Page 125 of Someone Like You

‘Doesn’t sound super fun,’ I commiserate.

‘Sorry for the whinge,’ she says, finally taking the phone away from her mouth.

‘It’s okay. That’s what second-best friends are for,’ I quip.

Raff looks up, a quizzical look on his face, and I scrunch my nose at him. It’s a slip-up because if he asks about it, I’ll have to make something up.

Freya sighs. ‘Anyway, I should go.’

‘Yeah, it’s late there.’ I check the clock, realising that Freya’s awake in the middle of the night. ‘We miss you, Frey.’

‘We miss you!’ Raff calls out, and suddenly Freya looks like she’s about to cry.

‘Love you both!’ She gives me a wan smile and ends the call.

I’m putting my phone away, ready to do another round of clean-up, when Raff’s phone chimes with an incoming message. He looks over at it and breaks into a smile. ‘Oh, lovely. It’s Julia.’

He wipes his hands on a dish towel, then collects his phone and leaves the kitchen. Issy meets my eyes again, and this time it’shertelegraphing sympathy tome.

Right after 7.30p.m., Dad comes into the kitchen.

‘Looks like you’re making amazing progress,’ he says, looking around.

And we are. All the cake tiers are out of the oven and cooling – two layers each of two different sizes – the frosting is made and most of the decorations are done.

‘Thank you. Nearly there,’ says Raff. ‘Well, for tonight, anyway. It’ll be best if I assemble the cake and ice it in the morning, then add the flowers when we get there. Now, I haven’t got any doweling,’ he adds with shrug, ‘so it’s a bit of a risk it will sink but?—’

‘Doweling, as in wooden doweling?’ Dad interrupts.

‘Yes, it’s used to create stability in tiered cakes. It goes in, then you place a cardboard disc on top, then stack the next layer.’

‘Well, you’re in luck, son. I’ve got some in the garage – a few different thicknesses too…’

They grin at each other. ‘Perfect,’ Raff says.

This charming tableau of the two men I love most in the world, punctuated by Dad calling Raff ‘son’, makes my heart so full, it might burst. Yet, at the same time, it’s a reminder that Raff isn’t mine and he isn’t going to be Dad’s son any time soon.

‘Well, I’ve done all I can,’ says Mom, joining us. ‘Oh, wow,’ she says, clocking everything we’ve accomplished. ‘You guys are machines!’

I shove aside my maudlin thoughts and smile at her. ‘Don’t forget Raff made a much bigger cake in only five hours to winBritain’s Best Baker. Byhimself.’

‘Even so, I couldn’t have got this far without your help,’ he replies magnanimously. ‘Oramusing stories from Gaby’s childhood,’ he adds, tossing a conspiratorial glance at Issy.

‘Ah-hah!’ says Issy, pointing one of Mom’s fondant tools at me, a remnant of her cupcake-baking phase. Before today, I had no idea fondant tools were even a thing.

‘So, you guys about ready to call it good?’ Mom asks. ‘I’m starving – how about I do something simple, like grilled cheese?’

I groan with pleasure –nothingis better than my mom’s grilled cheese sandwiches. She could open a café that just sells those, and it would be a huge success.

‘We’ve finished up for tonight,’ says Raff. ‘But I’ll need some clingfilm.’ Mom stares at him blankly.

‘Plastic wrap, Mom,’ I tell her, being fluent in both American and British vernacular.

‘Oh, right.’

Mom gets Raff what he needs, and we pack all the delicatefondant decorations into containers, being particularly careful, the way Raff showed us.

Then Issy and I switch gears and help Mom make an enormous stack of her famous grilled cheese sandwiches, while Dad goes to ‘the cellar’ – AKA the space under the stairs where they store wine on IKEA bookshelves – and returns to the kitchen with two bottles of Oregon Pinot, my favourite varietal from my favourite region.

---