Summer Heacock - The Awkward Path To Getting Lucky

I clap my hands together loudly. Butter and Shannon jump. Ben puts the back of his wrist over his mouth to stifle the sound of his chuckling. There are actual tears in his eyes. “Okay. Shannon, could you go grab a couple of towels and help Mr. Cleary get this spill cleaned up? And, Butter, could you go check on Liz and see if there’s anything you can assist her with in the kitchen?”

Butter giggles, and Shannon slaps her across the arm. “Yes, of course,” Shannon says, aiming for a professional tone, and they scuttle away.

“And Mr. Cleary,” I continue.

“Please,” he says, his voice still cracking. He clears his throat. “Call me Ben.”

I smile at him. He’s being a real sport about the situation, all things considered. The wrist cuff of his shirt has coffee staining the edge. I look closer and see the spatter all over the light blue fabric of the button-up and the gray of his tie. Poor bastard. Came in for a cup of joe, walked in on a cacophony of dick jokes. Didn’t stand a chance.

“You said there was an issue with your order next week? If you’ll step down here to avoid the mess, I’ll be happy to help you with that.”

He shakes the coffee off his hand onto the counter and makes his way down to the other end where I’m now standing, holding out a towel for him. “I really am sorry about that,” he says, gesturing toward the spill. “It slipped.”

I take the towel back from him and give him a little half smile. “I bet it did.”

Shannon reappears at the other end of the counter and silently starts mopping up the mess, refusing to look at either one of us, her eyes dancing with a pent-up burst of manic hilarity.

Ben shakes his head and bites down another laugh. “I wasn’t listening, I swear,” he insists. “I came back in and was about to ring the bell. But when I heard Butter say the thing about the chicken, I laughed, I spilled, and that was it. And then you all came running out with...” He tries to swallow down the guffaw, bless him. His eyes tear up again, and it all comes out as an unfortunate snort.

“I kind of hope you broke a rib just now,” I say, grinning.

He clutches the counter. “Oh my god, I’d deserve it. I’m sorry, but that was the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”

“We like to keep things fresh here,” I say casually. “We are a full-service shop.” His eyes pop open, and he makes a small choking sound. Shannon giggles and dives back into the kitchen, and I close my eyes in dismay over what I just uttered. “Oh, shut up. You know what I mean.”

“Someone getting married?” he asks, wiping the tears out of his eyes.

“What?”

“The, um, stuff. Bachelorette party?”

I involuntarily squint at him. “Yes. That makes perfect sense. Absolutely. Liz is getting married in October, so yes. That is exactly what those things were for.”

“Oh, it’s Liz? That’s nice. Good for her.”

“Ace. Now, you said you needed to change next week’s order?” I say, plastering on my best customer service smile. “Well, we’re on a roll here, fella, so let’s get down to it.”

6

“I can’t believe you told him those things were for my shower,” Liz pouts, stacking a tier of chocolate fudge onto a new platform. “That is so embarrassing.”

“Technically, I said they were for your bachelorette party, and he thinks we got them for you. So he probably thinks we are the dirty birds, not you,” I say with a wink.

The store phone rings and Shannon disappears. Butter adds, “I think this will be good. You’ll go home tonight, get your gear going, and soon you’ll have a happy vagina. Then we can stop making Liz flinch every time we say vagina.”

Liz scowls. I give her a sympathetic look. “You really do flinch.”

“Did you grow up in a house where you called it something else? Like a cutesy word?” Butter asks. “Bajingo? Minge? Foo-foo? Vagoo?”

My eyes narrow at her. “Vagoo? Really? That’s...unfortunate.”

“I dated a guy last year who called them vagoos. Two dates. I couldn’t get past that.”

“Nor should you have.” I shudder. “It’s unforgivable.”

Slapping her piping bag onto the table, Liz snaps, “Okay, fine. No, we didn’t say vagina. We said special, okay?”

“Aww, you called it your special?” Butter asks.

I consider this. “That’s actually kind of genius. I’d grow up thinking my business was like, the key to the universe or something. I wouldn’t let just any man near my special, ya know? I like that. My special.”

“I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or...” Liz trails off, biting her lip.

I hold my hands up. “I’m totally not! I’m all for proper term usage, but if you’re going to give it an alternate moniker, don’t use something lame like hoo-ha, call it the fucking special. I really like that. Hell, I might start calling mine that.”

Butter is looking down at herself. “My special. Okay, you’re right. That’s got a ring to it.”

Liz looks both horrified and oddly accomplished. She picks up her piping bag and sets back in on her cake just as Shannon comes running back in excitedly.

“Guys, oh my god, guess what?”

“We all just voted and we are all calling our vaginas our specials from now on,” Butter informs her.

Shannon stops midflail and makes an indescribable expression at Butter before remembering that she has news to share. She shakes off her confusion and turns to me and Liz. “Okay, but seriously, guess what?”

“What?” we ask.

“The Coopertown Ravens, the college basketball team? They’re looking for an official bakery for their stadium concessions, and they’ve asked us to audition for them!”

“What?” I trill. “That’s amazing!”

“It’s a huge contract! They’d sell our cupcakes at every event exclusively! We’ve got a month to present the designs, and they’ll do a tasting and make their selection. Guys, this would be massive for us. The advertising alone would be worth its weight in gold, but the actual contract, plus sales? Hello, big fat bonuses and me taking my kiddos to motherfreaking Walt Disney World!”

“Oh my god, a honeymoon!” Liz squeaks.

“I could fly out to see my Noni!” Butter gasps.

I bounce in place. “I have absolutely no grand aspirations I can think of right now outside of getting laid, but yay!”

“Kat, the art is all you, lady!” Shannon says, her eyes gleaming. “We can work together on the designs, and Butter, I’m counting on you for the recipes. We can do this, guys.”

“Who else is in the running?” I ask.

Shannon frowns. “I don’t know. But I’d assume The Cakery is, because of course they’d be.” The Cakery is a pretentious shop in the city that makes all their frosting out of olive oil and sea salt, and absolutely nothing has gluten. “And probably the usual bridal cake shops? Maybe Odessa.”

Butter perks up with a conspiratorial look. “We could scout out the other shops. Go and try their products and make darn sure we’ll kick their asses. We could use fake names and wear trench coats! I call Olga for my name.”

Squinting at her, I say, “Of all the names you could choose for your secret identity, you pick Olga?”

“What’s wrong with Olga?”

Shannon shakes her head. “Let’s call that plan B.” Looking a bit deflated, Butter fidgets with her glitter brush. “I don’t want to know too much and psych ourselves out. It doesn’t matter who we’re up against or what they make. What matters is that we’re going to give Coopertown the best goddamn cupcakes they’ve ever tasted or seen, right?”

“Right!” the rest of us cheer.

“Let’s start researching the team—everything we can find out to come up with colors, flavor ideas, themes, anything. We’ve got a month, so let’s make it count.”