it's contagious.
“We haven't really talked about it yet.” I'm not even sure if Soren wants children. It's probably something we should have already discussed but I was expecting someone to make a normal proposal after which obviously we would have started discussing things like kids, but the subject hasn't come up so I don't even know if he wants them.
But if he doesn't, maybe Griffin or Dayne? What happens if I get pregnant? Will there be jealousy or anger? Will it all fall apart?
“Livia, you need to talk about it!” my mother chides. “What if you don't want the same number in the same time frame?”
What if the father could be any of three different men? I ask silently in my head as if I would ever say these words out loud. And then I have a new fear. What if I have a kid and it looks like the father—not me—but the father isn't Soren? Will they notice? Or will they imagine they see one of our family member's features in the baby's face, making everything okay again?
My mother pushes the strawberry cake toward me. It's far more delicious than I expected. I have to stop the moan from slipping past my lips. It's moist and fluffy and perfect. And it's the most beautiful shade of pink, prettier than any strawberry cake I've ever seen. Suddenly I'm imagining myself in the blush-pink wedding gown I tried on at the third wedding dress shop and thinking maybe the cake is the secret to making everything come together.
Macy and my mother each take a bite of the cake as well.
“What do you think?” Claudia, our award-winning baker, asks.
“It's incredible,” I say, feeling pretty certain I'm never going to narrow this down.
She already has all the important information, the wedding date, the venue, the number of guests. Patrice sent her a three page missive which I was email cc'd on last week to organize this tasting.
Claudia is in high demand, and Patrice told me I was lucky she was willing to squeeze me in and do my cake. And I am now a true believer.
I'm less enthralled with the hazelnut, marble, red velvet, or vanilla. They're all very good, don't get me wrong, but they don't have the same magic as the strawberry.
Patrice is furiously texting in her phone all of a sudden. She looks up after a frantic back and forth. “Sorry, strawberry is out,” she says.
“Soren doesn't like it?” I ask, feeling somehow betrayed.
“His uncle is allergic to strawberries.”
I sigh. “No strawberry.” But I finish that slice of cake, knowing it's probably the last time I'll taste such a perfect strawberry cake.
The cinnamon spice is really promising, but it's a summer wedding and cinnamon spice feels more like a winter wedding cake. The last two remaining choices, German chocolate, and lemon stare back at us—the last two kids picked for dodge ball. All of us have already had a bit too much cake, but we soldier on for these last two options.
“Holy shit, that's amazing,” Macy says when she tries the lemon. “Oh my god, Livia, you have to try this.”
“Oh. My. God,” my mother says when she takes a bite of the German chocolate. “This is the one, Livia, I'm sure of it.”
“You haven't tried the lemon,” Macy tells my mother.
I haven't tried either of them. I grab the plates before the two of them can devour these last two choices, and I take a bite of each.
“I can't decide. I love them both,” I say, much to Patrice's annoyance.
She sends another text, and I'm sure she's asking Soren for more money for babysitting me.
“Great news, nobody is allergic to lemon or German chocolate,” she says cheerily a couple of minutes later.
But I still can't decide.
“We could do the lemon for the wedding cake and chocolate for the groom's cake if you like,” Claudia says.
“Yes! That would be perfect.” And I think I might be developing just the tiniest bit of excitement about this whole wedding thing after all.
Assistants come in and clear the table of all the cake plates, careful to wipe up the crumbs before Claudia places a large book on the center of the table. The book is filled with huge glossy color photos of cakes.
“These are all my designs. I can do any of these or we can discuss something else if you don't find anything you like in here.”
If I had to guess there are about five hundred photos in this enormous book.
Sensing my