9. Hawk
NINE
hawk
Little baby Serena technically isn’t a baby anymore. She’s turning eighteen, old enough to vote, smoke, and strike out on her own, but unfortunately she isn’t going to be doing any of those things today and will continue to annoy me with her presence.
The entire Moore family has gathered for the event, and a good deal of her friends too.
And I’ve brought Lavender along for the adventure. She isn’t family yet, but she’s on the fast track to being so.
“There are so many people here,” she whispers to me as we walk through my grandfather’s homestead.
He had a cabin he built, one that he kept adding on to over the years. Although it’s pretty much a mansion now, it still looks like an old-fashioned cabin. It’s about two floors but spreads so far with all the extensions. He always wanted to have a place that his family could come home to, even as their lives spread them throughout the world.
Most of my family still called Evergreen Valley home, so they still had their own homes to return to, but Grandfather always put value in being prepared for the worst.
There’s a whole cookout going on as we walk along. The grill is smoking, and long picnic tables are full of cold dishes, like potato salad, macaroni salad, and just plain old salad.
Lavender looks amazed. “There’s a lot of people here.”
“Yeah? It’s a family get-together. What do you expect?”
“Most of the time when my family got together, it was a glorified business meeting. And half the people there are hired help.”
“Are you saying you don’t even have aunts and uncles and cousins?”
She shrugs. “I probably do, but I’ve never gotten the chance to be close to any of them. My parents ran them off, thinking they were out for money more than kinship.”
“Sounds awful. And I don’t get it. Why get rich if you can’t support your family?”
“If you value getting richer rather than having their company, I suppose.”
“My family isn’t doing too bad financially. We’ve helped each other through a lot, and had gotten a lot of people who were knocked down back on their feet. They, in turn, return that help when others get knocked down.”
“I’m jealous,” she says. “I’m absolutely jealous. I’m brought up with fancy cars, being given caviar at the age of five, and here I am being jealous of you and your potato salad cookouts.”
“Aunt Marie’s potato salad is the food of the gods, and I won’t let you talk bad about it.”
“I assure you I’m not.”
We continue through the party, Lavender being amazed by the most mundane of things, left and right. She's never played kickball.
What a deprived childhood she had.
“Hawk,” I hear my grandfather say as he runs up to me. “We got a situation.”
I raise my eyebrow. “Oh. What’s going on?”
The tone he speaks in suggests there’s a big fight. Maybe one of my cousins got too drunk again. Maybe a bear has wandered into the party. Both have happened before—and multiple times.
“We don’t have a cake,” he says.
“No cake?” Lavender echoes.
“Your grandma’s been sick as a dog this past week. She was supposed to make the cake yesterday so it’d be all good and ready for today, but she hasn’t. She’s still barely able to walk.”
“So? Did you want me to go order a cake? Grab one from the store?”
“All of the ingredients here?” Lavender asks, interjecting herself into my grandfather’s concerns. “I’m assuming she was going to make it herself from scratch.”
My grandfather raised an eyebrow. “I’m guessing so, we have a stocked pantry, butter and eggs are in the fridge.”
“I can help,” she says. “I’m a professional baker.”
“You are, are you? Would you, then? We can't have a proper birthday party without cake.”
“Take me to the kitchen and it will be done.” She grabs my arm. “Come on, Hawk.”
“What do you need me for?”
“I need an assistant, and you’re clearly the best choice.”
“The last time I baked something it was from a box—brownies—and they came out usable as weapons.”
“Oh, quiet, boy. You have the guidance of a professional with you,” Grandpa says, slapping me on the back. “You’ll do wonderfully.”
The two of us head for the kitchen, and I whisper to Lavender as we go, “Not judging your abilities, but I thought you didn’t go to baking school yet. How are you a professional baker?”
“I bake things. I get paid. Therefore, I technically am a professional baker.”
I grin. Loving this girl’s tenacity. Technically correct, I suppose.
We head into the kitchen, and find the ingredients we need.
“Besides,” Lavender says as she gets to work, measuring flour out. “I know how to make my favorite recipe of Hannah’s. It’s a really sweet, light cake. I’m going to make the wild assumption your grandmother knows what Serena’s favorite type of cake is.”
“Yes. She spoils my sister. It’s why she’s so rotten.”
Lavender smiles at me. “I can alter the recipe for this. And it hopefully won’t come out bludgeoned like your brownies.”
“And what role do I play in this?”
She hands me a bowl full of random ingredients, along with a wooden spoon. “Mix. Mix until it’s an actual batter.”
“You do know we have both an electric stand mixer and hand mixer, right?”
“Yes, but both of those are too harsh. This recipe distinctly calls for a strong set of hands to beat it until it's ready.” She shows me her hands. “Do you really think these dainty little hands could manage such a task?”
“I know what those hands can do. They are incredibly skilled.” I look at her with a sly grin. “But I’ll relent and mix this anyway.”
“Good, I need to make the frosting.”
Together, we worked on Serena’s cake. She’s really into all of it, quickly getting into the flow. She’s a baker in spirit, and I’m saddened that her parents will never see her in her true element.
If anything, she’s not cut out to be the businesswoman her parents want her to be. She’s too kind. She wants the best for people and has never cared about money beyond having enough of it to survive.
So she’d be a terrible CEO.
Finally, the cake has cooled ad it’s time to frost.Lavender stop me from writing Serena the Little Demon, on her cake. I never get to have any fun.
When we present the cake to the party, it’s a hit. It’s so good that it manages to shut Serena up for a bit, and that’s the highest of compliments.
Grandpa came over to Lavender and I, sitting in our chairs, a hand on each of our shoulders. “Everyone can give thanks to Hawk’s fiancée here for this lovely cake.”
Lavender blushes at being called my fiancée.
“She’s not my fiancée,” I correct, ashamed that his words aren’t true.
“Then you ought to fix that, Hawk. Get on it. She’s one hell of a baker and stepped in to help us in our time of need. Just think, what would we do without her today?”
“Eating mediocre grocery store cake?”
“Yes. We would. And that would be terrible.”
I lean in and pull her close as everyone claps and cheers, shouting their thanks and complimenting the taste of her work.
“See? They’re ready to accept you for who you are, Lavender. We love you for who you are. I love you for who you are.”
Lavender is as red as strawberries, but she’s smiling. She’s happy.
And I want her to remain that way forevermore.