But you didn’t actually see anything, a voice whispers in the back of my mind.
You saw Eli and a drunk girl. That’s all. Everything else is pure conjecture.
God, sometimes I hate it when I’m right.
I stop looking at Montgomery’s office and go home.* * *I stare upon the monstrosity, uncomprehending.
It’s so tall I can’t even see the top, tiers and tiers of cake reaching heavenward, festooned with endless swirls and whirls. Flowers drip from every layer, each one more dramatic than the last.
“How much of it is cake?” I finally ask, gobsmacked.
Janice, Bramblebush’s pastry chef, leans in, squinting. We’re standing right outside the wedding barn, where the dinner has finished and now everyone is dancing. This small, green courtyard is lit only by dozens of string of fairy lights looped overhead and around a row of potted trees in a complicated, swirling pattern. It’s romantic, but also hard to see.
Janice points at a layer, still squinting.
“I’m pretty sure that from here down,” she says, “is the stand, and everything on top of that is cake. I think.”
I continue to stare. My job is mostly logistics, but every so often, I’m presented with some very interesting problems that require creative solutions.
Right now seems to be one of those times. Frankly, I wasn’t expecting it — after the butterfly release and the choreographed bridesmaids’ dance went off without a hitch, I thought I was in the clear.
I was not. I was unaware that there existed a wedding cake too tall to fit through a barn door, but you learn something new every day, I guess.
“If we split it in two and only leave on the top layer of the base, can we put it back together inside?” I ask, looking from the cake to the door and back. “People might see us, but…”
I shrug, the universal shrug of I think this is our only option.
“As long as we’re careful, I think so,” Janice says, still moving around the cake. Here and there she takes the stand in her hands and wobbles it very, very carefully, checking its structural integrity. “The only other option is to serve the cake out here, and…”
She gestures around the small outdoor barn entrance area, clearly indicating four hundred people won’t fit out here.
“We’ll use the cake dolly,” she goes on. “Brandon and Zane can handle it, don’t worry.”
I just nod, still looking up at the biggest, most elaborate wedding cake I’ve ever seen. Apparently it’s the groom’s grandmother’s gift to the couple, and she really went all-out.
Naturally, I got the cake dimensions from the bakery last week. I always get the dimensions from the bakery, but she ordered from a bakery I’ve never worked with before, one all the way up in Richmond.
When they sent the dimensions, they sent it for the cake only. They failed to mention that it was attached to an elaborate custom cake stand as well.
By itself, the cake would fit through a ten-foot-high barn door.
With the stand included, it does not.
It’s really a hell of a cake.
“It’ll be no problem,” Janice reassures me, since I must look worried. “You won’t even be able to tell that —”
“HEY! STOP IT!” a kid shouts, right behind the row of potted trees. Janice and I both turn, but we can’t see anything through the perfectly cylindrical evergreens.
“NO, YOU STOP!”
“FARTKNOCKER!”
There’s a quick scuffling noise, and we both frown.
‘“I’M TELLING MOM!”
“Liam, you’re such a baby —”
“Take it BACK!”
There’s a shout, then a grunt.
“Ow!” the other kid yells. “You little —”
A tree shakes slightly.
“TAKE IT BACK!”
There’s another loud oof. A grunt.
Then the tree falls.
It seems like it falls in slow motion, the top wiggling before picking up speed and rushing earthward, revealing the surprised faces of two boys who can’t be more than nine.
I lunge for it. Janice lunges for it, but there’s no way to match the speed of disaster.
The tree falls on the cake, the branches and needles sinking into lush white buttercream, slicing through the beautifully-wrought flowers, gouging through frosting, pushing the tiers askew, cleaving them in twain.
Then it comes to rest. On the cake. The nine-year-olds are long gone.
I can’t do anything but stand there, mouth wide open, staring in horror. This feels like some sort of anxiety dream, and I swear to God I’m expecting my teeth to start spontaneously falling out any moment now.
They don’t. If they did, I’d be relieved.
“Oh God,” Janice finally says, her voice strangled. “Oh God. Oh my God.”
Then the cake starts slipping, the tiers sliding sideways under the weight of the tree. I finally jolt out of my horrified reverie and lurch forward, panic singing through my veins.
“Get the tree!” I shout to Janice, running to the side of the cake just as a layer starts sliding off the one beneath it.
I put my hands out. I don’t have a plan. I’m not at all sure that this will work, I just know it’s my only option right now and this cake cannot hit the ground.