Baking and Babies

Page 2

 
As everyone finishes up what they are doing and Marco reminds us what time we all need to be here in the morning to start our final, I am determined to do absolutely nothing for the rest of my night but think about Monday and my dreams finally coming true. In just a few more days, I will be a classically-trained French Pastry Chef with a bachelor’s degree in Baking and Pastry Arts. I will be able to bring some classiness to Seduction and Snacks and maybe get a life. I really, really need to get a life.
 
 
The scream from the bathroom across the hall is deafening and so loud that I can hear it through my earbuds as I blast Mozart’s Piano Concerto No. 21 while flipping through The Baking Bible. Charlotte stopped by to do a load of laundry since hers and Gavin’s washing machine is on the fritz, and I’m assuming she found a red sock mixed in with her whites. Oh, the horror.
 
Turning the volume up, I go back to writing down a few notes to add to my final paper, leaving my sister to the domestic bliss of washing her soon-to-be husband’s tighty whities.
 
Gavin and Charlotte have been up each other’s asses ever since they got engaged and started planning their wedding. I’m pretty sure she only asked me to be a bridesmaid out of family obligation. We’re not really that close and it’s probably my fault. I haven’t had time for anyone ever since I started taking college courses my sophomore year of high school and then went right into culinary school after graduation. On top of that, I like to keep to myself. My family is crazy, loud, and so inappropriate that most of the things they say and do border on being illegal. I’ve wondered many times if I was adopted, but I’m just too chicken shit to ask anyone. I’ve never felt like I belong in this family.
 
Sure, I have a sense of humor, but it’s more sarcastic and dry instead of in-your-face like everyone else. Charlotte and Ava have much more in common with each other than with me. They care about love and guys and fashion…all that shit you read about in women’s magazines. But me? I just care about baking. Cookies, cakes and pastries never let you down. People think it’s all about recipes, but it’s so much more. It’s the science and chemistry of using exact measurements and the right temperatures, and when you follow the rules everything comes out perfectly. I like knowing exactly how something will turn out. I know if I do what I’m supposed to, it will be exactly how I want it. Even if you plan it all out and follow everything to a T, life will fuck you right up the ass. Without lube.
 
Just as the genius idea pops in my head for making an apple-chutney-stuffed soufflé to add to my presentation tomorrow, another scream breaks through my concentration. With a huff, I yank my earbuds out and quietly make my way across the hall to the bathroom, gently turning the handle and slowly peeking my head inside. Sure, I probably could’ve stomped across the hall and angrily flung the door open so that it banged against the opposite wall, but that’s not my style. Remember, queen of stealth. It’s much more productive to sneak up on someone. There isn’t all that wasted time of asking things like, “Are you okay?” or “What’s wrong?” Standing silently behind them for a few seconds usually gives you all of the information you need. Like right now, for instance. Charlotte is standing in front of the sink staring in horror at a pregnancy test in her hand.
 
“Look at you, with a bun in the oven,” I tell her, pushing the door open wider and leaning my shoulder against the doorframe.
 
She jumps and turns to face me, then lets out another God-awful scream. I wince and shake my head at her. “I think the screaming part comes at the end when you’re trying to push that thing out of you.”
 
Charlotte starts shaking her head back and forth and begins muttering to herself. “This can’t be happening. I’m getting married in four weeks. Oh, my God, what am I going to do?”
 
“Well, clearly we’re going to have to take you into town for a back alley abortion since only trollops and floozies get in the family way before marriage,” I deadpan as I step further into the bathroom.
 
She opens her mouth to scream again and I quickly smack my hand over her lips. “It’s not 1912. Who cares if you’re pregnant? Your fiancé was the product of a one-night stand at a frat party. Do you really think anyone in this family is going to judge you?”
 
Charlotte grabs onto my wrist and pulls my hand down. “I don’t care about that shit! It’s Gavin! He doesn’t want kids. We’ve talked about this and we both decided it wasn’t something we wanted. He’s not going to want to marry me now. I’m going to be pregnant and alone and no one will ever want me! I smell bread. Were you baking bread? Does my stomach look fat to you?”
 
The speed with which she changes subjects makes my head spin, and all I can do is stare at her as she pulls up her shirt and touches her perfectly flat stomach.
 
“Yes, you look like a heifer and you’ll never fit your fat ass into that wedding dress. You should just call it off.”
 
She nods her head in agreement. “I have to call it off. This whole wedding is a sham now.”
 
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, stop being so dramatic. How about you just act like an adult and tell Gavin. Clearly it was an accident, and I do believe it was his dick that did this to you,” I remind her.
 
“I’m going to wind up on MTV’s Real Life: I’m a Crack Whore in Love With a Brony,” she mutters to herself.
 
“Um, what?”
 
She looks up at me and pulls her shirt back down. “Well, you know, I’ll be alone and I’ll be so depressed without Gavin that I’ll turn to crack to take the pain away. At that point I’m sure Tyler will start looking pretty good to me so I’ll most likely steal him away from Ava and then she’ll kill me. I’ll wind up a crack whore dead in an alley. It’s what I deserve!”
 
This, right here, is why Charlotte and I have never been close. She’s certifiably insane.
 
“HON! ARE YOU UPSTAIRS?”
 
Gavin’s shout from downstairs immediately throws Charlotte into more of a panic than she’s already in. Her eyes grow so wide I’m surprised they don’t pop right out of her head. I hear stomping up the stairs and I know it’s only seconds before Gavin walks in here and sees Charlotte holding the positive pregnancy test in her hands.
 
“Oh, my God, oh, my God, oh, my God!” Charlotte whispers frantically. “I’m not ready! I can’t do this! OH, MY GOD!”
 
Gavin is at the top of the stairs now and the thump of his shoes echo on the hardwood floors.
 
“Char? You in the bathroom?” he calls.
 
Her eyes immediately fill with tears, and I sort of feel bad for her until she thrusts the pregnancy stick towards me.
 
“Take it!” she insists in a hushed voice.
 
I throw my hands up in the air and take a step back. “Eeeew, you peed on that!”
 
“TAKE IT!” she snarls through clenched teeth as she presses the purple and white stick up against my stomach.
 
“Get your pee stick away from me!” I whisper back in horror.
 
Her bottom lip starts to quiver and her eyes fill with tears as she looks over my shoulder.
 
“Hey! What are you guys doing in here?” Gavin asks from behind me.
 
Without giving it a second thought, I grab the test from her and quickly twist around to face him, hiding the thing behind my back and trying not to think about the fact that my sister’s pee is most likely touching my hand.
 
“Oh, you know. Just girl stuff,” I reply with a nonchalant shrug.
 
Gavin looks back and forth between us and then cranes his neck to try and look around me. “What’s behind your back?”
 
“Nothing. It’s nothing,” Charlotte tells him in the guiltiest voice imaginable.
 
I silently curse her and her inability to lie in a believable fashion. Every time she lies, her voice goes up at least twenty octaves until she sounds like a mouse being stepped on by someone wearing stilettos.
 
Gavin laughs. “Nice try. Seriously, what’s going on?”
 
He keeps trying to get a look behind my back and I keep turning my body in the opposite direction. Too late, I realize we’re standing in front of a fucking mirror. Gavin looks up into it and his jaw drops open.