I manage to get the other tray out of the oven without burning myself—this time—and set it on the mat to cool, then grab the icing bowl and give it a swirl with the spatula.
This is actually a part I really enjoy: icing cakes. Decorating them. Fixing them.
Wait a sec… Is that what I’m trying to do with Jarett? Fix him?
I freeze, the spatula held up in the air. Good God. Am I that predictable? That simple to figure out, and an idiot to boot? Making the same mistake girls the world over have made since the dawn of time?
No, I’m not going to freak out now. Well, not worse than I have.
Gather more clues, Octavia told me earlier, or something like that. More information before you make up your mind.
If only it were that easy. Find information about Jarett, where?
“Have you heard from Octavia?” Mom asks, breaking through my thoughts. “I’m so worried about her.”
“Why? I just saw her. She seems fine.”
“Oh, how is she doing?” She wipes her hands on her apron. “She’s not telling me anything anymore. She likes to keep me in the dark.”
I blink. “Mom. That’s so melodramatic.”
If you knew my mom, you’d know she’s a perfectly easy-going person. She’s never pushy, never oppressing, never annoying. But it looks like the idea of a grandkid has changed her in unpredictable ways. What’s this new possessive vibe coming off her?
“She never tells me how she is. Never calls me. I’ll never even know if the baby comes.”
“Mom. The baby is still in. In case you were wondering. And Octavia is fine, and will let us know if little Bean decides to come. Okay?”
“Okay, but—”
“No buts. You’ll be the first to know. You can’t doubt that, right?” I give her a quick hug. “Seriously.”
“I know.” She gives me a watery smile. “It’s just… I want to be there for her. My mom wasn’t there for me, and I missed her so badly. I needed her. And I’m right here, offering to cook and clean and help, and your sister won’t let me.”
“You cooked, like, ten dishes last week and took them over to her. They still haven’t finished them.”
“It’s not the same. I want to be by her side.”
“Mom, she knows that. And you are. That doesn’t mean you need to be attached at the hip. When the baby comes, she’ll call you. I’m guessing that she and Matt want some time alone now, before Bean arrives, that’s all.”
“You’re right.” Her smile brightens, and she wipes at her eyes jerkily. “Of course you’re right. You’re wise, my little Augusta.”
“Uh, no, Mom. I’m not.” I check out the cooling cakes, set in a row on the table. “I just know how much Octavia loves you.” I look up and wink at her. “We all do. Even Mr. Nelson.”
Her face colors, and she pats her cheeks. “Hush.”
Paul Nelson is a neighbor, and he and Mom have been dating for most of the past year. They’re like schoolchildren, kissing behind doors and going out for romantic dinners, apparently. I haven’t seen much of that, but Merc swears it’s true. Merc knows everything that goes on in this city.
Mom is endearingly shy when talking about this Paul Nelson, and I wonder if they’ve gone beyond kissing and hand-holding yet. She has yet to introduce us to him, so when I pass outside his house sometimes and he’s in the garden, it’s kind of awkward. I want to go—hey, isn’t my mom the shit? Aren’t you totally in love with her? Isn’t she the best?
But I don’t.
I’m discreet and awesome that way, and I will let them do this in their own sweet time.
Smoothing the spatula over the cake, I check that the icing is perfect, before moving to the next cake.
“This one,” Mom says, pointing at the cake as I slather icing on top of it, “is for Becky, bless her kind soul. She always liked my cakes. Her husband, too, though he passed on way too early.”
“Sounds like a sad story,” I mutter, slapping icing on the sides of the cake and spreading it. “What’s her favorite cake?”