I typed back: Of course, Giselle. I’d be happy to.
That evening, I worked on my plan and the cake.
At dinner, I asked Zion to be home for collection the next afternoon.
“And please listen before you say anything.”
He frowned. “Why?”
I worked on my plan
“Because you didn’t listen today.”
He frowned, but agreed to be there.
On Friday, Giselle’s heels clicked up the front walk.
She swept in wearing a cream blouse and a pleased smile.
“Well? Where is my masterpiece? I hope the decorations weren’t beyond your skills.”
She swept in.
“I managed. It’s in the kitchen,” I said. “I can’t wait for you to see it.”
She stepped through the doorway and stopped dead when she saw the cake.
“What the hell is this?”
I smiled. “It’s the truth.”
Her face went red.
“It’s the truth.”
“How dare you insult me like this? I can’t use this!”
She gestured sharply at the cake.
It was neatly iced in white.
Across a removable chocolate panel on top, I’d piped a short message.
A SILLY LITTLE HOBBY.
MONEY COLLECTED BY GISELLE: $960.
“How dare you insult me like this?”
Small plaques around the sides showed names and amounts.
Linda, $150.
Patrice, $60.
Priscilla’s earlier cake was there too.
Beside it lay my invoice, listing the cakes, the amounts Giselle collected, and the payment I was owed from her little scam.
A SILLY LITTLE HOBBY.
“Take those things off,” Giselle said. “You’ve had your fun; now fix my cake!”
“Why did you charge for cakes I made as gifts?”
“I never took a cent.” She gave a short laugh. “Whoever told you that is lying.”
“Am I?”
Linda stepped into the doorway from the dining room.
“Fix my cake!”
Patrice and Priscilla followed.
Zion stood behind them.
I’d asked the women to come before collection so we could settle where their payments had gone.
They had agreed to wait next door while I asked Giselle about it.
They’d all overheard her calling them liars.
They had agreed to wait.
“I paid you $150,” Linda said. “You told me it was her price.”
“Sixty for me,” Patrice added.
Giselle looked back at the cake.
“So you arranged all this.”
“I asked you a question. You called them liars.”
“You told me it was her price.”
“You could have spoken to me alone.”
“So you could tell them afterward that I’d got confused? No. I wanted us all to hear the same thing.”
My voice shook on the last sentence.
Her chin lifted.
“I found you those customers. I handled the collection. I earned that money.”
My voice shook.
“Then why did you insist on telling me I shouldn’t charge you for them?”
Giselle pressed her lips together.
She looked at her friends, but they wouldn’t meet her gaze.
“Say something, Zion,” Giselle snapped. “Tell them it was a misunderstanding.”
He shifted awkwardly on his feet and gave me a long look.
“Say something, Zion,”
For a moment, I thought he’d ask me to take it back.
Then he exhaled sharply and straightened.
“There’s no misunderstanding, Mom. You profited from my wife’s work and gave her nothing for it.”
My face warmed.
Finally, he was standing up to her!
“You profited from my wife’s work.”
“And I told her not to make a fuss,” he continued. “I shouldn’t have.”
Giselle stared at him.
“After all the help I’ve given you both? You wouldn’t have a business if it weren’t for the mornings I watch Mina!”
“I appreciated your help. But I never agreed that you could sell my cakes and keep the money.”
“I shouldn’t have.”
I slid the invoice toward her.
She glared down at it.
“Then I won’t watch Mina anymore. Not one morning.”
I paused.
I waited for her to take it back.
I slid the invoice toward her.
I looked at Zion.
Three mornings.
I had the wedding order for next week. The baby-shower cake whose deposit I had already spent on ingredients.
I couldn’t work with Mina standing beside me while I tried to keep her fingers away from the mixer.
Three mornings.
Giselle smiled.
She knew she had me backed into a corner.
