The Icing on the Cake (21 page)

Nana sighs loudly. “Well, if you say so,” she says, giving my hand a squeeze. “I guess you'd better go, dear.” She reaches into the bag of envelopes and pulls out a perfectly square one that's the exact same shade of lavender as my dress. “But not before I give you this.”

“What's this, Nana?” I ask, not quite taking the envelope from her. “You threw me this huge party—you don't need to give me a present, too.”

“Of course I don't, darling—no one
needs
to give or receive gifts.” Nana Silver presses the envelope into my hand. “But I want to.”

Suddenly I feel a little guilty for how I've been acting—or at least how I've been feeling. If my
grandmother knew the kind of thoughts I've been having about her lately, I doubt she'd be inspired to give me a present.

“That's so generous of you,” I say. My mom nods her approval—she's big on manners. “Thank you so much, Nana.”

“Aren't you going to open it?” Nana Silver holds up the bag of checks. “These can wait until tomorrow, but you should open that one now.”

I look at my mom, but she just shrugs, so I follow Nana's lead, as usual. Carefully, I open the purple envelope and pull out the card inside. It's not a birthday card, and it isn't a check. It's way better: a gift certificate to Bubble Kingdom!

“Oh, Nana,” I say, hugging her more tightly than I have in a long time—maybe ever.

Nana hugs me back. “You let me throw you the party I wanted, which meant a lot to me,” she says, smoothing my curls. “Now you deserve to have the party that you wanted.”

When we stop hugging, I show my mom the certificate. She smiles and gives Nana a hug too. “You know, Adele, you're full of surprises.”

“Lucky girl—it's enough for three,” Mom says. “Hmm, let me guess . . . You're bringing Cole and me, aren't you?”

Uh-oh, that wasn't my plan.

My mom starts laughing. “I'm kidding, Lize! You can call Frankie and Lillian from the car and tell them they've got a spa day coming up.”

Nana puts her arm around my shoulder. “You're a lovely young woman with lovely friends, Liza. I hope you enjoy being thirteen.”

“Good night, Nana,” I say, hugging her again. She may not totally get me, but she really does totally love me. “Thank you for the party.”

*  *  *

Once we're in the car and heading toward the Brooklyn Bridge, I call Frankie and Lillian to tell them about Bubble Kingdom. I get voice mail for
both, so I try texting. No reply. For the first time since we climbed in the backseat, I look over at my brother, who's smiling and happily singing to himself in his car seat. “Not that I'm complaining at all, but why were you in such a hurry to leave?” I ask my mom. “Cole's not even crying yet.”

She glances at me in the rearview mirror and shrugs. “I figured that it had gone on long enough,” she says. “It was time to go.”

“What happened to Dad?” I ask. “He didn't even say good-bye to me before we left.”

“He went back up to the party to say good night to Nana and gather up your presents. He'll bring them over later.”

“Presents!” Cole yells, clapping his hands. “Presents for Cole!”

Mom and I laugh. “No Cole-man,” I say. “Presents for Liza.”

My brother looks at me like I've just crushed his little heart. I give him a tickle under the chin. “But
don't worry—if there are any cars, trucks, trains, or planes, they're all yours.”

Cole starts clapping again, and I turn and look out my window. We're in Brooklyn now, but we're not taking our usual route home.

“Why are we going this way, Mom?” I ask. “Are we stopping to do an errand at ten thirty at night?”

“You could say that,” my mom says, winking at me in the mirror.

Suddenly, I know exactly where we're going—the cooking studio. But why? Something strange is going on. Are my mom and Chef Antonio going to sit me down to tell me they've started dating—tonight? I take out my phone and text Frankie and Lillian again.

“What's going on?” I ask my mom as we slide into a parking space right across the street from Chef's studio (like that ever happens—a perfect parking space in Brooklyn!). When Cole sees where we are, he starts singing his favorite song—the one he and Angelica dance to every week. I check my phone
while Mom unbuckles him from his car seat. Where are my friends? Why is no one texting me back?

When we reach the door of the cooking studio, my mom stops and looks me in the eye. “Liza,” she says, gently smoothing a few of my fly-away curls, “happy birthday.”

You know that expression “I couldn't believe my eyes”? Well, when the studio door opens, that's exactly how I feel. There is no way to comprehend what I am seeing. Even though I come here every week, I hardly recognize the place. There are streamers and balloons everywhere. The tables are covered with beautiful, intricate tissue-paper flowers, and bright fluffy pom-poms—that I can instantly tell Lillian made—are hanging from the ceiling. A huge
paper garland in her pretty script spells out
FELIZ CUMPLEAÑOS, HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MAZEL TOV
and is also hanging from the ceiling. And Angelica's Cuban playlist—the one we always listen to during class—is playing on the stereo. All of my favorite foods are piled up on the tables—Dr. Wong's dumplings; my mom's fried chicken and a pot of collard and mustard greens cooked with a ham hock; Frankie's dad's pasta with fresh tomato sauce, mint, and capers; Chef's rice and beans—and right in the middle are all of the incredible desserts that Nana had pushed away into the corner all night.

The studio looks, sounds, and smells amazing. Everything is perfect. And the best part is, I actually know everyone in the room: The Newlyweds—Margo and Stephen. Henry and Errol and Tristan. Chef, Angelica, and Javier. All of the Caputos, Dr. Wong . . . even the other Dr. Wong and Katie have shown up. My dad, who really did bring over all of the presents, my mom, and Cole. And, of course, Frankie
and Lillian, who have crazy big smiles on their faces and who I'd bet every check in my bag full of envelopes are responsible for putting this all together. Looking around, I realize that knowing everyone in the room means everyone in the room knows me—the real me—the Liza Louise Reynolds-Silver me.

I'm pretty sure I'm going to start crying for the second time tonight, when Frankie and Lillian grab a big box from the pile of presents and hold it out in front of me. I look at them like they're nuts.

“Guys,” I say, waving my arms around the whole room. “I don't need a present, too.”

Frankie shoves the box at me, forcing me to take it. “Trust me, Lize, you kind of do.”

Confused, I turn to Lillian, who is still smiling.

“It's not just from us, it's from our families, too. Open it, open it!” she squeals with a bunch of excited little claps.

I look at my mom, who nods. “Go on, Lize.”

“I guess I have no choice!” I shrug. I unwrap the
box and hand the lid to Cole, who earns a big laugh by immediately putting it on his head. Carefully, I fold back the tissue paper.

It's the dress.

The perfectly poof-less, elegant, shine-free, midnight- blue dress that I tried on at Bloomingdale's. I hold it up to a roomful of “Ahhs.” Frankie and Lillian beam.

“But how . . . ?”

“After the disastrous dress outing with your grandmother, we knew we had to do something drastic,” Frankie explains. “We called up Nicole—remember Nana Silver's personal shopper?—and asked her if the dress was still available in your size. She said she had a feeling she might hear from us again.”

“She had actually put the dress on hold, just in case,” gushes Lillian. “Can you believe it?”

I shake my head. I can't.

“Angelica helped us pull this all together,” Lillian continues, “and we knew it would be the perfect time for you to wear it, so . . .”

“I can't believe it . . . ,” I finally manage to say.

From the back of the room where she's been standing with Chef Antonio, Angelica walks toward me. “Well, believe it,
mi amor
,” she says, her bangles tinkling like bells as she puts her arm around my shoulder. “Go put on the dress you love in
el baño
—time to get this
fiesta
started.”

Angelica gives me a squeeze and then pushes me gently toward the bathroom as Cole jumps up and down at her feet. Hugging my new dress to my chest, I turn around to see her swoop him up as she always does and spin him over to the “dance floor” between the tables. Someone turns up the volume on the stereo, and soon everyone is dancing. I'm not exactly known for my impressive moves, but suddenly I can't wait to join them. If there weren't so many boys here, I'd start tearing off the hideous purple poof-fest before I even reach
el baño
.

Frankie

Somehow, we actually pulled this alterna-mitzvah off without any drama or major disasters—I guess we've all had enough of both the past few months. You'd think with Tristan
and
Katie in the room, I'd be all kinds of stressed out, but I'm so over worrying about either of them. Watching perfect Katie nibble at her fruit salad all by herself, it hits me that I've never actually seen her look happy.
Sure she's cool and athletic and super smart—but if none of those things makes her happy, then she's not really perfect, is she?

It's still a little weird seeing Tristan with my brothers. All that time I was into him I had no idea that underneath his total hotness he was really just another Goon. Actually, it's kind of a relief. When he's not with Leo and Joey, he's pretty decent to hang out with. In fact, in honor of my new “enlightened sensibility,” as Mr. Mac would say, I think I might just ask Tristan to dance. Who cares if I'm not
Dancing with the Stars
material—that's his problem, right?

*  *  *

Lillian

Seeing Liza so happy is almost enough to make me forget about Javier. Almost, but not quite. My cheeks start burning again whenever I think about how stupid I was to believe he might actually
like
me like me. Frankie told me that he's a boy and boys don't even realize what they're saying or how they're acting or
what it might mean most of the time. She's probably right, but I can't help wishing my first real dance with a boy hadn't been a total misunderstanding. At least for me.

Still, despite feeling my heart deflate like a cartoon balloon, there was something nice about the way Javier said we were good friends—good enough that he feels comfortable just being himself around me. I mean, I've just spent the past six months being the new kid in school. If anyone should understand how huge it is to get to be your real self with real friends, it's me!

So, yeah, maybe tonight didn't turn out exactly as I'd hoped it would with Javier—but I have to say, I am still glad I danced with him. It was actually kind of cool, and excruciating at the same time. And everybody keeps praising all the paper flowers and colorful pom-poms I made (with no lavender in sight!), which is a great feeling. So even though Javier doesn't
like
me back, that doesn't mean we can't have
fun together, right? He's out on the dance floor now with Frankie and Tristan, and he looks like he could use a partner. Now that my first dance with a boy is officially over, I might just be ready for my second.

*  *  *

Liza

My mom hasn't said anything to me yet about whatever's going on with Chef Antonio, but she doesn't have to. They've been side by side since we got here, first serving people food, now on the dance floor, and I can't remember the last time I saw her look this happy. It's definitely strange to think about my mom being with someone besides my dad, and I'd be lying if I said part of me wasn't still rooting for them to get back together. But even Dad is smiling, watching Mom and Chef dance—everyone is, actually—and if he can be happy for her, I should be too, right?