The Bake-Off (34 page)

“Well, the traditions might get a few new twists; I'm sure Linnie will find ways to refine the recipe. She'll probably distill the vodka herself from organic potatoes.”

“Then it's settled. We'll bake, all three of us. And when the time comes, I expect you girls to make a swiateczny to feed the guests after my memorial service.”

“Stop planning your own funeral,” Amy pleaded. “It's so creepy and depressing.”

“Promise me.” Grammy didn't look depressed at all. In fact, she seemed to relish the prospect of directing her own memorial service from beyond the grave. “Promise me you'll bake it together. From scratch.” When Amy hesitated, she added, “You can't refuse me, darling. It's my last request.”

“You sure have a lot of last requests.”

“And I'm so fortunate to have such loving granddaughters to grant them all.”

“Fine.” Amy threw up her hands. “I promise.”

“Excellent. I'll see you and Linnie here Sunday morning at nine. Bring some flour and chopped walnuts and don't be late. But for now, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask all of you to clear out.”

Amy carried her plate to the sink and started to wash the dishes. “Aren't you going to stay at our house? You must be exhausted after this week, and I'm sure you want to sleep in your own bed, but—”

“Bed?” Grammy Syl laughed. “I have to get ready for lunch with Hal, and then I have pinochle night with the girls.”

“Grammy. I hate to be the wet blanket here, but you have kind of a dire medical condition. Don't you think you should take it easy?”

“I'll take it easy when I keel over.” Grammy gave her a spirited smile. “Until then, I intend to savor every single second.”

 

“
A
untie Linnie! Auntie Linnie!”

As soon as Amy and Linnie entered the Nicholses' kitchen through the side door, a pair of two-year-olds tackled Linnie's knees and reached up, imploring her to hug them. Though they had met their aunt for the first time only a month ago, the twins had wasted no time declaring her their “fun” aunt. Auntie Linnie could take the dishwasher apart and put it back together again. Auntie Linnie could name every dinosaur and recite entire Dr. Seuss books from memory. Auntie Linnie could play “Particle Man” on the piano.

Amy set down her overstuffed tote bag and observed this exuberant display of affection with amusement. “Hello? Remember me? The woman who gave you life? I'm home, too.”

“Hi, Mama.” Ben gave her a quick wave, then went back to slowly cutting off Linnie's air supply with his arms wrapped around her neck. Chloe stroked Linnie's long blond hair with reverence.

Brandon rested his hands on Amy's waist and gave her a kiss. “
I'm
glad you're home. How'd the photo shoot go?”

She kissed him back, then twirled across the kitchen, startling the dog from his nap. “It was long, it was demanding, and it was eighty kinds of awesome because it was
my
project. I learned a ton. We were shooting the package art for a frozen shepherd's pie, which is a pale, gloppy nightmare to work with, but we ended up plating it on retro Fiesta ware and jazzing up the top with yellow and green veggie garnishes. The lead stylist showed me all kinds of tricks. Next weekend, we're prepping organic dog biscuits for a pet-magazine photo spread. The stylist said I might even get a credit in the magazine. You know, the microscopic print alongside the photo.”

“Wow.” Brandon looked sincerely impressed.

“I know. I never thought I'd be so thrilled to see my name in four-point type. Who needs a front-page headline?”

He peeled the twins off Linnie and tried to herd them into the family room. “All right, guys, Mommy and Auntie Linnie have to bake a cake.”

Chloe opened the cabinet in the kitchen island and tried to drag out Amy's bright red electric stand mixer. “Me help.”

Ben glanced around hopefully, then asked, “Grammy?”

The adults exchanged a look as silence fell over the kitchen. Grammy Syl had died in her sleep a few days before, quickly and quietly. Though everyone had tried to prepare for her death on an intellectual level, the emotional impact had been devastating, and Amy had deliberately overscheduled herself, trying to stave off the grief. She dreaded sifting and whisking and all the baking activities that reminded her of Grammy, but a promise was a promise.

Linnie started washing her hands in the sink, her face hidden from view. “We'd better get started on the swiateczny,” she said, her voice a bit too hearty. “It's supposed to mellow overnight in an airtight container, right?”

“Ben and Chloe, we need you to help us roll out piecrusts.” Amy seated the children at the kitchen table with a pair of miniature rolling pins and some metal cookie cutters. “Linnie, did you happen to save any of the play-dough you guys made yesterday?”

“Mooch ate most of it.” Linnie pulled a huge, sealed plastic bag out of the refrigerator and scooped out hunks of goo. “But we made slime, too.” She glopped some of the substance into a mixing bowl and let the twins stir it with wooden spoons.

Amy looked at the bright green gunk with dismay. “What is that?”

“It's just water, glue, laundry starch, and food coloring. Making our own slime is much more educational than buying some prepackaged crap at the toy store.”

“It's educational, but is it machine washable?”

“I guess we'll find out.”

“We baking, Mama,” Chloe announced with great pride.

Brandon took a seat at the far end of kitchen table so he could keep one eye on the kids and the other on the hockey game on TV in the family room.

Amy opened the refrigerator and pulled out two sticks of unsalted European butter. “This cake had better be a showstopper. It was Grammy's last request. Her
last
last request.”

Linnie nodded and grabbed the egg carton. “Plus, those pinochle players from the senior center are brutal food critics.”

“No kidding. I have more performance anxiety about this than I did for the Delicious Duet finals. Speaking of which, have you seen this?” Amy grabbed the newspaper off the counter and flipped to the circular ads, which featured a full-color print ad of Tai and Ty feeding each other bites of turtle tart and laughing like honeymooners. Beneath the photo was the recipe for their “blue-ribbon” dessert.

“Retch.” Linnie made a face. “Our modeling shots were far superior.”

Amy read the caption aloud: “ ‘All the ingredients for family fun: love, laughter, and Delicious sugar.' ”

“They left out blackmail, attempted homicide, and emotional abuse.”

“So what are we going to do to them, anyway?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I assume you have some diabolical scheme already in motion.” Amy crossed over to the pantry and scanned the shelves for flour, sugar, salt, vanilla, and raisins. “What'll it be? Chemical warfare? Shut down their mainframe?”

Linnie plunked herself down on a tall stool and yawned. “Do you even know what ‘shut down their mainframe' means?”

“No. That's why this is your department.” Amy dumped the pile of dry goods onto the countertop.

“The thing I keep coming back to is that Tai—the female Tai—has her hands full with that guy. Even though she won, she's lost in every way that counts.”

“What? The old Linnie would be calling for fire and brimstone and a plague of locusts. Someone's gone soft.” The phone rang, and Amy hesitated. Friends and family members had been calling all week with condolences, but she'd let everything go to voice mail. She just wasn't ready to talk about Grammy Syl yet. But when she saw the name on caller ID, she picked up.

Who is it?
Linnie mouthed.

Amy held up the receiver, and from across the kitchen, Linnie could hear Rhodes barking.

“Nana!” The twins glanced up from their mixing bowl.

“Hi, Mom,” the two sisters said in unison.

Amy wedged the receiver between her shoulder and ear and started drawing horns and fangs on Tai and Ty. “Yes, Linnie's right here, actually. We're making a cake for the memorial service tomorrow.” She paused, listening for a moment, then said, “Sure . . . no problem . . . The kids will be thrilled.”

Chloe and Ben were clamoring to say hi to their nana, so Brandon took the phone and the children into another room, leaving the sisters alone in the kitchen.

“So what's going on?” Linnie asked.

“Mom and Dad met with Grammy's estate lawyer and checked into their hotel,” Amy reported. “They're planning to drop by after dinner. Rhodes is going to be bunking at Chez Nichols for a few days—Mom says the hotel room is not to his liking. I'm guessing that's code for ‘the other guests were complaining about the barking.' ” She leaned down and gave Mooch a consoling scratch behind the ears. “Brace yourself, little buddy. You're about to get a very high-maintenance roommate.”

Linnie nodded. “Good. I haven't seen them in over a year, and it's time I stopped avoiding their calls and cringing every time they bring up my wasted potential. Grammy Syl was right—life is too short for this dysfunctional nonsense.”

Amy saw her opening and pounced. “I'm glad to hear you say that, because next week, I'm pricing plane tickets for Rhodes's UDX celebration in May. Want to fly down with us?”

Her sister started flipping through the newspaper on the kitchen island. “I'll have to check my schedule.”

“Don't give me that. It's a family celebration in honor of their favorite child.”

Linnie rolled her eyes. “It's a dog's graduation party.”

“Yeah, and it's going to be a very swanky soiree, so you'd better look sharp. Remind me to take you shopping next time we're in New York. Oh, and Mom asked me if we could come a day early and make a special cake for Rhodes and his bichon frise girlfriend from the dog park.”

“What kind of cake?”

“She said she found a recipe online involving dog food and carob.” Amy pondered this new culinary challenge. “We could bake a sheet cake and frost it up like a diploma, with a bunch of Snausages where the gold seal should go. It'll be a great addition to my food styling portfolio.”

Linnie started to look overwhelmed. “I don't know, Amy. I'm really not a dog person. All the jumping, the slobbering . . .”

“Have no fear.” Amy grinned. “We'll give you one glass of champagne at the beginning of the ceremony, and you won't remember a thing. You might even have fun. Besides . . .” She paused for effect. “It's what Grammy Syl would want.”

“Oh no. I'm going to get Grammy Syl guilt trips from beyond the grave?”

“It's my job as the older sister to keep the legacy alive.”

Linnie yawned again. “Do I have time for a quick nap?”

“You slept all the way here on the train.” Amy
tsk-tsk
ed. “Were you and Cam up all night again?”

At the mere mention of Cam, Linnie went misty-eyed and moony. “You know, I never understood the appeal of sweets before, but there's something about whipped cream on washboard abs. I'll never turn away a dessert menu again.”

“If you guys don't learn to pace yourselves, you're both going to die of sleep deprivation.”

“I'm going have more trouble making it to the eight-thirty lectures than the freshmen who just turned eighteen. Speaking of which, I got my SAT scores on Friday.”

“And?”

“Ninety-eighth percentile for my overall score. I screwed up the writing portion.”

“Only you would consider scoring in the ninety-eighth percentile ‘screwing up.' ”

“That's exactly what Cam said. Anyway, I have appointments to talk to admissions counselors at NYU, Barnard, and Columbia next week.”

“Good for you.” Amy gave her sister a little golf clap. “I knew you'd go back and finish college one day.”

“Oh, college is only the beginning. I'm back on the MD track. I'm not stopping until I become a neurosurgeon.”

Amy blinked. “But isn't becoming a neurosurgeon going to require a lot of training? Like, a
lot
?”

“Well, I have to finish college, then go through med school, residency, and fellowship.” Linnie ticked off the requirements on her fingers. “So about sixteen years total. That's for a normal person, though. I figure between large class loads, summer semesters, and previous credits, I can shave off a few years. But yes, I'll be over forty by the time I'm finished. Turns out, I'm going to be a very late bloomer.”

Amy hesitated, not wanting to offend her sister. “Are you sure that's a good idea? Considering what happened the last time you started a premed program?”

Linnie's gaze sharpened with intensity. “Last time I went to college, I did it because everyone else wanted me to. This time, I'm doing it for me. An MD is more than an intellectual status symbol to me now. After what happened to Grammy Syl . . . If
I
had been her surgeon, I would've saved her. Trust and believe.”

“Well, you've already got the God complex down, so you're off to a good start.” Amy pulled an apron over her head and turned around so Linnie could tie up the back. “And if anyone has the smarts to make it through med school, it's you.”

“Just as important as smarts, I've got steady hands. All those years at the blackjack table are going to translate to virtuosity in the OR.”

“College and medical school,” Amy mused. “You're looking at a whole lot of tuition.”