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My apron is covered in flour. Ever since we got back from our trip, I’d been in the kitchen baking. We got in around six in the morning and I’d sent my Dad straight to the store with a list of ingredients I needed.
I wanted to do a trial run on the Strawberry Poke cake because it’d been awhile since I’d made it. My friends are coming over at four o’clock to taste test so I’ve got about four hours until they get here. I wipe at my forehead with the back of my hand trying to push back a loose strand of hair that’s wiggled its way out my bun.
The kitchen is a mess. Instead of just making one cake, I’d decided to do a few extra things. I wanted to do something nice for Clement and his family. Zach told me that Clement liked my Mama’s Strawberry Rhubarb pie and luckily Dad was able to find rhubarb.
On the bus ride back, while everyone was asleep, I researched more information about Mama’s accident. Trevor had been right about the drunk driver having kids. She had a little girl and a baby. I wanted to meet them so I made the decision to bake something for them too. Their mother was to blame for the accident, but they had done nothing wrong.
Dad thinks I’m taking on too much but I really want to do something nice for people and this is the only way I know how. I continue rolling dough, chopping rhubarb, slicing strawberries, and building the perfect lattice crust to go on top. I'm also making a Pineapple Upside Down’ cake so I've got the pineapple slices soaking in a brown sugar syrup. The strawberry cake just needs to be poked and topped with Jell-O.
I take each pineapple and place them one by one in the bottom of a buttered glass 9x14 dish. Next, I pour the butter cake mix into it, scraping the sides and bottom of the bowl to make sure everything goes in.
There’s a knock at the door. I know it's JJ. He wanted to see how I do the Poke cake. Wiping my hands on my apron, I quickly open the door and then run back into the kitchen.
The oven beeps letting me know that it’s preheated and ready for the pie. Carefully, I place the pie inside and close the oven door.
“How’s it going?” JJ asks.
I remove Mama’s red, damask oven mitts. “Good so far.”
JJ scans the kitchen with his eyes wide in disbelief. I know it’s a mess in here.
“What can I do to help?” he asks.
I take a spoon handle and start poking holes in the Poke cake. “Come see this,” I tell him. JJ stands behind me and watches as I poke holes. The tea kettle on the stove starts to whistle. He reaches over and turns it off for me.
“Thanks.”
“Are you making tea?” he asks.
“No, it’s the hot water for the Jell-O. By the way, can you look in that grocery bag and get it out for me?”
He moves away from me and rustles through the grocery bags for a moment.
“Do you see it?” I ask.
“No. Could it be somewhere else?”
I search through the bags myself. Where is it? I check the receipt. It’s not listed. “Oh shoot!” All of this and Dad hadn’t bought the last ingredient on my list.
JJ offers to leave and go to the store for me but, now that he’s here, I don’t want him to go anywhere.
I toss the spoon into the sink, but I fall short on my throw and it lands in the yellow cake batter. It sinks down to the bottom like quick sand.
“Well, at least it was a good throw,” JJ shrugs. I appreciate his optimism.
My dad walks into the kitchen and scratches his head at the disaster I’ve created. “What all are you making again?”
This doesn’t seem like it’s going so well. Mama never made this big of a mess. “A pie, two cakes and some cookies. Dad, you forgot the Jell-O. I can’t make the poke cake without it.”
“Can you do a strawberry syrup instead?” JJ suggests. “You have extra strawberries.”
Hmmm. That’s not a bad idea. I find a small pot and start tossing strawberries in it along with sugar and a little bit of water. I can definitely make a strawberry syrup. My dad tells me that he has a meeting to go to but he’ll be back in an hour.
“You and JJ...” Dad says cautiously. “You two will be fine ‘til I get back, right?”
I glance over my shoulder and frown. “Yes, of course. We’re not babies.”
My dad shakes his head. “That’s not what I mean. Y'all have become awfully chummy these days. When I get back the two of you better be vertical and not horizontal.”
“Dad!” I know what he’s trying to say and it’s embarrassing. “JJ and I are just friends. You know that.”
“Mmmmm hmmmm. Vertical though. Y'all better be vertical friends.”
JJ’s face turns almost the same shade as his hair. “Mr. Daniels, sir, if it bothers you for me to be here while you’re gone, I can leave. And come back when you’re here again.”
My dad holds up his hand and shakes his head. “No, it’s not a problem. I trust you...just remember what I’ve said.”
“Yes sir,” JJ says respectfully.
Once my dad leaves, JJ facepalms. “Wow,” he says.
“I know right.” My dad just made it even more awkward between us. However, since he brought it up, maybe we should address it. Or at least I should address how I feel. I open my mouth to say something but nothing intelligible comes out.
“We...um...you...,” I begin but I don’t know how to finish.
JJ sniffs the air. “Is something burning?”
Oh no! The strawberry syrup is already burning. I stir—or more like scrape—the pot. This makes me upset. This is the third thing I’ve ruined.
“It’s okay,” JJ says getting up. “I can just go get the ingredient that you need.”
I hear a sizzling sound coming from the oven and smoke lifts up through one of the stove eyes, setting the smoke alarm off.
JJ opens windows while I check the oven. The rhubarb filling is spilling over and burning. The crust is starting to brown way too early as well. I take it out of the oven and set it on top of the stove. JJ fans a pot holder over the smoke alarm in an effort to suppress the sound.
I want to cry but now is not the time. A sad baker makes the food sad, but my tears don’t seem to care. They fall without even asking my permission.
I turn away from JJ because I don’t want him to see me this way. This will be the second breakdown I’ve had in front of him within 24 hours. It’s like a dam has broken. All the water that I’d kept in for so long is running free.
I take the bottom of my apron and dab at my face but it doesn’t help. More tears fall. When the smoke alarm finally shuts up, I can hear JJ moving things behind me, washing his hands and tearing off a paper towel.
This is such a stupid thing to get upset over. I was overly ambitious; it was way too much. JJ tugs on the bottom of my apron, indicating that he wants me to come to him. I put my hands over my face and shake my head no.
“Clove,” he whispers. “Please come here. Let me hold you.”
I keep wiping at my eyes, trying to console myself but it’s not working. JJ pulls me to him and I bury my head into his chest. My arms shake, my chest heaves, and my nose runs. It’s an ugly cry.
“Let it out,” JJ tells me. He leans against the sink, holds me tight and rubs my back. He releases one arm and I hear the sound of another paper towel tearing.
“Here,” he says.
I take it to wipe my face and blow my nose. “I need another one.” My voice is muffled by the paper towel.
JJ hands me a whole bunch.
“Not that much.” I start to laugh a little.
“Just want to make sure you’re good.” He puts both his arms back around me. I lay my head against his chest and close my eyes.
“Tell me how I can help you. What should I do?” he asks.
Just this really. This is all I need. I don’t want him to move or go anywhere. “Don’t move.” I say. He abruptly stops rubbing my back and keeps completely still.
“No silly, keep doing that. Keep rubbing my back.”
He chuckles a little and resumes rubbing my back. “Can you please hold me tighter?” I ask. I know that I am being somewhat demanding but I need all of this. He does as I say and holds me tighter.
“Your hair smells like coconuts,” he says.
“Is that good or bad? Do you like coconuts?”
“I love them.”
I close my eyes and hug him tight. A few stray tears that didn’t get the message that we’re done expressing sorrow, trickle down my face. JJ takes his hand, and lifts my chin up to his. He wipes away a tear with his thumb, dragging it down my cheek. Then he tenderly traces the shape of my vitiligo patch with his finger.
His eyes search mine and they do that thing they do, make me feel like I’m floating on water.
Something my dad said comes to my mind. I know it’s weird that I think of my dad in this moment, but he said that him and Mama were best friends that fell in love and then he lost her. I can’t fall in love with JJ. I just can’t. We have to be friends. Just friends.
His hand still lingers against my cheek and I cover his hand with mine. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“For what?” he asks.
“For being here. For always being here. For always being my...friend.” The last word that escapes me tastes like metal in my mouth. It doesn’t belong.
He gradually drops his hand. “Anytime,” he says.
I feel like a child who’s just let a single scoop of ice cream fall onto the ground. I can’t say, “Just kidding, I’m in love with you. I need you to love me forever and never let me go.” In one month, JJ will have this amazing opportunity to be a Youth Leader at two different camps. He’ll be gone the entire summer. I’d also made plans to stay with Aunt Didi for most of my summer. After that, we’re moving to Las Vegas. JJ and I hadn’t even talked about this. I’ve avoided discussing it.
“I’m moving to Las Vegas,” I announce.
“I know. I figured you would be. That’s good, right? You’ve always wanted to get out of Smalltown.”
It’s good and it’s bad. If it means I can’t see him everyday, it’s bad.
I move to the side to wash my hands and JJ moves out of my way, but doesn’t go too far. He rests his hands behind him on the counter. I can feel his eyes on me as I busy myself, tearing foil to cover only the edges of the pie. “So I think maybe if I put foil around the edges of the pie it’ll keep it from burning, and the cake was a practice run, so I can just throw it out or-”
“Clove, can I ask you something?”
I draw my breath in and make light of what he just said. “Was that it? Was that the question?” I try to smile.
“No. Can you stop for a second? And that wasn’t the question either. Please just look at me.”
I stop and turn around to face him again, but I fiddle with the apron strings behind my back and I wiggle my toes on the floor. I do everything but look at him.
The longer he delays, the more anxious I get. What if he tells me he loves me? Do I say it back? If this were any other time, my answer would be yes. But now I’m scared to love him, scared to lose him, and scared of what all that really means.
He takes a deep breath. “The poetry you read to me when we were in the grass Sunday, that was about God right?”
I swallow hard. “Um, yes. It was.”
He nods. “I thought so. It was very good. Did I tell you that already?”
I can’t remember if he did or not. There were so many things happening with my emotions that day.
“No, but thank you.”
Two awkward beats of silence pass by before JJ clears his throat. “So, I’m singing at church for Easter Sunday. Do you think that you could come?”
I blink repeatedly. That wasn’t what I was expecting for him to say at all but I smile just as big.
“JJ, that’s wonderful!” Then I squint my eyes at him. “Can you even sing?” I ask jokingly.
He partially smiles but shrugs his shoulders.
Easter is in less than six days. I hadn’t even bought a dress or gone shopping like Mama and I used to do. We used to take a day trip down to Memphis or drive to Nashville for a girls shopping day. We’d pick a new dress and shoes, then go out for lunch and sometimes get our nails done. I haven’t had a mani pedi in a long time. Thinking about Easter makes me just a little sad.
“JJ, I don’t know. I just ugly cried in front of you. You want me to ugly cry in front of the whole church?”
He runs his fingers through his hair. “ I know. The timing is bad for you. That’s the date I’ve been assigned for this. I’ve been practicing for some time now and...it’s just that...it makes me nervous thinking about getting up there with all those people watching me.”
My eyes soften. Easter Sunday is when almost everyone comes to church. For some, it’ll be their first time, for others, they may be in town visiting or coming back to church for the first time in a long time. It’s the most crowded service of the year.
JJ’s knuckles are turning red from gripping the edge of the counter so hard and his eyes plead with me. I know he needs me for support. As much as he’s been here for me, I can’t say no.
“Ok,” I say softly. “I’ll be there.”
His shoulders fall down a little as he relaxes at my response. “Thank you. I have just one more request: can you sit in the front row?”
“Now you’re just being ridiculous,” I grin.
He grins too.