Page 45 of Breathless With Her

The project had been beautiful, white fondant with hand-strung lace all around it. I had spilled edible, blue flowers all over it. Meaning, I had painstakingly handcrafted each petal, the blue the perfect shade to match the groom’s eyes.

I had stared at that groom’s face in a photo for days, making sure that I got it right. Because that was the same dye lot number of the bridesmaids’ dresses. The blue of almost everything. Because the bride loved her soon-to-be husband so much, she wanted him everywhere. He hadn’t made any decisions about the wedding, it had all been the bride. And she had pulled her groom into everything.

And now the cake looked like the corpse bride.

The lace had bled into itself, the blue bleeding, as well. It looked as if blue streaks were pulsating down the lace, like the blue veins of a zombie corpse bride. This wasn’t the wedding of the moment, this was the wedding from hell.

“Oh my God!” Zoey screamed from the back door. I tried to shout her name, attempted to tell her where I was.

But as I opened my mouth, nothing came out.

Nothing was working.

My hands were numb, my brain wasn’t firing, but I could do this. I could do this on my own. I could fix this. I could remake this cake. I could call the insurance adjusters. I could clean this up. I could do it all.

So why wasn’t I breathing?

Why was this happening at all?

Oh, God. Everything from my life had been put into this. My life savings, my retirement. This was my business. This was the one thing I had left after the divorce. Now, it was gone. Just like the death of that cake in front of me.

“Oh my God. The cake. It looks like a corpse. You know, like that Tim Burton movie?The Corpse Bride.”

I turned on my heel, ignoring the splash of water as I did.

“Why was that the first thing I thought, too?” I asked, putting my hands over my eyes.

“I can’t think. I need to turn off the water. But it’s not water, is it? It’s not a pipe. It’s rain.”

I lowered my hands. I looked at Zoey.

She shook her head, and tears fell from her eyes.

“No. It’s not. Okay. I know the rain was bad. We can fix this. I know a clean-up crew. You call the insurance people, and then we’ll worry about everything else. Call in your staff. I’ll get Amelia in here. We’ll figure it out.”

I wasn’t crying. I wasn’t really doing anything. I was just standing there. And I couldn’t just stand there. I needed to make decisions. I needed to take this into my own hands and figure it out because I had to do this alone. I could do this. I was strong. I was capable. I could do anything I set my mind to.

And I could not serve up a corpse bride cake.

“Why can’t I get Tim Burton out of my head?” I asked. Knowing I was becoming a little hysterical. Okay, maybe a lot hysterical.

“Because it looks just like her dress. But that’s fine. You’re going to call the bride and let her know what happened.”

“Oh my God. She’s going to die.”

“No. The cake is. But that’s fine. You can do another one.

“The wedding is tomorrow.”

Zoey just kept nodding. Her eyes wild.

“Oh. I know. But you can bake at home.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can. Stop it. Snap out of it.”

“You sounded exactly like Cher the way you said that. You know, from that ‘80s movie?” Because she had. I snorted, and then I laughed. And then tears fell, and I hated myself for it.

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