The Cupcake Queen (19 page)

“She made it all the way to
Q,
” Gram says, wiping her eyes with the edge of her apron. I try to imagine a girl in a fancy dress belching the alphabet.

Tally arrives with her arms full of dresses she picked up at the secondhand store in Lancaster. We all take turns going out front to mop up the water still coming in under the door while Tally starts her own mini fashion show, donning dress after dress to show my mother. We keep the ovens going, baking cupcakes as we talk. The phone keeps ringing so much that finally my mom just lets it go to voice mail. The smells of pumpkin and chocolate waft from the ovens.

“This is the best day,” Mom says, putting her arm around me. I lean into her and watch as Gram zips Tally into a long blue dress. The kitchen is so warm and bright that we barely notice the rain still pounding on the roof.

 

 

Gram drops us off at Tally’s house on her way home. “Your mom is the coolest,” Tally says, twirling in her dress in front of the long mirror on the back of her bedroom door. She and my mother agreed upon a dark green velvet one with a long skirt.

I shrug and pull open her closet door to hang up the other dresses. I stop, not sure what to do. The inside of her closet is worse than I had imagined. I look back at Tally, who has stopped twirling. It suddenly feels too close, too quiet. Then Tally comes and takes the dresses from me. She hangs them up on the empty rod and firmly pushes the door closed. “Anyway,” Tally says, but then she doesn’t say anything else. She just stares at her toenails, which she’s painted a bright shade of acid green—one last sign of the old Tally. “I guess I’d better change out of this.” She goes into the bathroom and shuts the door, leaving me still standing in the middle of her nearly empty room.

Inside the closet were three suitcases, lying open and perfectly packed. Full of all the stuff that’s not in her room. For all of her talk about enjoying her time here and making the best of it, she’s still waiting, ready to go at a moment’s notice.

I raise my hand to knock on the bathroom door, but I can hear Tally sniffling. To give myself—and Tally—a little time to think about what to say, I go to the kitchen and get something to drink. Poppy is sitting at the kitchen table, wrapping one of her witch balls in bubble wrap. She looks up and smiles when I walk in. I sit in one of the other chairs and watch her work.

“That one came out really nice,” I say as she picks up one swirled in oranges and reds. She holds it up to the light. “It’s a tree,” I say, seeing the brown glass threaded from the bottom and opening up into a series of glass branches at the top.

“I was afraid it only looked like a tree to me.” She twirls it, and we both watch as the tree slowly turns, the colors on its glass leaves catching the light as it spins.

“No, it’s definitely a tree,” I say. “Are there others?” Poppy nods and points to one of the boxes on the table. I peer inside, seeing another tree captured in colored glass. Instead of fall leaves, this one is covered with leaves in shades of green and yellow.

“Summer is there,” she says, pointing to a ball swirled with pink and blue. I touch it, lightly feeling the unevenness of hand-blown glass. She wraps the autumn ball, folding bubble wrap over and around it until I can barely see the colors within.

“What about winter?” I ask.

“I haven’t done winter yet,” Poppy says. “It’s been giving me some trouble. Winter trees are hard. They’re just nothing, nothing but brown sticks poking up out of the ground.”

“You should walk through Central Park in the winter,” I say. “The trees there are amazing.”

Poppy tilts her head at me. “Tell me,” she says.

I close my eyes to really picture them and start telling her. I think about the last time my parents and I walked through the park at dusk, making our way home from uptown, where we’d spent the day. I tell her about the white snow frosting the branches and the blue light of the icicles dripping below. I describe how the evergreens reflect in the ice. I tell her about the purples that night brings to the trees.

“Wow,” Poppy says, making me open my eyes. Tally is standing in the doorway, a faraway look on her face, like she’s trapped in her own memory. And I know my face must look the same way, half haunted by something. I wonder what she’s thinking about. Underneath it all, does she feel sad, like I do? That sadness you feel when you realize that the last time you did something was really the last time. And how you wish someone could have told you it was the last time, so you could pay extra attention. So you could really memorize it, because the memories were going to have to last forever.

“I’ll walk you home,” Tally says. Now she looks like the Tally I’m used to. It’s weird how she can just flip like that. Poppy smiles at me and tucks the autumn ball into a box, taping it shut. “Did you bring in the mail yet?” Tally asks. Poppy shakes her head. “I’ll check it on the way out,” Tally says. I follow her down the hall, but not before I see the look on Poppy’s face. Almost broken. She seems to have her own secret, her own sadness.

Tally jogs to the end of the driveway while I take my time, breathing in the fog that is rolling off the water. Tally opens the mailbox and dips her hand inside. She flips through the envelopes, then shoves them back into the box. “Nothing,” she says when I reach her. Her voice is brittle, as if defying me to disagree. We go down to the beach and walk slowly along the sand, our heads down against the wind.

“My dad used to send me letters.” Tally stops and kicks at a mussel shell. “Sometimes he’d put things in them, like a guitar pick or one of his set lists.”

I think about the collage we made for Miss Beans’s class. Knowing these were all gifts from her dad makes me think her project really was about Tally after all.

“One time he sent me a dollar bill folded like a bow tie.” She smiles over at me.

“When was the last time you heard from him?” I ask gently.

She stares out at the water. “Three months ago.”

“Oh,” I say, feeling guilty. I start feeling anxious when I haven’t heard from my dad in three
days.
“Have you written him?” I ask. She nods and tucks her chin into the neck of her coat. “He’s always traveling. Maybe he just hasn’t gotten them,” I say.

“Maybe.” We stand there for a long time just watching the waves. “Does your dad write you?” Tally asks.

“Some,” I say. “No letters, though. Just e-mails.” When we moved here I made a folder to save them. There are only five e-mails in it. Five in five months. And the last one came just last night. “Why don’t you e-mail your dad?” I ask. “Or call him?”

“He doesn’t do e-mail,” she says, shrugging. “I’ve tried to call, but—” I nod. “Listen, I should get back,” Tally says. She turns once and waves as she walks away, but then she disappears into the fog.

“See you,” I call after her. I wish I could do more for her. I know a little about how she’s feeling. The calls are the worst. You know they’ve gotten the message, so when they don’t call back, it feels horrible in steps. Day One, you feel hopeful. Day Two, you tell yourself he’s busy. Day Three, you realize he’s just ducking you. I don’t know what you tell yourself on Month Three.

 

 

The first thing I do when I get home is read Dad’s e-mail again.

“Penny!” Gram calls from the kitchen. “Phone.”

I pick up the phone, expecting it to be my father. I’ve been trying to reach him by phone ever since I got the e-mail. But it’s not him. It’s Miss Beans.

“I just couldn’t wait until tomorrow to tell you, Penny,” she says quickly. “Your design for the float won.”

I don’t quite know what to say, so I say that. “I don’t know what to say.” I never expected to win. I thought my design was way too
random,
as Tally said. It is cool, though, that someone thinks it’s good enough.

“It’s going to be a lot of work,” Miss Beans says. “But you’ll have help. The whole art class will all help.” She pauses. “Well, most of them.” I can just imagine the reaction from the back table when Miss Beans announces that my float won. “I know it’s been hard for you—being new. Which makes it all the more amazing how you’ve captured this year’s theme.” She goes on to list details about the trailer location and the farmer who said we could use his barn as a workshop.

I think about all of the things I included in my design. The things that I like about Hog’s Hollow. All the things that do actually make this
the way life should be.
It’s a little ironic that it may end up carrying one of the big things I don’t like about Hog’s Hollow: Charity. Of course just thinking about Charity’s reaction makes me even happier about winning. Although I’m sure she’ll make me pay somehow . . .

“I think a lot of people are going to respond to it. I know I did,” Miss Beans continues.

“You did?”

“Definitely. It reminded me of why I wanted to move here in the first place.”

“Really?”

“Life here can be—challenging. It’s nice to be reminded of all the amazing things we’ve got.”

I want to hear more about how it’s hard for her, but then our call waiting beeps. “Miss Beans, I’m sorry, but I have to go.”

“Of course, Penny,” she says. “We’ll talk more tomorrow in class.”

This time it
is
my dad. I carry the phone out onto the back porch and sit in one of the chairs overlooking the water.

“Glad I caught you, Bean,” he says. He sounds breathless, and I can hear city noises in the background—cars passing, horns blaring. It’s weird to hear those sounds out here, where it’s so quiet. “Did you get my e-mail?” he asks.

I nod but then realize he can’t hear my head moving. “Yeah,” I say.

“So, have you had a chance to think about things?”

I squint out at the beach, thinking I see a dog running by. It’s hard to tell, because it’s starting to get dark. “What things, Dad?” I ask, standing up. It’s not a dog, just a wisp of fog rolling across the sand.

“About moving back,” he says. A car horn blares and I hear someone shouting.

“Dad,” I say, looking down at the porch, “what are you talking about?”

“Hasn’t your mother talked to you?” he asks.

“About what?” I ask.

There’s another loud screech and he curses under his breath. I don’t know whether he’s swearing at my mother or at something happening around him. “She said she’d talk to you.” I hear more car horns and then people talking close by him.

“Talk to me about what?” I ask, feeling like we’re just going in circles.

“About moving back to the City,” my dad says. “You do still want to, right?”

I start thinking about seven things at once. About Tally and her suitcases, the parade float, the bakery, Marcus. “I guess . . . ,” I say finally, because it has been what I’ve wanted for so long. There are now so many background noises on the phone that it is hard to figure out what the sounds are exactly.

“I just thought you’d be excited,” he says. And his voice is softer now, making me sorry I didn’t give him the answer he wanted.

“I am,” I say. “I’m just . . .” I pause again. I’m just what? Unsure? Scared? Confused? “Surprised,” I say.
Does this mean they’re getting back together? Not selling the apartment?

“Yeah,” my father says quietly. Then it sinks in that all this time, he’s been alone. Mom and I have barely been speaking to each other, but at least we’ve been together.

“Can I call you back later?” I ask. “I just need to . . .” Think. Talk to Mom. Stand and stare at the water.

“Of course,” he says. “We’ll talk later. I’m about to go down into the subway anyway.” There is another horn, this time louder, right in my ear. “Can I call you tomorrow?” he asks.

“Yes,” I say.

“Okay, then.” He pauses again, letting the sounds of the city push through. “I love you, Bean,” he says.

“I love you, too, Dad,” I say. But the line is dead before I can say good-bye, so I’m not sure if he heard me.

chapter twenty-two

Ially comes by the house early to walk with me to school. She munches on the blueberry muffin Gram gave her as we left the house. I just hold mine as we walk. “Your mom must go into work really early,” she says. “Poppy isn’t even out of bed when I leave in the morning.” She takes another bite of muffin.

“She’s not at the bakery,” I say. Tally looks over at me, but I don’t say anything.

“Okay, I give up. Where is she?” Her voice is playful, like she’s wants to make a game out of it.

“She’s at another meeting in the City,” I say.

Tally stops on the bridge and stands in front of me. “So, what’s the deal?” she asks.

I shrug. This is not a conversation I want to have before school.

“Penny,” Tally says. “What’s going on?”

I shake my head. My eyes feel hot. I try to push past her, but she blocks my way.

“Just talk to me,” she says, lowering her voice.

“Stop it,” I say. I step around her and walk toward the sidewalk. Unfortunately, Tally follows me.

“Penny, whatever it is—”

I turn quickly. “Since you’re such good friends with my mom now, why don’t you ask her?” My voice is angry, but Tally doesn’t back down. “She’ll tell you they’re separated, which everyone knows is just the first step toward getting a divorce.”

“Maybe all the meetings in the City are them trying to work things out.”

“Yeah, and if they do, you know what that means? It means we’re moving back to the City. That’s what my dad wants.”

Tally’s tone starts to match mine. “And it’s what you want, too, right?”

“It’s not that simple. You’re the one with the suitcases packed and waiting, not me.”

Tally’s face is suddenly hard. “I was just trying to help,” she says. She tosses the rest of her muffin to the ducks floating under the bridge.