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“Caitlin, I’m sorry to bother you, but it’s a last-minute request.” Deanna, my assistant, sounded anguished on the phone. “I know you’re on holiday, but this would be good for business. It’s the head of Parrish Insurance, and he’s throwing a surprise party for his wife’s birthday.”
My ears pricked up at the name. “What does he want?”
“A themed birthday cake and a cupcake mountain. For tomorrow evening. He said he’d pay fifty percent extra, to make up for the urgency. What should I tell him?”
“Themed, like how?”
“Tropical island. He heard about your Margarita cupcakes.”
Deanna was right; Parrish Insurance would be a great client for my fledgling specialist-cake company. It was worth breaking off my supposed holiday for a couple of days, to land this piece of business, and then I’d come back up here. I was only an hour’s drive out of the city, and it was tempting.
“If we did Mai Tai cupcakes instead of Margarita,” I said, thinking aloud, we could follow through with a rum-punch theme to the cake. Each layer, a different flavor.”
“Should I say yes to him?”
It was a no-brainer, but I still hesitated. Going home, to my temptation-filled larder and fridge, would be tough. If I went this afternoon, I could get the cake layers made, and then do the icing and assembly tomorrow.
“Caitlin?” Deanna asked.
“Yes. I’ll take the order.”
We spoke a few minutes longer, with Deanna noting the options to present to Nick Parrish, and me confirming I’d be there in a few hours. I could do this without wrecking my diet.
On cue, my stomach rumbled. I was hungry from the morning’s exercise. I’d have a banana and a few spoonfuls of oatmeal, and that would keep me going until dinner. At this rate, I’d be skinny before I knew it. Or at least, a couple of dress sizes smaller.
I peeked outside, but the guy was gone, his drink untouched on the table. I never thought to ask his name, but regardless, he was someone else for me to avoid. The list grew longer by the day. Bruce. Pammy. Bruce’s mother. The girl who walked her enormous dogs on the beach. And now Mr. Gorgeous.
I collected his cup, threw away the tea, and headed for the shower.
****
As I drove into the city, the roads were quiet, and my mind wandered. I always knew the thing with Bruce had an expiry date. It had to. We met when I was the thinnest I’d ever been. Twelve months of dieting had paid off, and I was thrilled with the way my bridesmaid dress looked. It was a cliché, for me—chief bridesmaid at my friend’s wedding—to fall in love with the Best Man, but I reveled in it. Within three months, we moved in together, and that was when it fell apart. He accepted a promotion that took him travelling around the country, and as fast as he scaled the management ladder, I slipped down the other way.
I had to stop thinking of him. While I waited at a set of traffic lights, I grabbed the opportunity to select a noisy playlist on my phone, and with the jangling riffs of Villainy rocking around my car, I managed the rest of the journey without thinking about Bruce—a.k.a. The-Shit-That-Ruined-My-Life.
The rain returned as I struggled to find a parking space near my office. Wonderful. The closest I could get was still ten minutes’ walk in a rain-laden and freezing gale. I loved Wellington, but on a winter day, the weather could be brutal. I arrived at the entrance to the office block looking like I’d been dragged through a wet hedge, and the first person I saw was Elaine, Bruce’s mother. She leased office space in the same building, but I rarely ran into her. It figured that I’d see her today.
“Caitlin.” She pursed her lips. “Bruce tells me he invited you to the wedding. I trust you won’t make a scene.”
Part of me longed to stick out my tongue or stomp my foot, but I managed a polite smile. “I wouldn’t dream of it.” I was a terrible liar, but Elaine didn’t call me on it. She returned to her real-estate clients, and I slunk away to my kitchen. I’d bet the scene I daydreamed about was nothing like Elaine imagined.
In my overactive imagination, I found a way to see Bruce before the ceremony. The diet had worked, and I was slim and elegant—glamorous, even. He remembered falling in love with me—proposing to me—and asked me to elope with him, leaving Pammy in the dust.
I couldn’t decide which option I preferred best at that point. Saying yes and taking back the man I was still in love with, or telling him to stick his offer up his ass.
I needed to hold onto those thoughts for the rest of the afternoon. Every time I thought longingly about eating something, I had to think of Bruce. And Pammy.
Deanna’s chatter was soothing. She didn’t know me before I set up Caitlin’s Cakes, and that suited me. I was fed up with friends and family looking at me with pity, and I could do without hers as well. Together we measured and mixed, and experimented with flavors.
There was only one way to test if I had the right balance of sweet and sharp and alcoholic. I had to taste the cakes. The first sugary things I’d eaten in days. We’d put together each potential layer as a batch of cupcakes, and I split one of each into quarters. Six fragrant pieces of cake awaited me.
I counted calories inside my head. If I only took a bite of each, it wouldn’t throw the diet too far out of line. I could compensate tonight and have a green salad for dinner, no dressing.
Damn, but I hated being on a diet.
The first cake was delicious. The balance of lime and brown sugar was perfect. One more bite wouldn’t hurt.
“Judging by the ecstatic look on your face, that one gets a tick, yes?” Notebook in hand, Deanna hovered next to the counter, awaiting my judgements.
“Yes.” It was an effort, but I left it and sampled the next. The pineapple was too muted, and overwhelmed by coconut. I explained my thoughts to Deanna and moved on.
Overall, four of the cakes were good, so we set about scaling up the ingredients, to make the actual layers. The remnants of the half-eaten cupcakes taunted me, and I averted my gaze. Deanna picked at them and made her own tasting notes, but her palate wasn’t as developed as mine. Either that, or I was a control freak about my work.
The smell of baking cake drifted around the kitchen, and my stomach growled. I was so hungry. Deanna was busy mixing a batch of icing for the cupcakes, and that left me alone with the remnants of our tasting batches.
Think of Bruce’s wedding. Think of the dress you plan to wear. I visualized myself slim and beautiful—the woman I wanted to be. My stomach grumbled some more. I had to eat something. Turning my back on temptation, I strode to the fridge and yanked the door open. Nothing low calorie, low fat, or low sugar. Nothing diet-friendly. A herbal tea would keep me going. Or a huge quad-shot latte, or a cappuccino with cinnamon dusted over the foam. I’d be drooling in a moment.
I had to get out of here. I grabbed my jacket and purse, told Deanna I’d be back soon, and dashed outside.