16. Cake is best when shared
Chapter 16
Cake is best when shared
KLEIN
M y toe taps inside my freshly-polished dress shoe as I bop along to Brenda Lee’s classic tune. Unlike the song suggests, we’re not rocking around a Christmas tree. Tomer, Shep, Sawyer, Aaron, and I are gathered near the dessert table.
Although conversation flows with our typical lighthearted jabs and jokes, the underlying tension from the Lenkov threat remains.
It’s killing us not to revert to our innate need to strategize and talk shop. We’re managing, though. Probably thanks to the cheery vibe Lettie and her decoration crew managed to create for the party.The costumes don’t hurt either. Kind of hard to talk about the mafia when Aaron and Jonesy have their dicks in boxes. Allegedly.
When the idea for a holiday party was floated, Boss immediately shot it down. Not to say he’s a Grinch; I mean, he’s dressed up like Santa Claus, beard and all. He said no because the mood at Redleg is tense as fuck these days. We’re all on high-alert around the clock. Most of A-team and their partners have been sleeping here for safety. It’s not conducive to jovial festivities.
In the end, Lettie wore Boss down.
I asked Tomer how she pulled it off, and his returning smile spread so uncharacteristically wide I worried he was having a stroke. After a long beat, he said, “Sunshine doesn’t let darkness win.”
And I understood instantly.
So a party was planned, safety precautions taken, and here we are. One night to remember the joy we’re fighting for.
I keep an eye on my mother, where she sits in the corner talking to Sammy and Val. By talking, I mean she’s mostly listening to them. Her verbal communication has continued to decline, so she’s no longer a big talker. It’s not that she can’t speak, but the words get jumbled, and she struggles to string them together in the proper order, leading her to shut down out of frustration.
She seems perfectly happy now. Wonder what they’re talking to her about?
As long as Ma keeps me in her field of vision, she seems comfortable. In fact, despite the sea of new faces and being in a strange place, she’s shown only minimal agitation since we arrived.
When Val first approached her, I admit I was terrified Ma would panic due to the costume. Same when Junior walked by. For unknown reasons, they’re dressed like Sally and Jack Skellington from The Nightmare Before Christmas .
However, if what I overheard is accurate, Val’s pissed off about him matching her since it wasn’t a planned thing.
Awkward.
Despite the eccentric and slightly creepy costumes, Ma didn’t falter. Just held out her hand for an introduction, smiling pleasantly. From that point on, she’s been happy as a lark.
Not sure I can say the same for Sammy. However, since she sat down beside the woman who raised me, she’s smiled more than I’ve seen in a while.
Even with her deteriorating health, my mother has that effect on people.
A song change catches my ear. “White Christmas” is an odd choice for a Florida holiday. But it still works.Mom sways gently from side to side as she listens.
She’s still in there somewhere. Buried deeper at times than others, yet there nonetheless.
“Nice playlist,” I mutter to no one in particular, then bite into my snowball cookie.
Mine because I made it from scratch, born from an idea I had one morning. Shot me right out of bed with creative inspiration.
A sugar cookie truffle with a hint of coconut extract, a white chocolate coating rolled in coconut flakes, andlightly dusted with silver edible glitter.
In a word, wintery heaven.
Two words. Whatever.
Mia tried to add red and green sprinkles, and it got her banished from my kitchen. Perhaps permanently. Depends on whether she attempts to earn a second chance.
Fucking sprinkles.
What is this? A circus?
It’s possible Mia’s trolling me with the sprinkles. A tactic she’s using to sexually rage bait me.
Gearing up for the holidays, I’ve tried teaching her some baking techniques. Oddly enough, by the time the oven heats up, our clothes are off, and one of us is licking something sweet off the other’s body.
Come to think of it, that usually happens after she starts in with her bratty shit.
Huh .
Oh well. It all works out in the end.
“Lettie,” Tomer comments about the playlist, conveying it was her doing while using the least number of words possible.
Classic Tomer. Unnecessary words serve no purpose for him. Unlike the Tomer of old, this version of him lights up like a Christmas tree when the topic involves his girl.
Shep pointedly looks between the two of us, assessing us carefully. He addresses Tomer first. “Die Hard. John McClane. Nice. Wish I would’ve thought of it myself.”
Tomer’s dressed in a tank top that’s stained with fake blood and grime. He’s got more smudges on his neck, shoulders, and arms. A chain lanyard hangs from his neck with a phony police badge, and he’s wearing double empty shoulder holsters.
Turning to me, Shep clicks his tongue. “No fucking clue who you’re supposed to be. Frank Sinatra?”
I put my hand on my chest and lower my forehead. “I’m flattered, but no. George Bailey from It’s a Wonderful Life .”
He rolls his eyes. “Lame.”
I scoff. “Yours is better?”
In truth, his costume is far superior. There’s no way I’m letting him know I think that, though.
Besides, I couldn’t go all out with my costume. I didn’t want to risk upsetting my mother.
Shep’s in a white robe that’s tied around the waist. No shirt underneath it. Since the robe stops above his knees, his legs are exposed down to the black socks that are pulled halfway up his shins. The icing on his costume is the faux fur trapper hat with flaps covering both his ears.
“Sorry, Klein. Shep’s costume is way better,” Aaron offers his opinion.
I feign offense with a glare and curl of my upper lip. “Who asked you, box dick?”
We laugh off the good-natured ribbing and then Shep and Sawyer launch into a competition to see who can do the best Cousin Eddie impression.
Shep goes first, which is only fair since he’s in the costume. “Merry Christmas! Shitter was full.”
Sawyer snaps his finger, pointing at an imaginary dog on the floor. “Snot! You roll over and let Uncle Clark scratch your belly.” Fully embracing the character, Sawyer slants his head to the side and lowers his voice. “You ain’t never seen a set on a dog like this, Clark.”
Shep puts his hands out, palms facing front. “I surrender. You win.”
As the hilarity dies down, Leo strolls up to our group, plate overflowing with his mother’s meatballs and about seventy-two pounds of cheese cubes. He’s wearing dress slacks, a green cardigan, and a green Christmas tie. A Santa hat rests slightly askew on his giant head. He reminds me of my grandfather.
It’s the first time I’ve chatted with him tonight, so after we exchange greetings, I ask, “What’s your costume?”
He uses his free hand to gesture down his frame. “Clark W. Griswold.” Then he points his fat finger at Shep. “Shitter was full.”
They exchange a high five, and then Leo does his Clark impression. “Can I refill your eggnog, Eddie? Drive you out to the middle of nowhere and leave you for dead?”
Even fucking Tomer joins in, bunching his lips to the corner of his mouth. “Nah, I’m doing just fine, Clark.”
Cracking up like I’ve rarely seen him, Aaron waves his arms through the middle of our group. “Enough!”
As the raucousness simmers down, Sawyer tips his chin at Leo, an accusatory scowl lightly souring his features. “While I approve of the costume and all the impression fodder it provides, I thought you were doing an ugly sweater. Sammy worked hard on that for you.”
“Sue threw shit on it,” Leo explains, his tone nonchalant, then he tosses a cheese cube into his mouth. His entire vibe says: nothing to see here, folks .
Shep barks out a riotous guffaw, and the rest of us quickly follow suit.
When we recover, Aaron asks the obvious question. “What the fuck, Lionheart?”
Wearing a growing smirk, Leo shrugs. “It’s our thing.”
Raising his drink at Leo, Shep says, “And I thought Kri and I were kinky. You win.”
Another round of raucous laughter.
After taking a few scat jokes on the chin—sorry for the gross visual—Leo finally explains about the times his wife accidentally flung dog shit on him. Poor Leo.
And poor Sue. Not sure I’d be able to recover if I’d done that to Mia.
Twice.
“Well, I was gonna have more of that chocolate cake over there, but I think I’ll stick with pie,” Aaron jokes, channeling his inner thirteen-year-old boy.
No matter the age or background, men enjoy toilet humor. That’s just the way of our people.
Sawyer holds up his plate of partially eaten desserts, swallowing another bite.“You can’t go wrong with anything on that table, man.” He’s been oddly silent tonight while he shovels it in. Apparently, food shuts him up. Good to know.
“Lionheart, save room. It’s some seriously good shit,” Shep chimes in, then cringes when the hilarity breaks out again from his unintentional pun.
Poop jokes! The holiday gift that keeps on giving all year long.
If not for the immature distraction, I’d be gloating over how much they love my confectionery buffet. It’s taken everything in me not to dust the imaginary lint off my shoulders every time someone moans over a bite.
No one has mocked me about the desserts since I haven’t fessed up yet.
Tomer brushes his elbow against mine and gives me a subtle nod. Then he arches his brows pointedly. I do the same back to him, unsure what he’s trying to convey.
If anyone notices us, it’ll look like we’re having a brow-raising competition.
Suddenly, realization hits me like a gong to the head. He’s encouraging me to tell the gang I’m responsible for the mouthgasms of the sugar variety.
Duh .
I blink out of my thoughts when Sawyer attempts to shove a bite of the chocolate cake into my mouth. “Try this, dude. Never had cake this good. I can’t get enough of it.”
Fuck it.
“It’s from the coffee I added. It brings out the richness of the cocoa.”
He freezes, holding still. For potentially the first time in his caffeine-fueled life. His jaw drops, giving me a view of partially chewed cake.
I knock the bottom of his chin with my first two fingers. “Close your mouth before you attract flies.”
Sawyer complies, clamping his mouth shut while otherwise remaining frozen. There’s a certain rein deer in the headlights look about him. He’s even stopped bouncing from foot to foot. It’s unnatural. A sign of the apocalypse, perhaps.
Shudder .
Shep taps my chest faintly with the back of his hand. “ You made the cake?”
“Yep.” I swallow around a tight lump. “All the desserts, actually.”
Leo cricks his head to the side. “No shit?”
I nod, impatiently waiting for the jokes to start. Either at my expense or in response to his accidental poop pun.
But they don’t start.
Not even the expressions decorating the faces of my friends hold any hint of mockery. Dare I say they look... impressed.
“Holy fuck. I thought it was Lionheart’s mom.” Shep nods emphatically. “ Damn .”
Given how delicious everything Madeline makes tastes, I’ll take that as a hefty compliment.
“No, Mom only did the hot food,” Leo says, wiping his face with a napkin. “I need to empty my plate faster so I can try this earth-shattering coffee cake.”
Unable to let that error slide, I correct him. “It isn’t coffee cake, big guy. That’s a breakfast danish or pastry. What I made is a salted caramel fudge cake with coffee as an ingredient. Huge difference.”
I cut myself off before I launch into the technical reasons for the effect coffee has on cocoa.Although I’m not a science guy by nature and I’m still fairly new to baking, I’ve done my homework on the subject. No sense in doing something if you’re gonna half-ass it.
“The coffee explains why Sawyer’s instantly addicted to it,” Aaron quips.
“Addicted is right.” Sawyer turns to me, shoving the last bite of cake into his trap. “You’re fucking hired, Klein. I’m putting you on retainer. This is the fucking cake I want for all my birthdays, holidays, and my children’s birthdays. In perpetuity. Definitely need it at my wedding reception and even my fucking funeral. In fact, bury me with this cake, or I’ll haunt your fucking ass.”
In his signature raspy tone, Aaron jokes, “That’s a lot of F-bombs for someone in yellow tights and an elf hat.”
Without missing a beat, Sawyer fires back. “And that’s a lot of snark for someone with his dick in a box.”
A cacophony of laughter rings out from our group, loud enough to draw some attention from the other partygoers. The only others seeming to have as much fun as us are Lettie, Kri, and my tiger.
While he attempts to clean his plate to make room for dessert, Leo’s studious gaze sweeps around our group. He fixates on Tomer. “T, you don’t seem shocked about this.”
“About what?” Tomer asks, fiddling with something in his pocket for the umpteenth time.I’m beginning to wonder if he’s playing pocket pool, which is why I refuse to look down.
Leo points his fork at Tomer, shifting it toward me. “About Klein baking. You knew, didn’t you?”
Not so much as batting an eye, Tomer flatly responds, “Nothing that happens around here is a surprise to me.”
I jab my elbow into his side playfully. “Don’t act like you hacked my web searches to see all the baking blogs I’m subscribed to. I told you I was baking at least a year ago. Maybe two.”
Tomer snickers diabolically, not confirming or denying everything.
Fucker probably has hacked my browser. Dammit . I’ll sic my tiger on him. Give him a taste of his own medicine.
After throwing three more cubes of cheese down his throat, Leo huffs. “A year ago, T? And you kept it secret this entire time?”
“Tomer keeping secrets?” Sawyer’s face shifts into full sarcasm mode, and he throws his voice to impersonate a female. “Holy mother of God. That is brand new information.”
A belly laugh rocks through me. “Phoebe from Friends . Nice.”
“Har har har,” Tomer intones flatly. “Not everyone is like Sawyer. Some of us like to keep things to ourselves.”
Sawyer finishes licking his plate and teases, “Listen to Tomer about this. He’s an expert in keeping secrets.”
Leo slams his glass of punch, likely to wash down the half pound of finger food he just swallowed. When he’s done, he adds, “All I’m saying is, if I had known Klein could bake like this, Sue and I would have asked him to make our wedding cake.”
Since I’m no longer compelled to hide my hobby, I open up with them. “Not sure I would have been ready for that back then. This is a fairly new thing. I started with pies, learning my mom’s recipes. I had a knack for it. After pies, I moved on to cookies. Only recently, I forayed into cakes at Mia’s urging.”
“Ghost likes that cake, huh?”Out of nowhere, Shep smacks me on the ass.
I jump a foot off the ground and yelp. “Dammit, Shep. That’s unwanted physical contact.”
This time, the riot of laughter draws the girls over.
Lettie’s the first to creep into the circle. She lifts one of Tomer’s arms and wraps it over her shoulder. “What’s got y’all happier than a mess of pigs in slop?”
Mia eases beside me and laces her hand with mine. She turns to Shep and points an index finger at him, hovering it a few inches from his face. “I saw you assault my man. Keep your grubby hands off my cake.”
Shep crumples his face and wobbles his head. “Mia, that’s too much cake for one person. You can share.”
Kri looks at the floor and covers her face with a straight-edged hand, pretending to be embarrassed by Shep. She isn’t convincing anyone. Especially considering her shoulders are shaking with silent laughter.
Leo clears his throat. “Think of it this way, Mia. Shep’s trying to save your blood sugar. Because that is a whole lotta cake.”
My head lolls around my neck in an exaggerated display of annoyance. “Quit talking about my ass.”
Seeming to take up for me, Sawyer speaks up. “Klein’s right. Grow up. That’s enough. In fact, there’s something much more important we need to discuss.”
I can see the impression coming from the sarcastic glint in his eye.
In classic Sawyer-style, he sends everyone into hysterics. He deepens his voice and adds some grit to his tone. “My name is Wilfred Brimley, and I’d like to talk to you about diabeetus.”
I’m dead.