Annalise exhaled loudly while smoothing out her I Was Born to Love Luke Bryan T-shirt. She was a huge fan of the country singer. She had proudly been to twenty-four of his concerts to date. When Annalise composed herself, she reached out a delicate hand riddled with faded bruises from IV lines. I held back my grimace. It wasn’t the doctors’ fault that what they were taught in medical school was often barbaric and simply wrong—not everyone was lucky enough to be cursed like me.
Annalise took my latex-covered hand. “I’m in remission. They can’t find any trace of the cancer in my colon. It’s a miracle,” she cried. “And for some reason, I feel like I need to thank you.”
I cleared my throat and squeezed her hand. “I didn’t do anything.”
She smiled so big her dimples sucked in half her face. “Well, maybe you didn’t cure me, but ever since you gave me that energizing tea to drink every day, I’ve felt like a million bucks and some change. I can even eat without throwing it all back up.”
“I’m so glad.” I released her hand. “How about a cupcake, on the house, to celebrate?”
Her green eyes zeroed in on the chocolate-strawberry cupcakes on the rolling cart near me. “I’ve been dying,” she giggled, “almost literally, to eat your goodies again.”
I swallowed hard, thinking about when she told me about her diagnosis a few months ago. My mother taught me to be careful not to intervene in “mortals’ lives.” To never draw attention to myself. Yet my father taught me to follow my heart. I couldn’t let Annalise die. And I was tired of living a life set by a bunch of rules that I wasn’t even sure really existed. “How about I box up half a dozen for you to take home?”
“Ronnie would love that. I think if you’d agree to it, he’d leave me and marry you, just for your cupcakes alone.”
I laughed off her silly insinuations while I prepared a box filled with an assortment of our line of berry cupcakes that were popular in the spring and summer. The strawberry, raspberry, and blackberry cupcakes with swirls of varying shades of pink and purple frosting topped with real berries looked so pretty in the box. I hated to cover them with the lid, though I had to say I loved my Love Bites logo. The O and the B were pink hearts, and next to the black letters they really stood out.
I handed Annalise the box. “Enjoy, and make sure you keep drinking that tea. Let me know when you run out and I’ll prepare another batch for you.” Her body, though healed, would need the extra “nutrients” while it recovered from all the chemicals her well-intentioned doctors fed her for weeks.
She eagerly took the box. “You’re a doll. Thank you, darlin’. Thank you for everything.”
While watching her walk out the door to the jangle of the bells, a sense of peace and purpose encompassed me. Maybe being cursed wasn’t all that bad. I looked around the bakery at all the customers who filled the pink chairs and booths—I was obsessed with pink—and thought it wasn’t a bad life. I made people happy.
Someone who could always make me happy popped in carrying a ridiculous number of balloons, including a giant three and zero, telling everyone how old I was. She had the smirkiest of smirks on her gorgeous oval-shaped face. I was seriously jealous of her high cheekbones.
Josie began singing “Happy Birthday” in her sultry alto voice, which almost made me feel like I should be slowly removing my clothes. I’d always teased her that she’d missed her calling in life. Instead of a wedding singer, she should have been working in a strip club. She worked the song like she was Marilyn Monroe. It was fitting since she looked like her, too, with curly blonde hair, curves for days, and red, pouty lips.
Several of my customers joined in, embarrassing me, which I was sure was Josie’s plan. She knew I wasn’t overly fond of my birthday, though she didn’t know the half of why.
While the crowd serenaded me, I pretended to be overcome with joy, even putting my hands to my mouth, all while giving Josie an evil eye. She flashed me a mischievous smile as she neared and finished singing, making sure to prolong the last “you.”
While everyone clapped and shouted their birthday wishes, I took off my latex gloves, tossed them in the wastebasket, and asked Leann, one of my employees, to man the counter. I walked around the display case and met my best friend and occasional partner in crime. We did a lot of weddings together—I supplied the cake and she the entertainment.
Josie met me and wrapped me in her arms, engulfing us both in a sea of Mylar and latex balloons, all in varying shades of pink and red. She knew me so well. Or at least she thought she did. If only I could tell her all my secrets. A cursed life was a lonely life, no matter how many friends you had.