The Icing on the Cake (12 page)

To make the cheese straws, we start by grating extra-sharp cheddar cheese (my favorite kind—although all cheeses are pretty much my favorites), and then we add some flour and chilled butter. On
top of that we toss in salt, cayenne pepper, and a little bit of milk.

“This is a recipe for those of us who like to get our hands dirty,” Chef says, looking at Frankie and Tristan, who are also making cheese straws.

Henry leaves it to the three of us to dig our hands into the batter and mix it until the ingredients feel like “coarse meal.” I'm not sure Liza, Javier, or I have ever felt coarse meal before, exactly, but when we think we're pretty close, we add some more milk, and then we make a big ball out of the dough. We toss some flour on our pastry board, and Henry rolls out the dough. Then we each take turns making long, thin strips with a pizza cutter.

“Twist them if you dare to try,
mis amigos
,” Chef says. That sounds like a challenge, so of course we do.

It's not until we're twisting our last few straws that I realize I haven't seen or heard from my mother since we started making the galettes. Spinning around in my seat to see what she's up to, I am shocked to see
her at the head of her table, stirring up a big bowl of bread pudding and shouting out assignments to her group mates. I mean, it's totally like Mama to take charge in the kitchen, but usually it's her own kitchen and she's ordering around her own children, not other adults. Of course, Theresa is happy to follow my mother's instructions—and bread pudding seems like the safer choice for her than twisty cheese straws—but it's funny to see Stephen and Errol following Mama's lead as well. She must be enjoying herself, since she won't be teaching college kids again until next fall and I am sure she has missed bossing people around.

“Yo,” Javier says, when our savory pies and snacks are finally finished baking and we're chomping on our cheese straws. “These things are gooood.”

“Mm-hm,” I mumble—talking with your mouth full is a definite no-no in my family, but I don't want Javier to think I'm ignoring him.

“Delicious,” Liza says. Since she doesn't have a
crush on Javier, she couldn't care less if she lets a few crumbs fly.

Henry finishes off his last forkful of pot pie and bites into a cheese straw. “Oh yeah,” he says, closing his eyes and savoring the salty, tangy flavor, “these are mad good.”

We all crack up, especially Javier. He looks extra adorable when he's laughing.

“You know what?” Javier asks when he catches his breath. “I think ours was the best table. We make a great team, don't you think?” He holds his hands up, and the four of us high-five all around.

“Yeah, we do,” I say, my mouth finally free of cheese straw. “We make a mad good team.”

Every Sunday morning from ten to ten thirty my dad calls to talk to me and Cole. He used to call it our “weekly phone date,” but that sounded seriously weird (and dorky), so I made him stop last year. It's not like he and Cole have much to talk about—-construction vehicles mostly—because Cole is not so great at a two-way conversation at this point, so Dad spends most of the time asking me questions about school and my friends and what I did that week. One time
he actually asked me if I liked any boys, but I yelled, “Dad!!!” into the phone so violently that he hasn't tried it again.

Lately, my dad and I have been talking a lot about the party on our Sunday calls. Mostly he wants to make sure that Nana isn't driving me
too
crazy with all of her planning. I think he feels guilty that I'm the one who has to deal with her . . . well . . . Nana-ness, since I'm here and he's three thousand miles away. So far I've been assuring him that I can handle it. But yesterday's cooking class made me realize that if there's any chance of this party bringing my parents back together, it's not going to happen while they're on opposite coasts. And if getting them face-to-face before the big, dreaded day means telling my dad that Nana's control freakishness has gotten completely out of control, then that's what I'll have to do. It's not exactly lying, right? And even if it is, it's all for a good cause—my new Big Idea: Operation Reconciliation.

When the phone rings, Cole insists on being the
one to answer, even though he hasn't entirely figured out how phones work yet. Of course, it rings five times before he pushes the right button to actually answer the call. Mom puts it on speakerphone, since Cole doesn't get the whole holding-it-up-to-your-ear thing, but as soon as she does he turns it off. I turn it back on and he turns it off again, giggling up a storm. This goes on for ages, and meanwhile poor Dad is on the other end yelling out, “Cole? Buddy? Is anyone there? Liza? Jackie?” Finally I get fed up and grab the phone. Cole howls, but I don't care—enough is enough and I have big plans for this call.

I peel Cole's sticky hands off my arm and hold the phone out of his reach. “You can talk to Daddy when I'm done,” I say. I get up and head for my room, away from his wailing and, more importantly, away from my mom's radar. No way can I have her guessing what I am trying to do, it would ruin everything. This has to seem like
fate
, or something.

“Hi, Dad,” I say, closing my door and turning on
music so Mom and Cole can't hear me. Not that it matters much anyway, Cole is still fussing that I took the phone away from him. “Sorry about that.”

“That's okay, kiddo. Your brother's just being two and half. Little kids get a kick out of pushing buttons and seeing what happens. It wasn't so long ago that you did stuff like that too.”

“Maybe,” I say, “but there's no way I was as annoying as Cole.”

“You also didn't have a dad who only talked to you out of a little box.”

Mr. Mac would call that a “perfect segue”—a seamless transition from one subject to another.

“Yeah,” I sigh, just a little dramatically, “I actually wish you were here in person right now.”

“What's up, Lize?” my dad asks, sounding concerned. “Is everything okay?”

“Well, I'm just a little stressed out.”

“About the party?”

“I guess,” I sigh again, getting ready to bring out
the big guns. I'm not Nana Silver's granddaughter for nothing!

My dad exhales loudly into the phone. “What's Nana up to now?”

I pick up the brochure from the super ridiculous party space Nana went nuts over. “Well, she's been putting a lot of pressure on me to have the party at this really fancy place that's a gazillion miles away from Brooklyn, and I'm pretty sure she's hiring the New York Philharmonic to do the music, even though I told her I'd rather have a DJ.” Okay, so maybe I'm exaggerating a bit—it's for a good cause, right?

“I thought you said Nana was keeping herself under control,” Dad says. “Last time we spoke it sounded like she was willing to compromise.”

“Well, she's not,” I say, hoping I sound more wounded than bratty, “and I just really wish you were here so I wouldn't have to do this alone.” I can almost hear my dad's heart fall to his kitchen floor with a splat.

“What about your mom, Lize, can she try to talk to Nana?”

“Dad, you know Mom's trying to stay out of the whole party thing. She doesn't want to ‘overstep' or something. Plus, she says she still has nightmares about Nana Silver ‘helping' her plan your wedding.”

“Yep, that's true enough,” my dad says with a sort of sad chuckle. I think he's starting to break down. “Don't worry, Liza Lou, as soon as I hang up with you guys, I'll give her a call and let her know that she's out of bounds. I'll also
gently
remind her that the party is for
you
, not her.”

“But
Daddy
,” I whine. I probably sound like I'm five, but calling my father “Daddy” turns him to mush. “Couldn't you just come to New York a week early? That way if Nana's party ends up over the top, at least you'll be here to help tone it down. Come on, Daddy—please?”

I can hear my Dad clicking away on his keyboard. “Well, I'll take a look at my calendar, Lize. I'm not all
that excited about tangling with Nana Silver, and I am not sure how much I could help at that point—I mean, won't the damage have been done? But, of course, it would be great to spend some extra time with you and Cole. And your mom and I could discuss a few things in person.”

Bingo. He wants to talk to Mom in person! “That would be great, Dad! I feel less stressed out already. Can you book your tickets now?”

“Now?”

“Please, Daddy?” Clearly, I have no shame.

My dad sighs. “Okay, sure, sweetheart. As soon as I hang up the phone.”

“Promise?” He's said this kind of thing before.

“Promise. Now how about you give your little brother back the phone? He's not still crying, is he?”

I open my door and there's Cole on the couch, shoving “his” phone—it's really my mom's old one—into his mouth and gnawing on the buttons. Like I said, he doesn't entirely get how to use a phone just yet.

“Wanna talk to Daddy?” I ask, heading over to the couch. I take the dripping old phone out of his mouth and toss it onto the coffee table. Cole grabs for the real phone in my hand, but I yank it away just in time. “Here, I'll show you.” I press the speakerphone button. “Now talk.”

“Talk!” Cole squawks, picking up the phone with both hands and pressing it to his face.

“What?” I hear my father's muffled voice on the other end. “Cole-Man, is that you?”

I decide to let Mom sort things out this time and head back to my room, practically skipping. I've got a whole week of whirlwind romance and family bonding to plan!

It's rainy and freezing today, but according to the Clinton Middle School calendar, spring is right around the corner. The Spring Clubs and Teams Fair is going on this afternoon right after school. Lillian and I are waiting at my locker for Frankie, who's the main reason we're even going to the fair. For the past few weeks she's been talking about joining the track team—even though when we played soccer in fourth and fifth grade she was always making up excuses to
get out of running sprints at practice. Don't get me wrong, Frankie's a decent athlete, but it's been a while since she's shown any interest in getting sweaty on a regular basis.

We decide that Frankie has either been abducted by aliens or ditched us and gone straight to the fair. Part of me is hoping it's the aliens, because the thought of three entire months of Frankie-less afternoons is seriously depressing. When I text Frankie asking where she is, though, her reply is definitely coming from the first floor gym and not from outer space.

Sorry L! I wanted to beat the crowds.

The Clubs and Teams fairs aren't exactly sold-out stadium shows, so I'm not sure what crowds Frankie is hoping to beat, but Lillian and I grab our stuff and head down to see what's going on.

With Nana expecting me to drop everything to check out “venues” and approve (sort of) invitations every other day, I don't really have time for
any extracurriculars other than the Green Club, which Frankie and I have been doing since sixth grade. I've been trying to convince Lillian to join the Green Club too, but she says clubs and teams are Katie's thing. Plus, since she doesn't get perfect grades, her parents think cooking class is enough of a distraction from homework. On the way down to the gym I explain to her that the best thing about Green Club—other than protecting the planet, obviously—is that we can work on our projects during the actual school day, like watering the garden beds during study hall, or helping with the recycling at lunch.

I'm pretty sure I've sold Lillian on saving the Earth, when Mr. Mac swoops over to us as soon as we enter the gym.

“Lillian Wong!” he says, as if they're long lost friends. “I was hoping you'd show up.”