It's Raining Cupcakes

  “What are we doing today?” I asked. “Passing out more cupcakes?”

  Dad shook his head. “We’re taking the day off. You deserve it. Why don’t you and Soph go to the pool? Or see a movie? Get out and have some fun.”

  “I don’t know. I’m pretty tired. Maybe I’ll just stick around here. Read a book or something.”

  “Whatever you want,” he said, heading toward the bathroom. “I’m going to get ready for the day.”

  I sat down at the table and flipped the paper over, so I wouldn’t have to look at the embarrassing photo. I imagined Sophie looking at it and dropping to the floor in hysterics. She’d probably cut it out and send it to her boyfriend. They’d write back and forth about the idiotic girl wearing the old-lady hat. Sophie would brag about how she was totally going to beat the idiotic girl in the baking contest she’d entered. He’d tell her that of course she would beat the idiotic girl. She was good at everything. Not just good. Fantastic.

  Mom came out of her room, snapping me out of my depressing thoughts. She walked over to the coffeepot and poured herself a cup without a word. It was like I wasn’t even there.

  “Mom? The article ran today. You know, the article on the cupcake shop? It’s really good.” I got up and tried to hand her the newspaper.

  She swatted at it and turned her head away. “I don’t want to read it. It doesn’t matter. I’ve decided we’re selling it. I can’t make it work. I just can’t.”

  I grabbed her arm. “Mom! Come on. Don’t give up yet. We haven’t even opened.”

  She shook my hand loose. “Please, Isabel. Just stop. My mind is made up.”

  “I know you’re scared, but you’ll feel better once we open. I know you will. It’s just the unknown right now that’s making it hard.”

  She stood at the sink, staring past me. “Nothing has ever gone my way. Why should this be any different?”

  And when she said that, I felt an electrifying current run through my body. I thought of Sophie and how I’d gotten so mad at her. How I’d complained to Grandma about nothing going my way. How I’d pushed Sophie away because I felt like that.

  I looked at my mother, standing there, so sad and afraid. And I knew one thing as sure as I knew I’d love New York City. I didn’t want to be like my mother.

  Chapter 15

  cherries jubilee cupcakes

  JUST LIKE LOVE, IT’S OH-SO-SWEET

  Dad asked me to leave so he could have a private talk with Mom, so I showered and left.

  I wasn’t sure exactly where I was going, but I had an idea. I just needed to find a little courage first. I ran into Lana downstairs as she walked through the door, carrying a grocery bag. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail and she wore overalls splattered in paint.

  “Hey, Isabel, how’s it going?”

  I sighed and leaned up against the wall. “I don’t know. Wait. That’s not true. I do know. Terrible.”

  “Oh, no. Sorry to hear that.” She paused, like she was trying to decide if she should say the next thing she was thinking. “Well, do you have a few minutes? I’ll show you what I do when I need a pick-me-up.”

  I shrugged. “Sure.”

  I followed her upstairs and into her apartment. She put the bag of groceries on the counter. Then she waved at me to follow her toward the back of the apartment.

  The second bedroom in her apartment wasn’t a bedroom at all. She had turned it into a painting studio, with canvas and easels set up around the room and a big drawing table next to the window.

  The paintings were incredible. One of them was a picture of a hillside, with rolling green hills and little flowers blooming in the sun. Another was a picture of the beach with a little girl walking in the sand. It looked so real, it was like I was looking out the window, watching the blond-haired girl walk along the water, admiring the big blue ocean.

  Lana went to the closet and grabbed a long white jacket and handed it to me. “I have a friend who is a scientist. Lab coats make great smocks.”

  I put it on and buttoned it closed in the front while she tore off two big pieces of paper from a roll that sat in the corner.

  She laid them in the middle of the floor, and then she went to a bookshelf and picked up some pie tins. Lana took bottles of paint off another shelf and squirted some paint into the tins.

  “Okay, Isabel, when was the last time you painted with your fingers?”

  I smiled. “Um, never?”

  Her mouth opened wide. “What? You’ve never finger-painted?”

  I shook my head.

  She smiled back at me. “Well, this will be fun!”

  She dropped to her knees, stuck her fingers into the blue, and then swirled it around at the top of her piece of white paper. Then she put her hands in some white and went back and mixed it in with the blue swirls she had just made. The blobs started to look like clouds.

  “Cool!” I said.

  I kneeled next to her and stuck my fingers in some red. It felt cold, wet and kind of sticky. On the paper, I swirled my fingers around and around, making big and little circles.

  I did the same with the blue, and when the blue and red mixed, I had red and blue on the paper, but I also had purple.

  “Purplicious,” I whispered.

  “It’s fun to mix colors, isn’t it?” Lana said.

  I looked at her paper where she had painted clouds and the sun and was working on a flower growing out of the ground. She’d done that all with her fingers!

  Mine looked like something a two-year-old would do. Just color and squiggles. And suddenly I wanted more color. More squiggles.

  I put all my fingers in the paint this time, then moved them hard across the page, in big, sweeping motions, going this way and that way. Soon there weren’t any distinct lines, but instead, waves of color across the page.

  Finally I dipped my index finger in the red, and right in the middle of the wavy mess, I painted a heart.

  I leaned back and looked at it. Lana stopped what she was doing and looked with me.

  “It’s beautiful,” she said. “What does it make you think of?”

  “My insides,” I said. “Waves of love, of anger, of sadness, of everything, all mixed together.”

  She nodded. “But that heart you drew? That shows me that love is the thing that matters most to you. That even when everything is messy, your love is there, shining through.”

  “Do you think that might be a wave of courage?” I asked, pointing to a brownish-grayish wave of paint next to the heart.

  She smiled. “You know, that looks exactly like a wave of courage. Wow. How did you draw that so clearly?”

  I stood up and grabbed the picture. “Thanks, Lana. That was fun. I think I’m going to take this and give it to someone.”

  “You might want to let it dry first,” she said. “It’s pretty wet.”

  “That’s okay. If I walk over, it’ll dry on the way.”

  We went out to the kitchen and washed our hands. I took the smock off and handed it to her.

  “Thanks again, Lana,” I told her as I walked to the front door. “I hope she likes it.”

  She wiped her damp hands on the front of her overalls. “Actually, Isabel, I’m pretty sure she’ll love it.”

  I went home to tell Dad I was going to Sophie’s, and then I started on the long walk to the yellow duplex. I held the picture flat in my hands, so it could dry in the warm rays of the sun, Lana’s words echoing in my ears.

  When everything is messy, your love is there, shining through.

  I hoped with all my heart Sophie would see that too.

  Chapter 16

  peach cobbler cupcakes

  PERFECT FOR FAMILY GATHERINGS

  I’m pretty sure the walk to Sophie’s that warm August day was one of the longest ones of my entire life.

  When I got there, Hayden answered the door, talking to me through the screen door, Daisy barking like crazy behind him. “What’s the secret password?”

  “Huh?” I asked.


  “What’s the password?”

  “Um, open sesame?”

  “Bo-ring.”

  “Okay. How about, Mars is red?”

  He raised his eyebrows and smiled. “I like it. You may enter.”

  I walked through the door, and Daisy jumped on me as if to say, Notice me, love me, pet me!

  “Alien invasion, alien invasion!” Hayden yelled.

  “Hey, who are you calling an alien?” I asked as I bent down to pet the dog. She rolled over, giving me her little white belly to scratch.

  If only my life could be as easy as a dog’s, I thought.

  “Alien or not, Daisy sure is happy to see you.” I looked up. Sophie stood there, looking cute as always, wearing black shorts and a frilly yellow blouse.

  I stood up, my heart beating quickly in my chest. I swallowed hard. “I hope she’s not the only one,” I said softly.

  “Chickarita,” she said. “To my room.”

  I followed her there. Her room smelled good, like baby powder. She sat on her bed, bouncing up and down slightly. I could tell she was nervous too.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I was a jerk. Jealous of you, I guess.” I went over and kneeled in front of her. “I brought you a peace offering. Please, forgive me?”

  She laughed and pulled me to my feet. “Stop it. Of course I forgive you. And I’m sorry for criticizing your answer during the interview. I was just trying to help. The last thing I wanted to do was upset you.”

  I nodded. “I know.”

  She took the picture from my hands. “Wow, this is cool. Did you make it?”

  I wiggled my fingers in front of her face. “With my very own hands.”

  She laid it on her nightstand. “I love it. Thanks, Is. So, did you see the picture of us? In the paper?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Unfortunately.”

  “It’s fine. And the article is good. I predict big sales.”

  I sat on her bed. “Well, I predict no sales. Mom wants to sell the place. I shouldn’t be surprised. I mean, the woman is afraid to get on an airplane. Actually, I’m pretty sure she’s afraid to do anything.”

  “You’re so not like her,” she said.

  I looked at her. “What? You don’t think so? Sometimes I worry I’m too much like her.”

  She shook her head. “No way. If I handed you a ticket to Peru right now, you’d go. Even though it’s a billion miles away and who knows what kind of food you’d eat there or if they have humongous spiders that kill people. You wouldn’t hesitate. You would just go. And that day the reporter came over? Most people would have stayed in their room, using the worst hair day in the history of the universe as their excuse. But not you. You went out there and did what you needed to do.”

  Daisy nudged the door open with her nose, ran in, and jumped onto the bed in between us. Both of us reached over to pet her.

  “But I really didn’t do what I needed to do. I didn’t help my mom at all. My answer to that reporter’s question was so lame. And I knew it. You did what needed to be done. You knew the right thing to say. Not me. And that’s why I got mad. Because I wish I could be more like you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’re so determined, Sophie. And you know what you want.”

  She stood up and faced me. “So tell me. What do you want?”

  I sighed and put my head in my hands. “I just want to get out of Willow.” I looked at her. “Get away from this place that seems to makes my mother crazy. I can’t stand it.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Can’t stand what? Willow? Or your mother?”

  It felt like she’d stuck a knife in my chest. It hurt. It hurt so much, tears came from deep inside that tender, hurting place in my heart.

  As soon as she said it, I knew she was right. It wasn’t Willow I wanted to get away from. It was my own mother. Because I had no idea how to relate to her. To talk to her. To help her. All those years I’d tried, I could never understand why she couldn’t be happy. Why wasn’t being my mom enough? Why was she always looking so hard for something else to make her happy?

  Sophie sat down and wrapped her arms around me. She let me cry for a long time.

  “I’m sorry,” I told her when I pulled away, because my nose was running a lot and I didn’t want to get snot on her pretty yellow blouse.

  “Me too,” she said. “I shouldn’t have let you wear that stupid hat. See? I’m not so perfect either.”

  When I got back to the apartment, I didn’t go home. I went into the cupcake shop. It was Sunday, and the workers weren’t around. The door was locked, but our apartment key also opened the shop door, so I was able to get in.

  The glass cases were all assembled and in place. They looked amazing. I could just picture tray after tray of little cupcakes in various colors and flavors. Next to the cases was a light pink counter. I went and stood behind the newly purchased cash register sitting on the counter.

  “Oh, good morning, Mrs. Johnson. What can I get for you? One dozen banana cream pie and one dozen carrot cake? Are you sure on the carrot cake? Oh, of course, yes, they’re your husband’s favorite. Yes, I know, men can be odd about their food choices, can’t they?”

  “And what will it be for you, Stan? Oh, why yes, of course, the chocolate coconut are jolly good indeed. Three dozen, you say? Oh, I hope we have enough. It’s been busy today.”

  I could picture it all so clearly, it was as if I’d done it a thousand times. The cupcakes, the people, the fun conversation.

  I turned around and ran my finger along the clean counter where just yesterday, Grandma and I had worked, making cupcake after delicious cupcake.

  I pulled the passport book out and wrote this:

  Food brings people together.

  All over the world,

  people gather together and eat.

  In America, churches have potlucks

  and neighborhoods have barbecues.

  I like that about America.

  —IB

  My family needed the cupcake shop. Because we needed to be brought together.

  Chapter 17

  chocolate caramel cupcakes

  THERE’S A HIDDEN TREASURE INSIDE EACH ONE

  Visiting the cupcake shop gave me an idea. A great idea. An incredible idea. An idea that I could only hope Mom would like.

  I did what I needed to do to set the idea in motion, and then I went to find Mom. She was sitting next to Dad on the couch, reading a magazine while he watched a baseball game.

  I sat down next to her and took a deep breath. “Mom, I want to tell you something.”

  “Isabel, I don’t think—,” my dad began.

  “Dad, please. Maybe you don’t think this is a good idea, but I need to do this. I need Mom to hear me say that I want to bake cupcakes with her. Remember, Mom? We used to bake all the time, and we loved it. That’s all this is—another baking session, just a little bigger this time. We’re throwing stuff in the bowl, and yeah, it’s a big mess for a while. But we’ll keep stirring, and we’ll cross our fingers, and we’ll hope that when we pull the batch out of the oven, it will be something wonderful. A wonderful cupcake shop, just like you wanted.”

  She didn’t say anything. I stood up and took the books that I’d gotten from the library off the coffee table and set them in her lap.

  “Mom, we can do this. You believed once, right? Just believe again. If you’ll try, meet me in the cupcake shop tomorrow morning at nine. I have a surprise for you.”

  I walked out and down the hall toward the front door. “Dad, is it all right if I go see Stan and Judy for a few minutes?”

  He nodded, so I left.

  Stan was home, since it was his day off. And Judy was there too. I’d only talked to her once or twice, but she made me feel like I’d been to their home a hundred times.

  “Come in and sit down, Isabel,” she said. “I’ll get you some lemonade. And we have cookies. You like cookies, right?”

  “Yes, thanks.”
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  Their apartment was a lot like ours, although much cooler, since they had an air conditioner. It had old furniture that had seen better days. Bookcases filled with books once read, now just taking up space. And lots of pictures hung on the wall. Stan sat in a big, stuffed green chair. I sat across from him, on the floral couch.

  “Nice article in the paper today,” he said. “Good photo, too. I bet you have a ton of business on opening day.”

  “I hope so,” I replied. “Hey, is that your son?” I pointed to one of the pictures on the wall.

  “Yes,” he said, smiling proudly. “Yes, it is. He lives in Texas now. He should be coming for a visit around Thanksgiving.”

  “Were you close?” I asked. “When he was growing up?”

  Judy brought me a glass of lemonade and a plate with two cookies. “Are you kidding? They fought all the time. They’re very different from each other.”

  I took a bite of the peanut butter cookie. It tasted good. I hadn’t had a cookie in so long, it made me want to go home and bake some. “What do you mean?” I asked.

  Stan leaned back and put his feet on the stool in front of him. “He loved to be busy doing things. Going places. Seeing things. Me? I like sitting around, talking to people. That’s why I like cutting people’s hair. All day long I get to hear interesting stories from people.”

  I nodded and kept eating my cookie.

  “Like yesterday, this guy Rupert was telling me how he went to a rummage sale at his church, and he’s walking down the aisle, looking at all the junk. And then he spots this long, skinny black case. And he’s thinking, what could be in that case? Of course he looked, and it was a sword with this old-looking handle and some papers inside written in what seemed to be Japanese. It looked interesting, so he bought it. Well, he did some checking, and do you know that sword is from the 1800s and is worth thousands of dollars?”

  “Really?” I asked. “How much did he pay for it?”

  “You won’t believe it.”

  I set the empty plate down on the coffee table. “How much? Like a hundred dollars?”