Page 121 of Cakes for the Grump
“It’s nothing that can’t hold. I’ll tell you later.”
Iwill. When the wait is over, and I know whether I’m making it to thefinal round of the meal kits competition, one step closer to having the career I want, a phase of progression I can finally be proud of.
“Let’s get down to business,” says Mr. Duncan. He’s rolling out a long sheet of paper onto the boardroom table. No chance of digital leaks before the white whale attack tomorrow. The sharks (including Duncan) circle it. Contract verbiage is ripped out, rearranged, and scraped together again. It’s a war room of clauses.
Theo and I watch from the outskirts, sipping wine.
“I told myself I wouldn’t meddle,” he starts. “But you and Luke are faking it too well,” he explains before I can argue. “There’s no way the conference is your pretend fiancé deadline.”
“I don’t want to think about it.”
I haven’t been. Mostly. Maybe.
His expression is thoughtful. “What happens after?”
“There are other things that need my focus.” Like whether my sandwich recipe is innovative enough to win overMealKits Masala. Whether they’ll like the direction I’m going in. If it’s enough to keep going.
This new hope is scary: the stakes feel way too high. Because it’s possibly my big break. After ten years of being a cog in a machine, working to survive—will I finally have acareer?
The prizes…I’ve been dreaming about them. Being launched in a newsletter, name recognition, being rewarded for ingenuity, abundant prize money, the chance to interview for a top recipe development position…
If it all happens, there won’t be this gap between Luke and me. The two of us, side by side, won’t be so lower middle class rags and top percentile riches. But first I need to win.
Theo smiles. “I told Luke how after the conference, he’d be single again. Like me. He snarled. One might consider that a sign.”
“A sign he’s stressed about business.”
“Or about losing you.”
“Losing hisdeal.”
“Romance is depressing.”
“To switch this around, talk to me about your heart.” I grab his glass and top it up with more wine. I skip over mine because I’m staying levelheaded today. “You said you’re single? Were the burly thighs not up to par?”
Theo tells me burly thighs went to the gym far too many times during the week, but he ignored that red flag. His best friendwas his mother. Second possible red flag. When they started talking about what they were looking for, his gym and mother-loving date said he wanted a partner with a “calm and quiet nature.”
Our laughter is unconfined.
More stories are told. It’s another hour into this strategy meeting when my phone vibrates. I glance at the sender. It’s here. The email has come in. MealKits Masala has contacted me.
Excusing myself, I sneak into the bathroom. Anticipation expands in my chest, but I can’t seem to get a good enough breath in. I’ve never wanted something so badly before. Never nakedly hoped and pinned all aspirations into one chance. I don’t like it. It feels thick. Sticky. As if it’s a fool’s courage to want everything to work out perfectly and for all your problems to solve.
I have a feeling that after this, things will never be the same again.
“You can do this,” I whisper to myself. “Just look.”
I do.
The results:
Dear Ms. Singh?—
Great dish?—
Unfortunately, the competition was very high.
Here is a coupon for our services.
