Chapter One
Alfajores
1 1/2 cups (200g) all-purpose flour
2 1/8 cups (300g) cornstarch
2 teaspoons baking powder
1/2 teaspoon baking soda
1 and 3/4 sticks (200g) unsalted butter, at room temperature
3/4 cup (150g) granulated sugar or 1 1/4 cups (150g) powdered sugar
3 large egg yolks
2 teaspoons vanilla extract
350 g (12 oz.) dulce de leche, for filling
1/2 cup unsweetened shredded or desiccated coconut, for rolling
MATILDA
Who knew a chocolate chip cookie could turn into a coal briquette? I pull the blanket tighter around my shoulders as smoke continues to billow out of the open windows and front door. Heat fills my cheeks as the fire truck pulls up, lights flashing, and the siren blaring. I wish I could sink down into the two feet of snow I’m standing in beside my nosy neighbor, Gladys. Gladys called the fire department as I waved the smoke outside, even when I insisted it wasn’t necessary. Of course it was then the cookies ignited, ending my protests.
The hulking heroes scramble down from the shiny, red emergency vehicle, and I point lamely inside. “Oven.”
Doors open, and others drift out onto their porch. I close my eyes and place a hand over my eyes. This was not supposed to be the New Year’s Eve entertainment. Thank God Clem is spending this holiday with her father. It was her big, brown eyes that landed me into this mess in the first place. I can still hear her sweet, “Mommy, this year, can we please sign up for the annual bake sale?”
How could I say no when it was our first Christmas on our own?
I made it a game, telling her I would practice while she was gone, so we could choose our favorite recipes together. I’d succeed in making us homeless before that happened. Did the oven malfunction? I’ve never heard of this happening to anyone else. Of course, when it comes to baking, I’m able to defy reality. In our tiny town, the news will be out by Monday on how that poor, divorced girl nearly burned down her house her first year living alone.
“What happened, dear? Did the loneliness get to you?” Gladys asks.
Her boldness loosens my tongue. “Excuse me?”
“It was such a shame, really. That nice husband of yours leaving and showing up too soon after, if you don’t mind me saying, with that little, blonde girl half his age.”
Grinding my teeth, I remember it’ll get back to my mother if I make this woman cry here in front of the rest of the neighborhood and the fire department.
I’ve been dragged through the proverbial mud in the gossip circles. I’m not shocked about what’s said, just that Gladys is telling me to my face. She’s got a set of steel lady balls. High school sweethearts who were Prom King and Queen senior year, Jackson and I were under heavy scrutiny. People had been waiting for us to fail since the ninth grade. When we both made it through college, sans a baby, got married, and started our respective careers in sales and the computer science world, the vultures stopped circling overhead. Especially when Clementine was born six years ago.
If I were the lying sort, I’d say the divorce blindsided me. I’m not. I like facts, codes, and equations. Once you learn the rules, the result is always the same. It’s why I excel in the computer science field. Parting ways brought intense relief. Jackson and I ran out of things to talk about years ago. Our interests no longer aligned, and over sixty percent of the reasons we stayed together had to do with our daughter.
That’s the danger of marrying young. You might grow up and discover the adult version of you doesn’t want the same things. Untangling our lives was a long, painful nightmare. He had a starring role in every poignant memory I made for the past fourteen years. On my own, I got a chance to explore my personal likes, choose a home, decorate, and have no one but myself to answer to. It’s been a profound journey to self-love and independence.
I lost myself over the years playing the perfect wife and mother to Jackson and his image. Taking over his father’s car dealership, he forced us to remain in the limelight with ads, videos, and a social media presence. His scheming and impossible standards allowed no room to breathe or look anything less than perfect at any given moment. I will never go down that road again. Life under the radar in comfortable clothes, indulging my interests stretched out before me like the prize at the end of a long-distance race. There’s a powerful freedom in being able to let it all hang out.
Neon green and yellow reflective tape flash in the flashing red lights, standing out against his black uniform as the firefighter comes toward me with his helmet tucked under his arm. He looks no worse for wear, and they never pulled out the hose, so maybe my kitchen hadn’t burned down. Thank God for home owner’s insurance and the fact that I live less than a minute from the station. His crew exits behind him.
“Ma’am?”
“Lawson. Mrs. Lawson.” I step away from Gladys.
The dark-haired man nods. “Okay. Mrs. Lawson, we’ve put out the small fire. I don’t believe there was any serious damage, but you’ll have to call out a repairman to inspect the oven before using it. You’re lucky it wasn’t a gas stove.”
I nod my head as I picture my house going up with a boom as a blazing fireball engulfs it.
“Is my kitchen salvageable?” I swallow around the lump forming in my throat.
“Oh, yes, ma’am. The smell of smoke will linger, and you’ll have to scrub everything down and maybe put on a few coats of fresh paint.”
“Can you tell me what happened? Did my oven malfunction?” I’m eager to pass the buck on this situation. I swear you can hear a pin drop as he clears his throat and looks away. Shit. It was a user error.
“It looks like the broiler was on.”
My jaw drops. “Are you kidding me?” My shrill voice rings out.
“No, ma’am. That’s the only thing we could find wrong.” His sympathetic expression rubs salt in my bleeding wounds of shame.
Tires crunch over snow, and an engine rumbles behind me. I turn to spot a well-known logo on a white vine as the Channel Nine News Crew pulls up.
If this is a sign of what the next year will be like, I am utterly screwed. The crew parks a few feet away from the firetruck. A perky, enhanced breasts reporter with flawless make-up, who happens to be a shoo-in for the next Mrs. Lawson, steps out of the passenger seat onto towering heels. I don’t wish anyone ill will usually, but I wouldn’t mind seeing her slip on an ice patch. Her plum-colored wool coat contrasts with her stick-straight, glossy, blonde hair. She smiles, and the viciousness in her dark blue eyes makes my stomach churn.
Brittany Powers seems to think I still want Jackson. It’s made every interaction we have unnecessarily complicated and tense. As far as I’m concerned, she’s welcome to him. As my mother likes to say, you’ll lose him the same way you got him if you date a man already invested in another relationship. Brittany will spend their entire relationship looking over her shoulders and second-guessing his late nights and trips out of town for work. That’s a worse fate than anything I could do to her. Her thin lips curve up into a predatory grin, and she sashays her way toward me, a harpy on a mission.
“Ms. Lawson. We got the news that a fire started here. We’re so relieved to see you’re okay, and the fine members of our fire department have taken care of everything. Can you tell us what happened, Firefighter Jones?”
The man behind me cl
ears his throat. “It turns out it was a bit of a false alarm.”
I could kiss him.
“Oh?” Brittany arches her perfectly sculpted eyebrow.
Becoming acutely aware of my gray and white polka-dot joggers and old, faded college pullover, I pull my green plaid blanket closer and clear my throat.
“That’s right. Sorry to get you good folks out here at this time of night for no reason,” I say in a sickeningly sweet voice. Kill them with kindness.
“Well, we do follow the stories available in the town. How about a brief comment to reassure all these worried folks out here?” Brittany gestures toward the families crowding the porches, putting me on the spot.
Evil bitch.
“Of course.” I force a smile. The bright lights beam into my face, blinding me in the darkness as they’re set up. I have flashbacks to my time with Jackson. My palms sweat, and my heart rate accelerates. Chest tightening, I grip the blanket in my hand to remain grounded in the present.