Page 75 of It's in the Contract
We make our way down the hallway to the entryway in silence, and Suzy and I gather our things and put on our shoes.
When I straighten, Zeke sweeps me up in a hug that makes my soul fly, but it’s over too fast. Then he gives one to Suzy as well, and a nasty bit of jealousy wells up in my chest. These hugs should only be for me. I want them to only be for me.
I should talk to Zeke, say something. Was that as amazing for him as it was for me? Does this mean he’s okay with our friendship and maybe wants something more? My over-analytical brain wants to treat this like a calculus problem and solve the equation of us. I know he’s leaving at the end of this semester, I know he said he didn’t want any attachments, buthas that changed now? I want to figure this out, but Suzy’s here, so it will have to wait.
The whole way home in the passenger seat of Suzy’s car, my thoughts fly. What would I have to give up for things to work with Zeke? The Homecoming crown, definitely. My status at school, probably. People would label and judge me. The gossip sites would rip me apart. They would ripZekeapart.
And Mom . . . I want so badly for her to be proud of me. To acknowledge my efforts to be perfect, to be a good cheerleader, a good daughter, good atanything. . .
My stomach sinks as I rest my head in my hand on the car door. Zeke is moving in a few months. I would give everything up, and then he would leave.
Twenty-Eight
The fundraiser is tomorrow! Come to the address below to shop for a good cause.
Facebook event page of the St. Matthew’s Presbyterian Church.
“So what arewe making today, honey?” Caroline says. Mia sits on the kitchen counter top, legs dangling, sparkly pink unicorn rainboots on her feet. She sucks on a Dum Dum, and her lips are stained purple.
Mia pulls out the sucker long enough to say, “Unicorn cookies!”
The kitchen feels warm and homey, and rain patters gently on the windows. I look at Caroline. “Do you think they’d sell well?”
“Oh, hon, you could make your sugar cookies look like the poop emoji and they’d sell like hot cakes!” Caroline says.
Mia giggles. “Mommy said poop.”
It’s Saturday, and I’m at Zeke’s house with my list of treats we’re going to bake for the fundraiser. Nerves course through my body. Are Zeke and I going to talk about what happened last night or ignore it? I’m here because I promised I would be, butpart of me just wants to go back home and turn on my favorite baking show.
Zeke is at the grocery store getting flour, butter, and sugar, so I can avoid the awkwardness for a little while longer.
I reach for a mixing bowl. “Okay. Unicorn cookies. And I was thinking my special brown butter chocolate chip?”
Caroline sets a Costco-sized bag of brown sugar on the counter. “You had me at browned butter.” Her dark hair is piled on her head in a twisty bun today with two chopsticks holding it all together, and she wears a navy blue apron over a sunshine yellow sweater and jeans.
“Dark chocolate caramel-stuffed cookies, chocolate frosted brownies, cinnamon rolls,” I read the items off my list. “And maybe something fruity? Like blueberry muffins? If we have time, we can make s’mores bars. They’re probably my second favorite dessert ever. But I don’t want to go overboard with chocolatey things.”
Caroline beams. “Honey, you’re a wonder.”
My face flushes with pride, and I can’t keep the smile from my face. If my mom was here, she’d throw a fit over the calorie count in each dessert.
I take a deep breath. Mom thinks I’m at Suzy’s studying. And I’m going to let myself enjoy this, even if I’m nervous for when Zeke gets here and things inevitably get uncomfortable.
The cinnamon roll dough is undergoing its first rise and I’m browning butter for the chocolate chip cookies when Zeke walks through the door. He brings with him his own signature scent, and it adds to the good smells of homey yeast and spicy cinnamon that are already in the kitchen.
“You’re here!” Caroline exclaims, giving her son a hug. “Let me help you with those bags.”
Zeke puts reusable canvas totes filled with baking ingredients on the table. I focus on the pan of spitting andpopping butter on the stove in front of me so I don’t have to look at Zeke. I painted my fingernails white and beige this morning to match my sweater, and I even used an adorable nail stencil to paint tiny chocolate chip cookies on my pointer fingers.
“Just in time, too,” Caroline says. “Miss Callie needs that cream cheese on the counter to start softening, and this little lady needs to take a bath.”
“NO!” Mia protests. “Help, Miss Callie!”
I turn, laughing, as Caroline drags Mia from off the counter, kicking and screaming. “Miss Callie can’t help you!” Caroline grunts as she carries a kicking Mia up the stairs. I hear the tub water turn on shortly after. Caroline pokes her head down the stairs. “She loves baths. It takes a minute to get her in the tub, but she’ll want to play for a while. You two okay to keep baking down here?”
Zeke and I finally exchange looks. I hurry to nod and look away. “We’ll be fine.”
Things get quiet in the kitchen after that. The butter starts to show brown specks on the bottom of the pan, so I don’t stop stirring. I watch for the moment when all the particles of butter bloom into golden, caramelly brown.
