Chapter 4 - Her Hands Were Still Shaking When She Smiled
The rug felt wet under my bare feet. Frosting had soaked straight through my socks and I could feel it cold between my toes. I didn't move. Nobody moved except her.
She stepped out from behind the couch like she'd been waiting for someone to look at her. Her mouth was still open from before, but now she tried to close it into something normal. She pressed her lips together and breathed out through her nose.
"Okay," she said. "Okay, can everyone just — can I talk?"
My brother didn't look at her yet. He was still turned half toward me, his shoulders up high. The flag frame behind him caught the light. A balloon rubbed against the wall every time the air conditioner kicked on.
She held up both hands, palms out. Her fingers were shaking. I watched that more than her face.
"That video is me," she said. "I'm not saying it isn't me. That's our kitchen this morning."
One of the older guys near the hallway muttered something. She glanced at him, then right back at my brother.
"It was orange flavoring," she said. "I brought it from my apartment. It's a concentrate. You have to use drops. I poured it into the batter before your mom baked it."
My brother finally turned his head toward her. "What vial?"
"The little bottle in the video. It's not — it's not what she thinks." She looked at me then, fast, then away. "Honey, I know how it looks. It looks bad on a phone. But it's just baking stuff. I wanted the cake to taste like orange. You said orange was his favorite."
I remembered Mom carrying the white box in from the car. Blue and orange frosting. She'd said the bakery on County Road 9 did it because we didn't have time.
My brother frowned. "You didn't tell me you put anything in."
"I know." Her voice got smaller. "Because I wanted it to be a surprise. I didn't mix it right, I think. I was scared it would taste weird. That's why I didn't say anything when they cut it."
That didn't make sense and I almost said it out loud. If you wanted a surprise flavor, you'd want people to know after they tasted it. My chest was beating so hard my dress moved with it.
My brother ran a hand down his face. His white shirt had a smear of blue on the cuff now from where he'd grabbed the table. "You poured something from a vial nobody's ever seen into batter," he said.
"It's food coloring and flavor," she said quickly. "Ask my sister. She uses the same brand for cupcakes. I can call her."
Nobody answered. The living room smelled sweet and sour at the same time, like sugar and cleaning spray.
I looked at her hands again. Her nails were painted dark green to match her dress. No batter on them now. In the video her hands had been different, hurried.
"You never bake here," I said before I could stop myself. My voice cracked. "I've never seen that bottle in our pantry."
She looked at me like I'd slapped her. "Well, no. Because I just brought it today. In my purse."
"In a vial?" My brother said it, not me. He was staring at her purse on the armchair. Small black bag, zipper half open. "Why would flavoring come in a vial?"
"That's just the bottle it comes in," she said. "It's from a specialty store. It's concentrated."
He breathed in and out. I could see him trying to decide. His eyes went from her to me to the cake on the floor. He loved her. I knew how he looked at her when she walked in wearing that dress. But his jaw kept moving like he was chewing on something.
A woman in the back whispered, "Should we throw the cake out? It's all over the rug."
"No." My brother said it sharp. He pointed at the floor. "Don't throw anything away. Get a trash bag and — pick it up. All of it. Put it in the bag."
My stomach dropped. I thought he meant to clean because I'd made a mess.
He looked down at me. "If something was put in it, we're keeping it. We're not throwing it out like it didn't happen."
She nodded too fast. "Yes. Yes, that's smart. Keep it. Test it if you want. It'll show it's just flavoring."
Mom got a grocery bag from under the sink and knelt down with paper towels. The frosting stuck to the wood in strings. Blue, then orange, then white. The serving plate was cracked in half. She slid the big pieces in first, then scooped the soft parts with her hands.
I wanted to help but my feet wouldn't move. My socks were ruined. The cold was crawling up my ankles.
My brother put his hand on the back of my neck. It was heavy and warm. For a second I thought he was going to pull me close. He didn't. He just held me there while Mom worked.
"Go wash your feet," he told me, quiet.
I looked up at him. "I wasn't lying."
"I didn't say you were," he said. But he didn't say I wasn't, either. His eyes went back to her, standing by the couch with her arms crossed now, hugging herself.
She tried to smile at one of the guests. "Party's kind of ruined, huh?"
Nobody laughed. The balloons kept bumping the wall.
May you like
Mom tied the top of the bag in a knot and set it by the door, next to my brother's shoes. The rug had a big orange stain in the middle that looked like it would never come out.
She stayed. Nobody told her to leave. And everyone started looking at me like I was the reason we were all still standing there with cake on the floor.
