The baker behind the counter has just finished decorating a cake. She’s sculpted it to look like a dollhouse. I doubt the little girl it’s being made for will even want to cut into it. It looks so real. Too real to eat.
Maxine waves over one of the men behind the counter. “Can I get a dozen of these?” She points to the lemon-marionberry scones. Then she looks at me and says, “Now you pick something. A cake. Which one should we get?” She hands me the cake list.
I look it over: Sacher torte, pink champagne, crème de menthe, chocolate ganache. I go with the one that has chocolate in the name. You can’t go wrong with chocolate.
“Good choice,” Maxine says. “My dad loves chocolate ganache. You’ve won him over without even trying.”
Maxine pays for the cake and scones, and we leave the bakery.
I can tell we’re entering the rich part of Portland. We’re driving up a winding road that’s got us so high, my ears are popping. The road is secluded by tall trees tickling the sky. We come to a stop sign, and it feels like we might slide back down the hill. The car is at an angle, and I feel like I’m on a carnival ride that got stuck. Maxine looks both ways and begins to drive again. Then she says, “Look to your left.”
I turn my head and see the city of Portland below, Mount Hood in the distance. Maxine makes a right turn onto a steep hill, leading us down into a cul-de-sac of houses. Wait, not houses. Mansions. I’ve seen places like this before, like when I watch those shows that give an inside look at celebrity homes. But I’ve never been inside one.
“We’re here,” Maxine says. She pulls up to a house that has three garage doors and a balcony that wraps around to the front of the house. The yard looks fake, too plush and green to be real.
A woman who looks just like Maxine is standing at the door. When we get out of the car, she calls out, “Max!”
“That’s my sister, Mia,” Maxine tells me.
They hug and we go inside.
It takes only seconds before Maxine’s family is surrounding us, hugging us and welcoming me. Maxine introduces me to everyone: Maxine’s brother, Nathan, and his wife, Abby, and Mr. and Mrs. Winters, Maxine’s parents.
Nathan takes the cake out of my hand. It’s clearly in a box that’s labeled THE CAKE SHOP, but still he looks at his sister and says, “Oh no, you didn’t bake this, did you, Max?”
Maxine hits him. “Not in front of company, please,” she says.
He laughs, looks at me, and whispers, “At the last dinner she burned boiling water. Burned. Boiling. Water.”
I try not to laugh too hard, but I can’t help it.
Abby takes my jacket. Maxine lets me know that her mom prefers for people to take off their shoes. I take them off and add them to the row of shoes lined up against the wall. Everything in this house seems to have a place. No piles or messes. The walls look like curated museum exhibits. Maxine notices me looking at the art. “My mom loves collecting black art. It’s all through the house. That’s where Mia gets it from.” Maxine calls out to her sister, “Mia, what’s the name of this artist, again? The collection in the foyer?”
Mia yells, “Jacob Lawrence.”
“Right,” Maxine says. We walk into the kitchen.
Mia and Abby are putting food on serving dishes. I ask them if they need help with anything, but Mia insists that since I’m a guest, I should make myself comfortable.
I sit down on the small sofa—yes, a sofa in the kitchen, that’s how big this place is—and watch the siblings orbit around one another, going back and forth between the stove, the fridge, the cabinets.
Mia says to me, “So tell us about yourself, Jade. You’re an artist, right? I’d love to have you stop by my gallery.”
“Thanks, I’d like that,” I say.
Maxine says, “Yeah, I keep meaning to take you by there. I think you’ll like it. And, Mia, you’ll love Jade’s work.
Mia and Abby switch off with the questions:“What grade are you in?”
“Any siblings?”
“Do you like St. Francis?”
“What do you want to do after high school?”
Maxine interjects, “Don’t bombard my mentee with questions,” she says. “I’ve already told you, Jade is an artist and she’s also a scholar.” Maxine brags about me, telling them, “She’s so focused. I just know she’s going to be a successful woman one day.”
Mia arranges crackers and cheese on a tray. She cuts the slices of cheese carefully. “And so you live in North Portland, right? Man, that’s dedication—how early do you get up to get to school?”
“I get up at—”
“It’s not that bad, is it, Jade?” Maxine asks. “You get up at, what? Six o’clock?”
“Are you going to let the girl speak?” Nathan says.
I was thinking the same thing.
Maxine is acting like she’s afraid that if I open my mouth, I’ll say the wrong thing, embarrass her or something. She seems nervous. I still don’t get a word in because Mia says, “Well, I’ll stop putting Jade on the spot. Let’s talk about what our plans are going to be for summer vacation. I know it’s a ways away, but we should at least start narrowing down a place,” she says. She walks the tray into the dining room and sets it on a long table against the wall. The space is open, so even though she is in the dining room, I see her and the living room and even the staircase that must lead to the bedrooms all at once.
“I’m still on a high from our winter vacation,” Abby says. “Sun Mountain Lodge was magnificent. Let’s go there again.” Abby is rinsing spinach so she can make the salad.
“I don’t know,” Mia says. “I was thinking we’d go someplace tropical. Sun Mountain Lodge won’t be as fun without all the snow. The cross-country skiing was the best part.”
Abby adds, “Let’s not forget about that spa where we got the body and face treatment. I didn’t want to leave.” She places the spinach in the bowl and adds dried cranberries, goat cheese, and walnuts.
Nathan takes a piece of cheese out of the bowl. Abby slaps his hand. He takes another and says, “What about doing Victoria this summer?”
“Or northern California,” Mia says.