Mina had been waking up from nightmares lately, though, and I couldn’t promise a customer something I might not deliver.
“I’ll do the retirement cake,” I said.
Afterward, I typed an apology to Dana.
“I’ll do the retirement cake.”
She was kind about it. Somehow that made it harder.
When Dana’s earlier payment came through, I moved $40 into a savings account I labeled “Mornings.”
I’d looked up the preschool’s fees.
I wanted enough to start, with something left over for disasters, or if an order fell through.
She was kind about it.
After that, part of every paid cake went into that account.
And Giselle’s free orders kept coming.
One night, after a whole morning spent on Giselle’s cake, I was still piping borders on a paid order at eleven, my eyes burning.
“Mama,” Mina called from the hallway, clutching her blanket. “I had a bad dream.”
Giselle’s free orders kept coming.
I put the piping bag down and went to her.
I took her back to bed.
She caught my wrist when I stood to leave.
“Stay, Mama, please. I’m scared.”
So I sat down again.
I took her back to bed.
When I returned to the cake, the buttercream had crusted in the nozzle.
I scraped it out and started again.
On Thursday, Giselle called.
“I’m swamped, honey. Could you run Linda’s cake over? I’d hate for it to be late.”
I started again.
Free cake, and now free delivery, too.
I almost laughed. But I had an hour, so I drove it over.
Linda opened her door with a big smile.
“Oh, it’s gorgeous! Honestly, $150 is a steal. Giselle said your prices went up, but you’re worth every penny.”
“Honestly, $150 is a steal.”
For a second, all I heard was that last part. Someone thought my work was worth more than I charged.
Then I tightened my hands around the box.
“$150? You paid Giselle?”
“Of course. She said she handles all your orders.”
All I heard was that last part.
“Did she?”
Her smile faded. “Well, yes. She said it’s a family business.”
I set the cake down carefully.
“I need to check something. Enjoy the cake, Linda.”
In the car, I called the women whose numbers Giselle had given me for allergy questions.
“Did she?”
Patrice answered on the second ring.
“I paid $60,” she said. “Why?”
Call after call, everyone confirmed the same thing.
They’d all paid Giselle for those “free cakes.”
They all thought the money had come to me.
Everyone confirmed the same thing.
I stared at the steering wheel.
I had given up paid orders to make cakes Giselle had sold anyway.
I wanted to call her right then. I wanted to yell until my throat hurt.
But I could already hear her answer: Honey, you misunderstood. You’re so sensitive.
She would twist it until I was the one apologizing.
I wanted to call her.
So I drove home and told Zion instead.
He sighed and set down the remote.
“Okay, so she charged them. But you agreed to make the cakes for free. And she brought you those customers.”
“She lied to them, Zion. And she lied to me.”
I told Zion instead.
He looked at me, then away.
“Talk to her. Just don’t turn it into some huge family fight.”
I had come home wanting him to be angry on my behalf.
Instead, I was being asked to make this easier for his mother.
My phone buzzed. Giselle.
“Don’t turn it into some huge family fight.”
Need another cake for Saturday. Make it extra nice. I’ll pick it up Friday.
A follow-up message said that the cake was for Priscilla, a friend of hers I’d baked for before, and that I should use raspberry filling.
Then a picture: three tiers, sugar flowers floating between them, and lace hanging unsupported from the edges.
Need another cake for Saturday.
Some flowers melted into the icing.
It was clearly AI-generated, an impossible cake I couldn’t have recreated in a week, never mind overnight.
I wasn’t going to attempt it. I wasn’t going to explain why either.
I already had a far better idea for the decorations.
An impossible cake.
