Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Unknown number: Operation Cookies still on?
I put down the measuring cup I’m using to measure flour and quickly swipe my powdery hands on my apron before tapping out a response.
Me: Who is this?
It’s obvious who it is—of course—but I can’t help remembering his face in his truck many weeks ago when he told me he wanted to be my friend.
He’d pointed out he didn’t have my number and I’d told him to get it from Jenna, but we’ve never actually texted since then.
At least, not on our phones. There's still that pesky, nagging feeling that Mr. Pi feels an awful lot like Jake. There hasn’t been any recent evidence to prove anything yet.
It’s also possible my mind is making connections that don’t exist.
My phone buzzes again.
Unknown number: It’s Jake…
Me: Jake who?
Unknown number: Jake the studmuffin Taylor
Me: Huh. Sounds vaguely familiar…
Unknown number: I’ll be there soon.
Instead of answering, I snap a picture of the in-progress cookie batter and send it to Jake with a thumbs up emoji.
Today has been a total and utter disaster.
The only minor victory among the defeats is being a captain of the swim team, even if not the captain.
Visions of Analiese standing up at the graduation podium giving a valedictorian speech have been floating through my mind all afternoon like some sort of waking nightmare.
A huge part of me doesn't want to do Operation Cookies at all, but backing out isn't an option. I need to know what’s going on with Braden. Even if it’s another blow to all my plans or we discover something terrible…
does it matter? Not even the heavenly scent of baking sugar can wipe away the damage of the day.
My phone buzzes once again, this time from my mom.
Mom: I just left the hospital and I’m on my way to pick up your dad. Please remember to make cookies for dessert tonight! Love you.
I text my mom the same picture I sent Jake. It’s a double batch—killing two birds with one stone.
Tonight is finally the night. My dad is coming home from Australia. Supposedly. At this point, I’ll believe it when I see him walk through the front door with my own eyes.
The thought of seeing him is exciting, but I also can’t help but feel nervous about how things will be between him and Mom.
Will there be tension or will things feel normal?
It’s unrealistic to think things would be normal, as he’s basically been MIA for months and then there was the picture of him on Instagram looking a little extra cozy with that actress.
It never seemed possible that my parents could drift apart, but Braden and I used to feel solid too.
Maybe I’m not the best relationship judge.
I form perfectly-sized balls of dough and space them out evenly on baking sheets.
Once a couple trays are filled, I slide them into the oven and set a timer.
The familiar cadence of the motions comforts me as I try to gather my thoughts and fortify my emotions before this operation begins.
A mental image of my vision board upstairs fills my mind.
Even though valedictorian may be out of my reach, I can still be accepted to MIT.
Mrs. Nelson was right about that. Will I still want to go after we go to the Patels?
Later in the afternoon, after all the cookies are baked and on cooling racks, Jake knocks on the front door.
Before I can finish washing the cookie sheet and dry off my hands, Hunter runs to the door and throws it open.
I can hear his excited voice welcoming Jake inside and I smile.
Jake always feels like a ray of sunshine around here.
“Hey, Tiana. You ready for this?”
I glance at Jake and see that his hair is still a little wet from his post-practice shower, but he otherwise looks as adorable as he usually does—slightly disheveled in an endearing sort of way. His blue eyes seem extra bright from the matching blue in his shirt.
“Um, yeah. Let me get some of these cookies on a plate first.”
I reach up to a cabinet to grab a paper plate and accidentally knock the entire stack all over the counter.
“Ugh!” I yell and jump back slightly to keep them from falling on me. A few of the cookies on the cooling racks get a little squished and the warm chocolate chips smear on some of the plates.
“It’s fine,” Jake murmurs. He steps in closer and starts picking up the plates, leaving one clean one out for our little mission. With a grin, he pops one of the squished cookies into his mouth. “Just to make sure they taste ok,” he explains.
I smile at his goofy, chocolate-toothed grin and whack him gently on the arm. “Of course my cookies taste fine. But don’t eat them all.”
“Wait—can we eat the cookies now, Avery?” Hunter calls from the living room.
“No!” I yell back.
“Dang it,” I hear him mutter.
Shaking my head in amusement, I reach down to the lowest sliding drawer and pull out the plastic wrap. After stacking a decent amount of the cooled treats on the plate, the plastic wrap comes next—but my hands tremble slightly and the edge won't tear clean against the serrated box.
Jake’s warm hand covers mine, then he gently pulls the box from my grasp. He quickly and efficiently pulls a sheet off the roll and covers the cookies, smoothing the edges down underneath the plate. His eyes meet mine. Steady.
“It’s going to be fine, no matter what happens. I promise.”
A deep breath, then I let Jake’s words settle over me. Will it be fine?
My eyes drift shut, picturing the worst-case scenario: Braden's been lying to me.
The idea stabs through me, but the pain isn't as sharp as it should be.
Months of feeling like an afterthought have already done their work.
Somewhere along the way, without even making the conscious choice, I started detaching from him emotionally.
My eyes snap open and I nod once. “Let’s go.”
After telling Hunter we are going over the Patels’ for a few minutes (not that he would move from the TV anyway) and running upstairs to look out my parents’ bedroom window to see if the Patels’ car was in their driveway (it is), we walk in silence up my street.
My stomach flutters violently the closer we get.
The raw cookie dough I ate while baking threatens to stage a revolt, but deep breaths keep things relatively calm.
Even though my mind has reasoned through this situation, it seems to have forgotten to inform my nerves that this operation is necessary for my future plans and my sanity. Too bad logic doesn’t override anxiety.
Jake lightly touches my back once we reach the door, centering me, then leans forward to push the doorbell.
It hits me at that moment—I wouldn’t be able to do this without Jake.
My insides are screaming at me to toss the plate in the bushes and run, but his presence anchors me in place.
I refuse to live in the dark any longer.
To distract myself while we wait, I stare at the stucco siding of Braden’s house.
Is it a shade paler than the yellow-hued stucco on my house?
Maybe. But I’m not sure if that’s due to sun fading or by design.
Perhaps the back of his house would be a better comparison because it gets less direct sunlight year round.
I shake my head—it’s time to get answers about Braden!
Questions about the color of house siding will have to wait.
Or… get tossed aside. Because who cares.
“Focus,” I mutter at myself.
Jake glances at me but doesn’t comment, for which I’m thankful.
Nearly a minute passes without so much as a sound inside the house. The eternal wait feels unbearable, and if they don’t feel like answering, who am I to harass my neighbors? The word ‘neighbors’ makes me remember… we didn’t enact the entire plan!
“We forgot to throw the ball in the yard like friendly neighbors! Or was it casual neighbors?! Jake! I can’t believe I forgot! What will we even say now? This is so stupid and now they aren’t even answering the door anyway. So let’s just go—”
I start to step away from the door, nearly tripping on the concrete step that’s so small a toddler should be able to navigate it without problems.
Jake’s hand comes up to my back again and steadies me. “Breathe.”
Before I can answer him, the door pulls open, revealing Mrs. Patel, looking slightly worse for wear. Her glossy, dark hair is a little disheveled and her glasses slightly askew.
“Avery! How nice to see you. Sorry it took me so long to answer—I fell asleep on the couch!”
“Oh! I’m so sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Patel,” I stutter. “We can let you get back to your rest.”
I grab Jake’s sleeve and tug it, but he’s like an immovable statue. What now! Our plan is totally ruined—probably because we forgot to do half of it. We really should have taken notes.
“We don’t want to bother her during her nap, Jake. It’s rude.” I emphasize ‘rude,’ as if that will impress upon him the ‘abort mission’ signal, though we never established a code for this situation. Why didn’t I anticipate the possibility that we might need to abort?!
Jake’s eyebrows rise at my words, but he shakes off my hold on his sleeve and shines his charming, dimple-filled smile at Mrs. Patel.
“Mrs. Patel, good to see you. I’m not sure if you remember me, but I’m Jake Taylor, a good friend of the Jameses.”
She aims an uncertain smile at Jake in return, but it’s clear that Jake’s adorable golden-retriever vibe is working on her, even in her sleep-addled state. Her expression soon brightens, and one of her hands comes up to straighten her glasses and smooth down her hair.
“Oh, yes, of course. You’re Jenna’s little brother.”
Is she blushing? I think she’s blushing.