twenty-nine
It takes days for all of us to recoup from Wakefest. The intensity of it was more than I’d expected. Paul even gave Danny and the rest of his guys the next week off when it was over.
While they all deserve it and while I like all the time with Danny and my friends, I’m itching to keep going with the house renovations, so I busy myself with other things, mostly with trying to tackle the stupidly fancy cake with flowers.
And it hasn’t been going well.
“God-fucking-dammit!” I scream as I unhinge the springform pan and send liquid and flowers all over the floor.
Slowski walks into my kitchen and winces. “Ew. Well, that’s presumably not what you were hoping for.”
“I don’t even know how to clean up this shit.”
He grabs a dustpan and a roll of paper towels. “It’s going to be okay. You’ll try again.”
“This is my third time. I’ve followed the recipe exactly.”
“Obviously, it’s a shitty recipe. Make your own maybe?”
Okay, he’s right. Most of the reviews are a million stars, but those fuckers are wrong.
“The ricotta part sucks too,” I yell out. “I don’t want gelatin in my cake. There’s no reason for that. It makes for a super-gross texture. And the topping recipes are obviously bullshit, so I have to add more gelatin there. You’re right, Slow. I’m going to start over. Yet again.” I dump glop into a trash bag. “Thank you.”
“Sure thing.” He stands sort of awkwardly while I finish wiping the floor, avoiding looking at me.
“Hey, Slowski? What’s up?”
“I…” He falters so cutely. “I mentioned something to Mary Ann about how I miss my mom’s cooking, and it’s not as though we have a lot of Japanese restaurants around here, so I was thinking about asking her to go to Boston for a few days. Getting really authentic food there, but…I don’t know if that sounds like too much.” His nervousness is totally cute.
I stop the scraping of the gross scum off the floor for a moment. “Well, she really seems to like you, and she’s told me how happy she is, so I don’t think you’re moving too fast—”
“No,” he stops me. “Not because of that. Because she told me.”
Oh, I get it now.
“She told you everything?”
“Yes. How she and Danny met. What she’d been through. It makes me sick. I can’t undo any of that, but I don’t want her to feel pressured to do anything. Like, do I get us separate hotel rooms or not?”
There’s no one better for my friend than this guy, and I drop the bag, rinse off my hands, and stand. “It’s simple. Ask her, and she’ll tell you the truth. What she’s comfortable with.”
“Thanks, Callie. I really do care about her. I have for ages. I’d been wanting to ask her out for the past year, but she never gave off any kind of sign that she was interested. When she askedmeout? I nearly cried,” he says with a laugh.
I tie up the trash bag, hand it to him, and start to scrub down the counter. “Toss this on your way out?” And while I don’t want to break any confidence, I do share with him one thing. “Mary Ann feels safe with you. And she should.”
Before he walks away, he adds, “You’re going to conquer this weird flower-cake thing.”
Aside from the cheesecake and gelatin failures, it’s still a great week.
Days later, Danny and I have dinner with Mary Ann and Slow at the crêperie.
I can tell Danny is still adjusting to this new romantic shift among his friends, given his glares and bouts of pouting, but I point out to him in a whisper, “You look at Mary Ann the way Paul looks at me. You’re protective, but you know she’s got herself a good guy.”
“Fine. And it sounds like they had a fun time in Boston.”
After he’s had a few beers, he pats Slow on the shoulder a few times. It’s apparently a guy move to indicate they’re cool, but I’m happy to see him relax.
The next night, Jackson and Matteo join the four of us when I make lobster and scallops at my house. The group runs through a few bottles of wine until I see that everyone, except Slow, is hesitant to dig in.
