Chapter 16 Sabrina
Georgetown, South Carolina
Present Day
Mariah came home with all kinds of good food that Dante cooked. But more important than that, she was thrilled to share good news.
“He’s going to let us use his food truck. We can set up outside on Fridays and Saturdays for a few weeks, but before that, he suggested we set up at the county fair next week and at the food truck festival and the Georgetown Fair. He has a huge following—or at least he did before he disappeared and went to Florida for a few years, but no matter. People will remember him. He’ll cook and share the details about our grand reopening. He said we should collect names for our email list—give something free to people who follow us on our social media page. He’s brilliant.”
“Wow. You’re excited about working with him.”
“I am. Grandma knew what she was doing when she asked him to help us.”
“She’s not on social media. She may not know how popular he is.”
Mariah’s eye roll dismissed me for being silly. “Sabrina, the man has been on all the TV networks and in Essence and Black Chef magazines. Those are the two I know for sure because I subscribe. He’s from John’s Island. Believe me, she knows, and Grandpa Odell’s old community is proud of him. You know how the Gullah are.”
The Gullah weren’t the only ones impressed with him. I would say my sister was pretty impressed too. I rarely saw her smile, and she hadn’t stopped since sharing the news. I fixed plates for Kenni and me and then put the rest of the food away for Grandma.
Mariah disappeared upstairs but came back down while I was washing our dishes.
“I’m going to do some baking,” I said. “Kenni, you want to help Mommy?”
“I want to watch Doc McStuffins first,” she said. That was one of her rituals, so I went into the living room and turned on Nick Jr. I couldn’t find her show, but she became interested in something else.
When I returned to the kitchen, Mariah was making a cup of tea. I located Grandma’s baking pans and got my mason jars and the box of cake ingredients I’d put in the pantry. I took everything out of the box and turned on the oven. “It’s going to get hot in here,” I said.
Mariah frowned. “What are you doing?”
I propped my hand on my hip. “Baking. I plan to sell cakes.”
Mariah rolled her eyes. “Sell them to who?”
“I don’t know yet, but I have to generate some income. I’m not like you. You have a business and direct deposits hitting no matter what,” I said. “Speaking of which, how’s Vince? You haven’t mentioned him at all since we got here.”
Mariah continued to stir her tea. “Maybe we can figure out how to pay you a small salary, so you don’t need to do this.”
“We’re supposed to be saving money.”
“We are saving money. We’re not hiring painters or people to do interior design work.”
“I don’t mind baking, Mariah. It’s what I do.”
Mariah raised her cup and took a sip from her mug. “It’s May. Am I going to have to put up with a hot kitchen every night?”
“Who said I was baking every night?”
“You’re going to have to bake a ton to make some money,” Mariah said more bothered than interested. “And then how are you going to sell them? You can’t drive from place to place in your house van looking for customers.”
Her mood had changed substantially. What did my van have to do with this? “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Mariah pushed off the counter. “I said we could give you a salary. The idea of you selling sweet cakes is ridiculous.”
She walked out of the kitchen. I followed. Grabbing her arm, I said, “Look, I know your life isn’t perfect, but why are you acting like this?”
Mariah pulled her arm from mine. “What do you mean by that?”
“I heard you crying last night. What’s wrong? What’s going on with Vince?”
“So now you’re snooping?”
“I couldn’t help but overhear.”
“You know what your problem is? You’ve never understood boundaries. You were born in the way.” She marched up the stairs.
Mariah was gone, but that blow to my chest was still present.
Born in the way?
My eyes stung from upset. I had no idea what had just happened. We had an entire day of getting along and her not being nasty, but of course the sun couldn’t go down without her making me feel bad. She was so mean. I was convinced she didn’t think I deserved to live.
Forget her.I pressed the hurt out of my mind. I was going to give this business a go. Her not believing in me was her problem. It had nothing to do with me. I went back into the kitchen.
***
The next day, I took four jar cakes and put them in a cooler on ice, loaded Kenni in Grandpa’s truck with some of her favorite toys, and drove to the daycare. Today was one of the first days that I was going to be useful at the restaurant.
I drove to the paint store with the color card we’d chosen last night and purchased five cans of paint and five cans of primer as per Abel One’s suggestion. Then I drove to the restaurant.
Mariah had gone to the rehab center to see Grandpa, but she would come by to help when she was done visiting. Abel One was working with a few men on the build. They took the paint cans off the truck. I rolled the cooler into the kitchen and emptied my cake jars into the refrigerator. The refrigerator here was much larger than the extra fridge at Grandma’s house.
I was putting the last jar in as Dante entered the kitchen. We greeted each other, and he pulled the refrigerator door open. “What are these?”
“I make cakes,” I said, holding one up for him to inspect.
He took it from my hand and read the little tag I’d handwritten for each jar. It was a note that told the buyer this was my mother’s recipe. It was made with love. On the back it instructed the buyer to refrigerate. “Sweet Cake. All right, but aren’t all cakes sweet?”
“Most, but it’s not named sweet because of the taste. Sweet was my mother’s nickname when she was growing up. The cakes are her recipe, and the jars were her thing too.”
Dante nodded understanding. “Great packaging. It’s cool it’s in a reusable container. People like that.”
“The inside is pretty good too.”
His brows crinkled with his smile. “I like confidence. Let me try one.”
He walked to the area where the utensils were stored and got a spoon. He twisted the lid off and tasted, one spoonful, then another and another, moaning each time he pulled the spoon out of his mouth. I could see he highly approved. “This is all right.” He nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good cake. How many different kinds you got here?”
“Three right now, but I make like seven different flavors.”
Dante nodded. “How are you going to sell them?”
“I figured I’d go to farmers markets and mom-and-pop spots.”
He nodded again. “That’s good. You need to make sure to use social media heavily. This is the kind of product that posts well.”
“I will try to get my social media game up and do the #caketok and #cakestagram thing.”
Dante gave me a thumbs-up. “So you’re going to sell them on the food truck?”
I scratched my head. I hadn’t talked to Mariah about it yet. “I’m not sure.”
“You should. Your sister is trying to go with the easy option, some baker your grandparents have used for years, but I think having something new and different would be cool.”
“You think?”
“I know.” He picked up the jar he’d been eating out of, put another scoop in his mouth, and said, “This is good. How much do you sell them for?”
I looked at my jars as if I was expecting them to tell me what they were worth. “I guess these would be six dollars, but I make a smaller one that I could price at four dollars.”
“Well, I think you could go seven or even eight, but you know, price where you feel comfortable.” He paused. “Bring a combination of the big ones and little ones and see how it shakes out. Have a little sample for folks. Once they taste it, they’ll buy. People are not going to deny their sweet tooth.”
Dante took one more mouthful, closed his jar, and put it on the bottom shelf. He reached into his pocket, removed his wallet, and handed me a ten-dollar bill. “For you, Madam Baker.”
I shook my head. “You don’t have to pay me for a cake, not after all that good advice.”
He took my hand, pulled it open, and put the money inside. “Yes, I do, and keep the change.” He walked out of the kitchen and into the restaurant.
I placed my cooler on the side of the fridge and pushed my ten in my pocket. My first Georgetown sale felt good.