“Both human nature and pastry are frail.”
—Little Women
When the last bus had departed in a cloud of dust, I decided it was safe to venture downstairs. A flicker of movement caught my eye as I passed the dining room. My mother stood at one end of the table, hands braced on the back of a chair. She was scowling at a white bakery box with the lid thrown open.
I took a tentative step toward her. “Mom?”
“They ate the flowers.” Her gaze was fixed on a grocery-store sheet cake. It was the kind with piped white frosting and fancy rosettes—or, in this case, smudged patches where bare yellow cake peeked through smears of blue.
Slowly it dawned on me that I was looking at a crime scene. “Meg and her friends did this?”
“The little shits.”
My eyes widened.
“Pretend I didn’t say that. But honestly, how hard is it to cut yourself a piece with actual utensils?”
“You think they used their hands?” My gag reflex woke up and reported for duty.
She picked up a frosting-covered plastic fork from where it had been dropped on the tablecloth. “The cake knife is right there.” Her shoulders sagged. “Though I grant you, touching it with their grubby hands would have been worse.”
“Who busts into a cake before the party, anyway?” Outraged as I was, it felt like we might be focusing on the wrong thing. Crimes Against Dessert was more of a sideshow than the main event.
Mom rubbed her forehead. “The party. What should we tell Andrea?”
“Um, we could say it was rats?”
“I’m serious, Jo.”
So was I, though on reflection I could see how a rodent infestation might not be the image she wanted to convey to a national-magazine audience. “Because Jo has that pet rat,” I mumbled. “In the attic.”
Her eyes squeezed shut. “Not now.”
Wow. Things were really bad if my mother was turning her nose up at a Little Women reference.
“There’s no point throwing a graduation party when your sister may not even get her diploma.” Mom scraped a blob of frosting off the tablecloth with her finger, then wiped it on the unused spatula.
“I thought it was a thank-you-and-goodbye party?”
“That too.”
Definitely the multitaskingest party ever planned. “What did you mean about Meg?”
“I left a message with the principal’s office. I’ll have to go in tomorrow to discuss our options. Academic and legal.”
“Legal how?” It was hard to imagine Andrea suing for her stolen wine.
“I may be liable for contributing to the delinquency of minors. Since they were on our property, I’m technically responsible for providing them with alcohol.” Mom rubbed her chest like she had heartburn.
“But you didn’t give it to them. It wasn’t even yours!”
“I don’t know, Jo. It’s a mess.”
I wished we were still talking about the cake.
“Uh, Mom?”
“Yes, Jo?” Her sigh said This better be good.
“I sort of told Hudson. About Meg.”
Her eyes closed briefly. “I suppose it was too much to hope they wouldn’t find out. Not really the note I wanted to end on.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s not your fault.”
I couldn’t tell whether she meant You can’t help being the way you are or This one’s on Meg.
“Andrea will understand.” It sounded like Mom was trying to convince herself. “She knows what it’s like to be the parent of a teenager. I’m sure Hudson’s had his share of youthful indiscretions.”
Were we already on the Meg Redemption Tour? It wasn’t so bad! All teenagers do unspeakable things to other people’s cake!
“You know the worst part?” Mom asked.
I shook my head, trying to put myself inside her head. Was the worst-case scenario a lawsuit? Losing the house? Shutting down the show?
“Things were going so well. That was a wonderful performance today.” She smiled at me with real warmth. “You were so uninhibited and free.”
In other words: Congrats on sucking less than usual! I couldn’t even roll my eyes, because she might be going to jail. “What are we going to do?”
“I don’t know.” Mom dragged the bakery box across the place mat, reaching for the spatula with her other hand. “Right now, I’m going to eat cake.”