Still, and he couldn’t deny this, Jake’s interest in Phoebe had renewed with her concentration on the Cupcake Project. Last week, he’d pointed to an awning idea she sketched and then stilled her hand with his.
“How about using cooler colors? Literally. Ice cream shades, but better. Pink and green is too girly.” He motioned for her to rise and then sat in her chair. “You don’t want to limit your customer base to women and children.” He held his hand to his chin. “You don’t want the place to seem like Baskin-Robbins. We gotta make the store upscale. Blue. Sky blue and white. With touches of yellow. French country-looking.”
“I can picture that!” Phoebe wrapped her arms around him from behind as he sketched rough pictures, dazzling her with visions. They worked well past their usual nightly news routine until they fell on each other, burning off heat so searing that the sex, unlike their usual weekly lovemaking, reminded her of when they first discovered each other’s bodies.
At that moment, Phoebe believed she could have it all.
? ? ?
Cupcakes covered Phoebe’s butcher-block counter. Linh, Eva, Zoya, and she had spent the day testing recipes and now taste-tested for what they’d include in their first Cupcake Project lineup. They batted ideas all day: seasonal menus, specialty items, which would be the regularly featured cupcakes versus cupcakes of the month.
One thing they never wavered on: knowing that Greenwich would be the perfect place to open the shop. Storefront rents seemed almost reasonable compared with New York City. The commuter rail would make an easy commute for them, and Phoebe could be within reach for the kids and Jake. In a few years, Kate and then Noah could work at the Cupcake Project.
“So? What do you think?” Zoya held up a cupcake frosted in a perfect swirl of caramel and chocolate.
“Magnificent looking,” Eva said.
“Tastes even better.” Zoya offered the cupcake to Eva, who leaned over from the end of the table where she was making concentric circles of red, white, and blue sugar for a batch of Fourth of July cupcakes and took a small bite.
“Oh, that’s heaven,” Eva said. “Though by now, my palate is sugar deadened.”
“Me, me!” Noah said. “My mouth is alive!”
“You already tested a Ginger Heaven,” Linh said. “Can he have another, Phoebe?”
“What the heck. Eventually he’ll get tired of them, right?” Phoebe wiped her hands on a red-striped apron and glanced at the clock. Five. She loaded baking tins into the dishwasher and then wiped smudges off the copper backsplash.
Jake and her mother were due at six thirty, giving her just enough time to shower and make dinner for the kids and Lola. The chicken marinated. A fresh rye loaf waited for slicing. If she and the kids worked hard, they could whip the place into shape. At one point in the not-too-distant past, she’d have chosen a wine for dinner, her tool for shaving away Jake’s irritation, but he’d recently become a teetotaler. She tried to remember when he’d stopped completely but could only recall a gradual cutback from a few cocktails after work, to one, to a small glass of wine, to nothing. “I lost my taste for the stuff,” he’d say.
She considered her formerly flawless nails: only flakes remained of the eye-bleeding red she’d applied two days ago. Add repainting nails to the list of chores to be done before leaving for some temple dinner with Jake.
“Mom, listen to my idea.” Kate jumped down from the stool where she’d been shaving chocolate for Eva. “Listen, everyone listen!”
“We’re all listening,” Zoya said.
“We make aprons, in all sizes—including ones for kids—and sell them at the store. People will buy them for their daughters and their granddaughters.”
“You should make them for boys also. Boys bake,” Noah said.
“I’ll draw designs,” Linh said.
“We can do T-shirts also.” Kate twirled in excitement. “And little notebooks and other things.”
“Maybe we’ll be the new Hello Kitty,” Phoebe said.
“We should invent Cupcake Kitty!” Kate said.
“Two Cupcake Kitties—a boy and a girl,” Noah said.
“Is that your goal, Noah?” Jake’s unmistakable voice boomed. “To be a kitten boy?”
Jake stood in the entrance to the kitchen, Lola behind him. The same lines around the eyes and initial grey hairs that had aged Phoebe—every sign engendering another purchase for her arsenal of antiaging products—added another level of gravitas and attraction to Jake. His middle had broadened, but so had his back and shoulders. He looked more imposing each year.
“Why not just buy him a rhinestone tiara, Pheebs?” Jake smiled as though he were making a joke and then examined the kitchen with a theatrical expression of shock. “We’re zoned for factory work now?”
“You’re home early,” Phoebe said.
“I planned on taking my wife for a glass of wine before we went to the synagogue dinner. Who knew I’d be interrupting the Sara Lee sweatshop?”
“I told you we were working here today,” she said.
“You did?”
“I did.”
Frozen expressions spread through the room. Zoya was the only one who didn’t appear about to curtsy.
Lola pushed in front of Jake. “Are these the extraordinary women I’ve been hearing so much about? Finally I get to try one of these temptations. What do you recommend?”
Phoebe’s hand shook as she grabbed a caramel chocolate cupcake and handed it to her mother, grateful for her presence. Lola helped soak up those moods of Jake’s that Phoebe absorbed in seconds. The older Phoebe became, the more she appreciated her mother’s wisdom and the more she saw the beauty of her parents’ marriage. They might not experience the same highs as she and Jake, but at this moment, Phoebe would sacrifice those to lose the lows.
“We’ll straighten up in here,” Eva said. “Go put on your finery.”
“I need to drive you to the train first.”
“Don’t worry, honey,” her mother said. “I’ll call a cab for them.”
Jake peeled off three twenties and laid the bills on the counter. “This should cover the fare.”
The taxi’s meter wouldn’t rise above ten dollars. Phoebe squeezed the sponge hard enough to feel her nails through the cellulose as she attempted not to scream at Jake’s need to smooth his every move with cash.
? ? ?
“You embarrassed me.” Phoebe’s words came after a long silence during which she’d showered and dressed.
“Coming home to the international house of baking isn’t my idea of fun. For God’s sake, this is my home.” He picked up the paisley tie Phoebe had placed on the bed. His burnished leather belt offered a rich contrast with the silk mauve bedspread.
“Those are my friends. My coworkers.”