so theoretically I could have done that at home. For the event, though, I need all the industrial equipment—I couldn’t bake this many cupcakes in Gramps’s kitchen even if I wanted to. Between Wednesday and Thursday night, all three hundred vanilla bean and double dark chocolate cupcakes have been baked and sealed unfrosted in airtight containers to keep them fresh.
Since frosted cupcakes don’t last as long, frosting must happen at the last possible second. Which is why I’m spending Friday night not going to Shabbat, but in Gramps’s kitchen, music blasting, meticulously frosting each cupcake with different colors of buttercream. I have three designs—black and white swirled with red sparkle sprinkles, red and gray swirled with edible pearls, and chocolate ganache with a white stripe, to have the whiteout effect of the title.
I don’t know what’s more of a miracle—Gramps letting me use the kitchen, or Gramps letting me skip Shabbat to frost cupcakes. Gramps does okay when I bake the occasional batch, but he keeps himself busy today. He goes to Ollie’s baseball practice; they go out for dinner before Shabbat. All so I have plenty of time to frost and clean up before he gets home.
My phone buzzes. It’s Nash. But not for me.
He liked Kels’s most recent NYU tweet.
Kels OneTruePastry 1hr
Apparently NYU has a Milk & Cookies club and WOW I didn’t know how badly I needed that in my life?!?!
I switch my phone to silent. It’s jarring, Nash suddenly engaging with Kels again. I have no clue what he’s thinking—and it’s not like I can ask. I wish I didn’t tweet about NYU. Because it’s like Nash suddenly remembered that Kels is real.
Kels ghosted Nash, but for whatever reason, he wants her to know that he’s still here. The more Nash likes and engages with Kels’s content online, the weirder Nash seems IRL. Maybe I’m overthinking. But yesterday, I asked him if he wanted to study for our impending AP exams before I had to work, and he said he had, you know, so much English homework and bolted. It didn’t even occur to me until I got inside that we’re in the same English class. And no, we did not have so much homework.
It’s probably REX related. Or the Nick thing. Whatever that means.
I transfer two finished tubs of cupcakes to the basement storage refrigerator. Each container has two tiers, holding twenty-four cupcakes. Two containers down—eleven more to go. God. How did I think I’d be able to do this myself? These cupcakes are endless.
I fumble with my phone on my way back to the kitchen.
I’m going to text Nash and check in.
Hey
6:50 PM
Nash Kim
Hi.
6:51 PM
Hi? Period? It’s so distant.
What’s up?
6:53 PM
Just at temple, you know, getting ready for services.
6:54 PM
Are you okay?
6:54 PM
Stomachache.
6:55 PM
It’s not even a lie, honestly.
Oh no! I hope you feel better for Sunday.
6:56 PM
Me too.
6:57 PM
The service is about to start, but still I hope for some last message, a flirty emoji, anything. It doesn’t come. Disappointed, I return to my mission of frosting two hundred and fifty-two more cupcakes, alone. I work methodically, focusing on one pattern at a time until I am on autopilot.
Is it self-centered to think his weirdness is because of the renewed possibility of meeting Kels IRL, because of me? It doesn’t even make sense. What happened to Kels isn’t real? He hasn’t brought up Kels to me, not once, since Fireflies and You.
Still, he thought he loved Kels—that can’t just go away. Even if he’s mad or hurt or whatever he’s feeling. But I’m pretty sure he loves me, Halle, too.
To him, it’s a triangle.
But I know it’s just a line.
It’s always been a line.
* * *
It’s Cupcake Day, and Faneuil Hall is the definition of too much.
Quincy Market, the food hall of Boston’s historic shopping center, stretches endlessly in front of us. Food vendors line both sides of the path. Seriously, any food you want? It’s in Faneuil Hall. Sushi. Pizza. Lobster. Ice Cream. Every choice is at your fingertips.
“Gotta get me some chowdah,” Ollie says.
I almost spit up my sip of water. “Never say that again.”
Ollie smirks. “Chowdah.”
“Okay,” Gramps says. “We get it, Ollie. Hal, what do you want?”
We’ve already walked the entire food hall, so I should be able to choose. But I don’t know. There are too many choices. Too many tourists pushing past me every time I pause to read a menu.
“How about we get a pizza?” Gramps asks. “Can’t go wrong with that.”
I nod. Pizza is good. I