Page 74 of Cakes for the Grump
Walkingaround without the need to sweat, shiver, vomit, or collapse is a blessing I will never again under-appreciate.
As a consequence of a clear head, I can more closely observe the upstairs wing of Luke’s penthouse. I try to not intrude, avoiding any closed doors, but still have to navigate at least a subset of my surroundings to move between my temporary bedroom, my temporary bathroom, and the kitchen where I cook.
My journey starts in the bedroom. It is a stately gray color, very large, with an entire wall made of glass that leads to the private terrace, and another entire wall of oak paneling faced with battens made of the samematerial. The only reason I discover the wall is actually a hidden floor-to-ceiling closet is because I spot a slim, metal handle and cautiously tug on it. Empty and available for me to use.
I continue living out of my suitcase.
My belongings cluster in the corner, brash, and zippy shapes amongst an otherwise muted palette of grays, beiges, and whites. My stuff stands out like a zany fingerprint smudge on the perfect mirror.
Attached to the bedroom is a private bathroom, carved out of hedonistic marble streaked with caramel, white, and charcoal. Balanced and beautiful, the walls, floors, and counters look as if painted by the hands of an ancient Greek sculpturist. The standalone claw-footed tub, copper sink bowl, and slotted vertical drains in the shower are high modernism. Tucked into the drawers are rolled-up towels of all sizes, generous toiletries in individual containers, and naked bottles of products. The wealthy love marking their liquids with a high-end label maker.
Shampoo.
Body wash.
Moisturizer.
It went on.
All high-grade quality, I know. They lather onto my body like clouds.
Outside my sleeping quarters is a corridor with no photo frames or art. It would have reminded me of a clinical ward in a hospital if not for the luxurious crown molding by the ceiling and the warmth given off by chestnut hardwood. Unfolding from the corridor is a spiral staircase that leads down to the main floor of the flat. Descending it makes me feel opulent. This downstairs portion of the home I am most familiar with. It has the kitchen, the living room, the dining room—and another two wings I am not going to explore.
This is luxury, but where am I going to live after this? What happens next? I can’t get used to anything. Is it finally time to think about that?
Heavy are my thoughts as I enter the kitchen.
Then my mouth hangs open.
Gone are the French bistro table and chairs that used to sit by the kitchen.
In their place is a dry-erase board on wheels. So large it’s as tall as me and double that in width. The frame is aluminum, thinly bordered so mostof it is porcelain whiteness is available, though the middle part of the board is not empty.
In big block letters is a written message.
NOT A BRIBE.
Up in the corner are my notebook pages held up by magnets. I had left it behind the other day, and now they are mounted like future guidelines to follow. As if I’m going to make it to the next round. That required for success is a vehicle for more brainstorming. I go trail my hand along the smooth surface before rearing back and brushing my fingertips across my sternum.
“That genius,” I whisper.
Luke Abbot is a tactician, brilliant, cheeky, and expert manipulator. How can I not drown in a rush of gratitude? And how awkward to stuff that back down to an emotion more level-headed than this. I’m going to have to one-up him by finding themostperfect thank-you gesture, so I can once again be in the lead of…whatever this game is that we are playing with each other.
That afternoon, I make Torta Garash, a decadent Bulgarian dessert of walnut sponge, dark chocolate, creamy ganache, desiccated coconut, and sliced almonds. It is stored in the fridge since I’m not sure when Luke’s next business meeting is, but if the pattern holds, it should happen soon.
Then I spend an entire evening brainstorming meal kit fusion recipes that feature pork. My strategy is to cover the most common proteins this week before moving on to popular vegetables next week.
The dry-erase board is very effective in this process. If pressed, I might even call it a game-changer.
I don’t know how much longer I can live in his penthouse, but all my energy is focused forward onto the meal kit competition as a solution that takes care of everything—as long as I win. Right now, it feels as if it’s the only option. The last card in my deck.
Luke does not stop by at any point.
I wonder at the strength of my disappointment.
TWENTY
The next week is a slog,and I’m still living with Luke.
