The Ingredients of You and Me Read online

  When I visited Nick, each time was the epitome of sneaking around. I always took the last bus into Mount Hazel, where he would pick me up and bring me back to his place. If Henry was home, or God forbid Charlotte was around, we’d drive to the edge of town, lie in the bed of his truck, and talk about anything and everything. It was part of what I missed the most about this Nick-less trip here.

  Focusing on him and what had happened between us months ago wasn’t helping my mood. If anything, thinking about him and his relationship with Jillian deteriorated it. My phone and laptop were staring at me from the breakfast nook. The bright green folder that contained all of the ladies’ recipes was taunting me from the foyer. It was only four in the afternoon and I had the whole night ahead of me with nothing to do but talk to myself or try to make a dent in the work I’d signed up for with the recipes and research.

  “Stronger coffee first,” I decided, pulling the French press from the cabinet to get that started. I set my laptop up at the corner of the countertop and sat on a stool.

  Opening up the laptop, I went straight to YouTube because it was my natural default. The process reminded me of how I used to have a routine every morning. Back in the day before the business got wildly busy, I would relish spending a half hour just watching random videos. In fact, the more mind-numbing, the better. Laughing at cat videos or adorable babies giggling was a great way to decompress.

  I dusted off the proverbial cobwebs that were on my YouTube home page and fought the urge to check out what The Confectionary had done with D&V’s channel. Running two pages had never been fun, but it was necessary in order for me to keep my personal space.

  Now without having to deal with the D&V social accounts, I knew I needed a fresh start. Instead of focusing on what D&V was doing, I changed the name of my personal page to Parker Phase Two. Parker Wakes and Bakes was no more. I was older, wiser, and this felt like the right move.

  Once that was done, I set out to search for solutions to the measurement problem that all of the ladies’ recipes seemed to have.

  With cooking, you could almost always wing it. A pinch and a dash didn’t make a whole hell of a lot of difference. But baking was a science. A teaspoon versus a tablespoon of baking soda could prove a disaster if interchanged. Even something as seemingly innocuous as not leveling your flour or using large versus medium eggs could throw things off. Everything had to be followed to the letter.

  So how do you make a recipe with no measurements?

  I looked down at my own hands, nicked from cutting fondant and chapped from constantly scrubbing off caked-on flour. There were burn marks and a perpetual pinkish tint on my hands that wasn’t quite natural thanks to all the food coloring I used. Making a fist, I realized that’s what they were doing. If they didn’t have a measuring cup they used what they had.

  Their hands.

  The cartoon lightbulb went on over my head and I had the urge to get started again. Motivation to use my hands filled my veins. I glanced at the clock on the oven, and then at the weather outside with the light snow falling. Luckily, it wasn’t accumulating.

  The list from the store would take a novice a while to put together, but a seasoned vet like me could fly through the baking aisle and get everything with ease.

  Without a second thought, I grabbed my phone and the keys to the lake house and headed for the door.

  * * *

  I should have had them deliver the groceries.

  When I walked in, I heard his voice first and the hair on my arms stood at attention. I stopped short.

  Can I run for the Uber driver and have the groceries delivered after all?

  Nick was at the checkout counter with a woman draped over his arm, making it almost impossible for him to bag the groceries he was buying. He was smiling, and she looked positively moony over him, whispering something in his ear that made him blush. Admittedly, it was hard to watch as she peppered his cheek with light kisses every time he leaned close enough. Jillian.

  I wasn’t sure what I was expecting, but it wasn’t her. I didn’t want to admit it, but Jillian was the opposite of what I looked like. Short, dark bobbed haircut, fine, narrow features with wide brown eyes. She was pretty, and she was built a little more on the average side whereas I was tall and athletic.

  Thankfully, Nick didn’t see me hidden behind a stand filled with bags of chips. It was the perfect spot to watch their exchange. I couldn’t make out what she was saying other than a semi-nasal “Nicky,” to which he gave a beaming smile in return. His friends were right—he did look happy with her.

  The people surrounding them looked on as if they were the perfect couple. Even though it sucked to admit it, they did look good together.

  As it turned out, Nick wasn’t bagging the groceries for him and Jillian but for the elderly couple who was in line with them.

  “No, we don’t mind at all,” Jillian gushed to the elderly woman. “He’ll carry everything out for you. He loves helping. Isn’t he the sweetest?”

  “He’s always been such a good boy,” the older man said, patting Jillian on the hand. “You’re a lucky young lady.” They said their goodbyes and Nick proceeded to leave his girlfriend in line while he carried the bags out to their waiting van.

  Jillian turned back to the cashier and grinned, tapping the conveyor belt with her long nail as her and Nick’s items were scanned.

  When he was walking back to the doors he stopped short, and for a second I thought he saw me through the window, but he was looking at Jillian with another heart-stopping smile. She welcomed him back in with a hug.

  “You’re the sweetest, Nicky,” she said, and I rolled my eyes. Her voice wasn’t just obnoxiously nasal, but it also had that baby-like sound that grated on my last nerve. It reminded me of that character Janice from Friends who dated Chandler, but without the New York accent. Or maybe I’m just being petty.

  He rubbed her arms and smiled. “Sorry for leaving you, Jilly, he was my second-grade teacher. I love that guy. I had to do it.”

  “Yes, you did, because you’re a gem of a boyfriend and everyone loves you.”

  Is this chick for real? Now I know what everyone meant by too nice.

  “So, what do you want to do tonight? Let’s get snacks and watch Real Housewives,” she said in that singsong voice.

  Nick cringed a bit. “Uh, sure, if that’s what you want.” It was clear that was the last thing he wanted to do.

  “Nicky, if you don’t want to do it, just tell me. I just thought we could spend some quality time together. You’ve been awfully busy lately. Don’t you want to spend time with me?” she asked, moving farther away with her back toward him.

  “No, no, it’s not that. Of course I want to spend time together. It’s just that I promised Henry that we’d get Cooper together for a guys’ night. We haven’t had one in months.” He rubbed the sides of her arms gently. “Come on, Jilly… you’ll be at the house when I get back. We won’t be gone long.”

  Her lower lip started quivering, her eyes fluttered, and a racking sob that was so loud the entire front of the store turned to see what was the matter erupted from her small frame.

  She turned to face him, sniffling. “Nicky,” she said, her shoulders quaking.

  Nick seemed panicked, his eyes darting between her and the dozen people watching them. His body went stiff and he paled.

  “Jillian, it’s fine. I don’t have to go.”

  “It’s just,” she sniffed, laying her head on his shoulder. “It’s just… You remember what happened the last time you guys had a night out.”

  Nick’s head fell back against the sliding door of the store. With a deep breath, he wrapped his arms around her completely. “Okay. I won’t go.”

  She smiled up at him and squealed. “Oh, yay! We’ll snuggle on the couch all night and you won’t miss those guys at all.”

  But he would. It was clear as day on his face. He was just going along with it to make her happy. I raised my hands toward the sky in frustr
ation but, as my arms went up, I proceeded to knock into the chip rack, sending it clattering to the floor.

  The entire store turned to look. Including Nick, who looked at me, then at Jillian, and then back to me and then to the scattered display of chips all over the floor.

  Parker? he mouthed, taking the tiniest step away from Jillian. She one hundred percent noticed his movement, and whatever tears she had left dried up faster than pie dough left on a counter uncovered. I was the Grinch in that moment, because the nugget of pettiness in me grew about three sizes.

  I gave him a small wave and mouthed Hey before bending to assist the employee who had come over to help clean up the mess I made. “I’m so sorry,” I said, stacking the bags in his arms.

  “Believe it or not, it happens all the time,” he said, setting the bags on an unused conveyor belt beside us.

  There was an empty cart behind me, so I tossed in the reusable bags that I had brought from the house and took off down the aisle before Nick decided to come and chat.

  I made it to the baking aisle before he caught up to me, with Jillian, a smile plastered on her face, trailing behind him.

  “Parker, what’s up?” he said, sounding a bit out of breath. “How’ve you been? You look good. How’d you get here? Do you need a ride home?” he rambled, and for a second I was tempted to put my hand over his mouth and tell him to shut up, because we had an audience.

  “Nicky? Who is this?” Jillian asked sweetly.

  “What?” Nick said, clearly not paying attention. She gave him big eyes and a head nod to me, and then he realized that he hadn’t introduced us. “Sorry. Parker, this is Jillian. Jillian, Parker.”

  I never cared for the phrase if looks could kill. It always seemed like such a goofy sentiment. Who would actually be able to kill someone with their eyes, besides Superman? In that moment, though, I knew exactly what it meant. Because for the briefest moment, Jillian’s eyes narrowed, her face forming a deep frown. Then it melted away as quickly as it had begun. In a matter of two seconds, she looked like she had earlier: pleasant, sweet, and happily in love with Nick.

  That realization stung more than I cared to admit and I attempted to school my features to make sure everything appeared perfectly fine. Even though I felt anything but fine.

  “Oh, Parker! You’re the famous baker whom I’ve heard so much about from Nicky and our friends.”

  Well, this is going to be awkward.

  I could have handled a catfight in the middle of aisle eight, but not some kind of sorority-level bonding. Nick seemed relieved, his body relaxing. Slowly, and if I had to guess methodically, judging by Jillian’s wry smile, she grabbed his hand in hers and twined their fingers together.

  She was a dog marking her territory. I didn’t know what Nick had told her about me, but I wasn’t eager to continue this conversation longer than I had to.

  My eyes flickered down to where their hands were connected, and my stomach lurched.

  I grinned tightly. “Yep, that’s me.”

  I turned to Nick to answer his questions. “No, I’m good, thanks,” I said, turning my back to Jillian. “I took an Uber to get some supplies, so I’ll just take one back. I’m doing some research for the Golden Girls.”

  “Oh, that’s so nice,” Jillian said. “I just love those ladies. And they sure do love my Nicky, don’t they, baby?” she cooed, kissing his cheek noisily.

  Nick shrugged her off so delicately, I don’t think she even noticed. “Did you get the shovel?”

  “So that was from you,” I said, tamping down the flicker of glee that I felt.

  “I thought you said the shovel was to help an old lady?” Jillian asked, trying to hide her annoyance. This wasn’t good. While I still hadn’t made up my mind about her, I did not want to be in the middle of a lovers’ quarrel.

  “I said it was for a friend,” he corrected, rubbing the back of his neck.

  “I distinctly remember you saying old friend.”

  Oh boy. I needed to get out of the crossfire.

  “Anyway,” I interrupted, not wanting to get between them. “Thanks for the shovel. It was helpful.”

  Nick glanced down at his shoes, and I saw the faintest of smiles on his lips. “I’m not busy in the winter months. It’s mostly shoveling and plowing, so if you need a ride—you know, a free one—I’m always around. You don’t even have to rate me on an app.”

  My heart skipped a little at the invitation. Nick smiled, a slow, shy grin that shot a feeling of warmth through me that I felt down to my toes. I couldn’t help but return it. When my eyes met his, I wanted to say something. Anything. But it all fell apart when the sound of a throat clearing brought me out of my fog. Jillian gave me a pointed look.

  I suddenly remembered that I was supposed to be angry with Nick. He stopped talking to me when he met this woman. Why was I allowing a simple act of kindness—one that he would have done for anyone in my position—to almost make me forget?

  Nick looked to Jillian, almost as if he had forgotten she was there. “Hey, I know you want to get back for the show. I forgot about grabbing the snacks, so I’ll meet you at the register to check out again, okay?”

  She didn’t huff or pitch a fit. Instead, she smiled. “Sure, Nicky.” Then, turning her attention to me, she smiled even broader.

  “Parker, it was positively delightful to meet you. I can’t wait to see you again.” And then, as if this wasn’t Twilight Zone-y enough for me, she pulled me into a crippling hug.

  It wasn’t firm and friendly like Mancini’s, but stiff and uncomfortable. When she released me, I stumbled backward.

  “Nick,” she purred, “I’ll see you up there.” She planted a kiss on him that was anything short of PG, and when she moaned I might have thrown up in my mouth a little.

  As soon as she walked away, I deadpanned, “Well, she’s… nice.”

  Nick’s face fell, and he rubbed the back of his neck again. “I know she seems like a lot, but she’s great. Really. I think if you spent time with her you’d really like her, Parker.”

  “Nick, we’ve always been honest with each other, so I’m just going to shoot straight. In this situation, I can’t imagine that she and I will ever be friends.”

  He looked like I just kicked his puppy. “Ouch.”

  I tried to smile consolingly. “I figured honesty was better than being fake.” Jillian seemed to sense that there was something more between us, and she felt threatened. I wasn’t about to reassure her that she had nothing to worry about. That was not my problem.

  Nick winced. “I guess I understand. If you had someone else, I don’t know that I’d be gung ho to be his friend.”

  “Exactly. And to be honest, I wouldn’t blame you. I know your natural default is to be friends with everyone—”

  “That’s not a bad thing—I just want everyone to get along.”

  I bit down on my lip. “I didn’t say it was a bad thing, but just because that works for you doesn’t mean I have to follow suit. You’ve got your friends to welcome her into the fold.”

  He shook his head. “I can tell that Em and Charlotte think she’s a bit over the top. I don’t see it but…” he said sourly. Clearly, it bothered him that his friends didn’t see his girlfriend the way he did.

  “Listen, it doesn’t matter what they think. You’re the one dating her,” I said, giving myself an imaginary pat on the back for being mature.

  “Listen, Parker, I wanted to apolo—” he began, but I held my hand up when I saw Jillian rounding the corner, heading back our way.

  “I’ll see you around,” I said dismissively, just as she sidled up next to him carrying enough snacks to stock a movie theater.

  “See you, Parker,” he said, and I wandered down the aisle in search of something to make me feel a little better.

  “Yes, see you soon, Parker!” Jillian added brightly.

  It wasn’t the conversation I wanted to have with Nick. If we were going to move on in any sort of positive way, I knew that
we’d have to hash it out eventually: get to the bottom of why what happened happened. Just for my own peace of mind and closure.

  I made easy work of the shopping list and then discovered that there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

  Some grocery stores in Pennsylvania sold wine.

  I was going stir-crazy in my Airbnb. Mancini was busy with senior planning, so I hadn’t seen her for our daily outings. I’d walked the property so much that I was convinced the neighbors thought Bigfoot was in Hope Lake.

  My baking was on overdrive, thanks to the momentum and improvements and all the snow that had fallen. With not much to do outside the house, I made due with what was in the house. Though I was quickly running out of friends and neighbors within walking distance whom I could gift the cakes and treats to. The best and worst part about the Golden Girls recipe and testing experience was how much dessert it all yielded. My cup runneth way, way over.

  Each gifted dessert was sent with a card and a caveat explaining that while this wasn’t Parker’s best, it wasn’t Parker’s worst. The ones that went to Charlotte, Emma, Henry, and Cooper had a bonus caveat that read:

  At least these aren’t as bad as what Charlotte makes …

  You won’t become physically ill from this…

  No dental reconstruction necessary…

  These were the types of messages that were easy and fun to come up with—I didn’t have to tell anyone that they were getting dumped or fired, like I did with D&V. I was still struggling in the creativity department for my original recipes, but what I was managing to make weren’t the worst things I’d done.

  Exactly what every trained, professional baker wants to hear: “You’re not the worst.”

  Whatever I was—worst, not awful, or classic Parker—anything was better than me not baking at all.

  Baby steps.

  There was more that I needed to work out, though. It wasn’t just the recipes but the ladies themselves. They were some of the most interesting people I had ever met. Last night, while I perused websites to help figure out their odd recipes and measurements, I stumbled upon a YouTube series called Pasta Grannies, a professionally produced venture that followed the dying art of making homemade pasta.