” I say absently. “You haven’t seen Lucy, have you?”

“She’s gone.”

“Gone?”

“On her way to Berlin.” Celia is already walking away. “I had to replace you with someone, and Lucy seemed like the obvious choice. See you in New York.”

~*~

Okay, this is fine. Everything’s fine. The only reason Lucy isn’t answering her phone is because she’s on a plane, in the air, obviously without service. I’m sure she’ll call me when she lands.

Of course, by then, I’ll be on my way to the U.S., so who knows when I’ll talk to Lucy again? I feel like such a bad friend, but what was I supposed to do?

The worst part is realizing the new numbers supposedly didn’t matter at all for the presentation and that I could have spent the evening with Lucy.

Okay, actually, that’s not the worst part. The worst part is that I’m sure Lucy has no idea what she’s getting into in Berlin. How could Celia send her there? She’s not like us. Lucy is sweet and innocent, and she’s such a basket case right now.

The ringing of my cell phone interrupts my thoughts. I toss another pair of shoes into my suitcase and lunge for the phone, hoping it’s Lucy. No such luck.

“Hey, Mom. Sorry I didn’t call you back, but I’m kind of crazy over here.”

“Yes, I’m sure you are, honey. But we need to talk.”

I grab a handful of panties out of the top drawer and plop them into the suitcase. I’m usually a very organized packer, but there just isn’t any time to be meticulous right now. “Listen, I’m headed back to New York in a couple hours. Can I call you when I get in?”

“No, Candace!” She sounds pissed, which annoys me. Doesn’t she understand how busy I am? “You can’t keep putting me off. This is time sensitive.”

I roll my eyes. This is so my mom. She did this to me last year. Call after call, insisting it was urgent. Turned out to be about a Christmas present for Dad—a limited edition rendering of the old Yankee stadium. They were only going to make 150 of them, so if I didn’t get it
right then
I’d miss out on the perfect gift for him. Turned out they made about a million of them and the claim of 150 was just a fear-of-loss tactic. Mom’s a sucker for stuff like that, which is why she’s not allowed to watch infomercials anymore. She could seriously start her own “As Seen On TV” store.

“All right, fine. I’m putting you on speaker while I pack then.” I set the phone down, hit speaker and then start running around like a chicken with my head cut off. “Okay, go!”

“Well, honey, we’re looking to make some changes at the bakery.”

I have no idea how this could possibly involve me.

“You know, it would actually be easier to explain in person. Do you think you could plan a trip up this weekend?”

Is she serious? “Mom, I don’t know. Look, I just got promoted, and I have a lot of work to do.”

“Promoted?”

“Yes, finally. I’ve been waiting for this for two years.” I hear her whispering to someone in the background. “Is Dad there?”

“What? Oh, yes, hang on, honey.”

Sure, no problem. I have all day.

“Candy,” she says, coming back to the phone. “Listen, it’s
really
important that you come here this weekend. We’ll pay your train fare, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

I want to laugh. My mom clearly still thinks of me as a poor college student. If only she could see where I’m staying right now…or my bank account. She’d surely have a heart attack.

“No, Mom, that’s not necessary. I just…” I’m beginning to think it might be easier to go and get whatever this is out of the way. She’ll just bug me until I do. “Yeah, all right. I’ll hop on the train Saturday morning.”

“Great! We’ll see you then. Safe travels, sweetheart!”

Three

The next two days were pretty much a blur trying to get acquainted with my new position and, more importantly, my new office. It’s a corner office.
A corner office!
Floor to ceiling windows, with a view of the Hudson River. I swear I’ve pinched myself a thousand times.
I have arrived
.

Now it’s Saturday morning, and my train is just pulling in to the closest stop to my parents’ home in Connecticut. They live in Sagehaven, which is where I grew up. They’ve lived in the same house for thirty-five years, and it has the same shag carpet, the same ugly drapes, and the same tacky lamps it had when they moved in. Of course, my room has been turned into an office and my sister, Holly’s, into a craft room. I’m pretty sure my parents never use either one.

My phone rings and I look down to see that it’s my sister. Speak of the devil.

“Hey, Hol!” I say. “What’s up?”

“Is that your train pulling in?”

“Uh, yeah. Where are you?”

“I’m waiting for you outside the station,” she says, as if I should have known she’d be there. Never mind she lives in Boston and visits just as often as I do. The last time we were both home was eight months ago for Christmas.

“Okay, I’ll be there in a minute.”

The train comes to a stop. I grab my small Louis Vuitton suitcase from the top rack and join the crowd of people leaving the train. The New Haven station is even grimier than Madame Antoinette’s, so I do my best to keep my hands to myself as I descend the stairs, walk the long corridor and hop on the escalator to the exit. My sister is standing next to her Mercedes, which is parked in the handicapped space. Someone with an actual handicapped sticker is honking at her and there’s a traffic cop headed her way, but she’s completely oblivious.

“Candy!” She’s yelling and waving her hands in the air.

I rush to the passenger side and throw my bag in the backseat before climbing into the front. “Are you crazy,” I say to her, as she climbs into the driver seat. “You were about to get a ticket.”

“Oh, it’s fine.” She waves me off. “I’m so glad you’re finally here, though.”

“How long have you been at Mom and Dad’s?”

“Just since last night,” she says as she whips around the corner and accelerates in front of oncoming traffic. “But they’re acting crazy.”

“Tell me about it. Mom wouldn’t leave me alone until I agreed to come up for the weekend. She called me about a gazillion times while I was in Paris.”

“It could have been worse. She forgot I was on the west coast. I kept getting calls from her at four in the morning.”

“Any idea what’s going on?”

Holly swerves around a slow-moving car and hits the gas. “Nope. But we’ll find out soon.”

My life flashes before my eyes several times before we make it to my parents’ house, and I make a mental note never to let my sister drive again. Mom and Dad meet us in the driveway, all hugs and kisses and excitement.

Once the greetings are out of the way and Dad has deposited our bags in the house, Mom procures two long pieces of cloth that look frighteningly like blindfolds. She hands one to Dad and instructs Holly and me to turn around.

That familiar pit is forming in my gut again. Have they finally lost it? Am I going to have to put them into assisted living already? Sure, I make a lot of money, but those places cost an arm and a leg.

“Is this entirely necessary?” I take my mom’s hand, now that the blindfold is in place, and let her lead me to the car.

“Absolutely, honey,” Mom says as she guides me into the car and then slams the door. “This is how it’s done.” She’s yelling through the closed window. “You girls are in for a big treat.”

Holly is next to me now. She leans over and whispers, “Told you they were acting weird.”

“I’m afraid,” I say, and we both burst into giggles. It makes me realize how much I miss my sister. But we both have demanding careers, in different cities.

Our destination is only about a ten-minute drive. That could put us any number of places. Maybe the downtown district with its quaint shops, including our bakery. Or the giant strip mall with the discount superstore, movie theater and chain restaurants. At this point, it’s anybody’s guess.

“Well, honey,” mom says as she helps me out of the car. “I’ve waited twenty-nine years for this day to come, and here it is.” Is she getting choked up? She works the knot at the back of my head and then counts to three. The blindfold drops. “Ta-da!”

Before me stands our bakery, the business that’s been a part of our family for three generations. Its pink-and-white striped awning looms over us, and scents of sugared batter waft to where I stand next to my sister on the sidewalk. I look at her. She’s just as flabbergasted as I am.

There are no words.

“That’s my name,” I say lamely, pointing to the awning that now reads “Candy’s Confections,” rather than “Dottie’s Delights.”

“That’s right, sweet pea,” Dad pipes up, and I turn to look at him. The salty part of his salt and pepper hair glints in the sunlight, and he’s smiling just as brightly. “It’s yours now.”

So many questions race through my mind, but not one of them finds their way out of my mouth. Mine? How is that possible? I have no idea how to run a bakery. Plus, I have a career. A
successful
career. Are they crazy?

Holly, on the other hand, doesn’t have any trouble talking. “Do you mean to tell me you’ve brought me all the way here and blindfolded me to show
Candy
her new store?”

As the word mine repeats over and over in my head, sweat pools under my arms. It’s not even that warm out; I’m just starting to panic.

“Not only hers, Holly,” Mom says. “We can explain everything inside.”

“I don’t understand,” I say, finally finding my voice. “It’s mine?”

“Now, don’t worry, sweetheart.” Dad puts his arm around my shoulder. “We’ll be here another month or so to help you get acclimated.”

Am I losing my mind? What are they talking about? “What do you mean, another month? Where are you going?”

“Maybe we should go inside,” Mom suggests. “Have a cupcake and some milk.”

I follow my parents to the office, past the customers and the display case of pastel-colored cupcakes. There are a couple high school-aged girls behind the counter. Mom and Dad love to employ young people. They call it “Cultivating tomorrow’s leaders.”

I plop down in one of the white spindly chairs next to Holly and we wait while Mom and Dad retrieve the snacks. It’s just like my mother to insist on refreshments for the we’re-abandoning-you-and-leaving-you-to-run-the-family-business speech.

“Here we are,” she says, her smile strained, as she bustles into the office ahead of Dad. His hands are full, bearing four mismatched mugs of milk. Mom has an antique dinner plate, complete with doily and three different cupcakes. The first one is the Sweet Dreams cupcake, I think. Pale lilac cake, creamy, white frosting and lavender bits as garnish. Mom used to give us mini versions of that one in the evenings, before bed. There’s a yellow one and I assume it’s some kind of lemon flavor. And I definitely recognize the third. It’s my favorite. Mom calls it Hakuna Matata. It’s a piña colada in cupcake form and has the ability to instantly transport you from Sagehaven, CT to an exotic beach. I know I’ve sworn off carbs, but it would be rude not to eat it, right? I take a bite and can almost feel the sun beating down on my face and the sand beneath my feet. Heaven.

I close my eyes to savor it. The flavors explode on my tongue—pineapple and coconut and sugar. Lots and lots of sugar. I open my eyes to see my parents staring at me.

“Feeling better, darling?” Mom asks with a hopeful smile.

“Um, yeah. But, what’s this all about?”

A covert look passes between Mom and Dad.

“Well, girls,” Mom begins, “there’s a tradition in this family—one that neither of you knows about. In the twenty-ninth year of the oldest daughter of this family,
the change
begins.”

Oh. My. God. No. She can’t be serious. “Do you mean . . .
menopause
?” I can feel my throat closing up, and I swear the temperature in the room just spiked by a hundred degrees. Oh, God, it’s already starting. That’s why I was sweating outside. I put a hand to my forehead to wipe the sweat as the implication of menopause at twenty-nine sets in. I’ll never have children! Never mind that I never really wanted them in the first place, but I would at least like to have the choice. And what if I grow hair on my chin? How can I go to work with hair on my chin? The bright sunlight in my new office will make it look even worse.

“Of course it’s not menopause, Candy!” Mom wails, sounding exasperated.

I look up. The tan skin of her face is wrinkled into a frown of sorts. Clearly, she thinks I’m losing it. She might be right.

“Get a hold of yourself, Candy,” Holly says, then turns to Mom and Dad. “You guys better explain before she has a stroke.”

“Goodness, she’s taking this worse than I did,” Mom says to Dad, almost under her breath, but not quite. It makes me feel like I’m a ghost in a movie where everyone is talking about me, but they can’t see or hear me. I want to flap my arms and yell, “I’m here, I’m here!”

“Well, what are you talking about?” I ask. I reach for my cupcake and think better of it. My new Alice + Olivia dress will look awful if I’m even a half a pound heavier than I am now.

“I can’t tell you everything, Candy,” Mom says. “Only that
the change
will happen, and it will happen very soon. You’ll know when it does. But it starts with us turning the bakery over to you.” She apparently sees I’m starting to panic again, so she shoves the cupcake toward me. “Have another bite, dear.”

In my panic, I do. I don’t know how or why, but somehow it makes me feel better. I take a tiny swig of the milk to wash it down and look back at my parents. “You said you’d be around to help for a month or so,” I say, trying desperately to make sense of this complete nonsense. “And then what?”

“And then I’m taking your mother away.”

“Away?” My head is spinning. I turn to Holly, who looks just as confused as I feel.

Mom smiles at Dad all googly-eyed and takes his hand. Dad pulls a brochure out of his back pocket with his free hand and slides it across the distressed wood table to us. The front of it has the words
Cruise Around the World
printed over a stock photo of an older couple on the deck of a ship, both staring contentedly out at sea. I briefly wonder how many times they had to take a break so they could vomit over the edge of the railing.

“You’re going on a cruise?” Neither one of them has ever shown any interest in cruising before. They don’t even like going to the lake for the Fourth of July. Why in the world would they want to cruise around the world?

“Not just any cruise, Candy,” Dad says, the excitement in his voice somewhat startling. Dad isn’t usually the excitable type. “Look, look.” He opens the brochure and points to things like midnight shuffleboard and whale watching. Two things I know I can’t
wait
to do. “It’s the trip we’ve always dreamed of.”

Well, that’s news to me. “So, you’re leaving us. All alone. With no way to contact you for—” I look down at the brochure, and my eyes bug out of my head. “Six months!”

“Cupcake, dear,” Mom urges, and I impulsively shove the rest of it into my mouth. “You’ll be just fine, Candy. I was, and so was your grandmother. We’ve all survived
the change
, and so will you.”

“Mom, what is
the change
?” I ask through a mouthful of Hakuna Matata.

“Hold on!” Holly interrupts before Mom can answer me. “Can someone
please
explain what the hell I’m doing here?” Her face is bright red and she looks like she’s about to start throwing cupcakes across the room. “Because if I gave up a weekend with Todd so I could be here when you told Candy about her inheritance, I’m going to be furious.”

I know it’s not the time to ask, but I can’t help myself. “Todd? What happened to that other guy? The one who was taking you to Cabo?”

She rolls her eyes. “Don’t get me started on Alan,” she says. “I met Todd in Chicago a few weeks ago. I was going to fly out there this weekend, but
someone
insisted I needed to be here.” She casts a mutinous glance at Mom and Dad.

“Holly, it’s for you both,” Dad puts in. “We’re leaving the bakery to both of you. But Candy is the one who has to do the baking.”

“What?” Okay, I’m panicking again. “I don’t know the first thing about baking.”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re the firstborn.
The change
can only happen to you. And it will…soon.” What is wrong with my mother? I’ve always thought she was a little eccentric, but this really takes the cake. No pun intended.

However, for me, reality is hitting hard all of a sudden. I extract myself from my parent’s dream world of cupcakes and cruises. “You’re both forgetting one thing,” I say. “Holly and I have established careers. We can’t just up and leave our jobs because you two want to go gallivanting around the globe. I mean, I just got the promotion I’ve been waiting for. It’s taken two years!”