Page 50 of Sister of the Bride

Merilee’s assistant—whose name I still have not gotten, as it seems she is of the “seen, not heard” variety—passes out forks.

“Pippin,” Toby whispers.

“Shhh,” I reply, trying to focus on Merilee’s descriptions as she explains what’s inside of each cake.

“Pippin!” This time his whisper sounds more urgent.

“What?” I mutter.

“This cake isn’t good.” His words are muffled because his mouth is already full.

“What?” I ask.

“This cake,” he says, pointing his fork at a small white cake with a bite out of it. It looks like the inside might be red velvet, but it’s super crumbly, and the frosting looks sort of…cracked? It’s alsonoton the silver tray. “Something’s wrong with it. It’s not good!”

Merilee whirls on him. “That cake is adisplay. It’s been there for twoweeks. I don’t imagine it would taste very good.”

Toby freezes, his mouth held in the international signal forI need to spit this out. But nobody moves to provide him a napkin or a trash can or any kind of spittoon substitute. His eyes dart around at us, and then I watch his Adam’s apple bob ominously as he swallows the entire bite with all the enthusiasm of a kid who’s been forced to eat boiled Brussels sprouts.

I glance up at Polly, whose eyes are wide, and Mackenzie, who is trying very hard not to laugh.

“Okay, well, who wants to eatfreshcake?” I ask, and we all grab forks. Merilee, keeping a wary eye on Toby, explains the rest of the flavors. Then she leaves us to taste in peace.

I decide to start with the one Polly’s most excited about, a lavender chamomile cake with a lemon ginger curd and lavender buttercream. That’s an awful lot of flavors for one cake, but Polly seems to really know her shit, so I figure why not.

I fork a large bite into my mouth.

You wouldn’t think you’d need different words for “this is a well-made cake” and “this cake tastes good.” But as soon as the bite of Polly’s cake hits my tongue, I know immediately that those are two very different things. The cake itself is moist and delicate on my tongue, but the flavor is…well, it’sbad.

“Ugh, I love it,” Polly says, digging her fork into her slice. “Merilee is a genius.”

Mackenzie, I notice, doesn’t echo the sentiment. Next to me, Toby just smiles.

“What do you guys think?” Polly asks.

“Ummmm…” Toby says, clearly worried Merilee will end him right then and there upon hearing any critique from him.

“It tastes like Nonna’s perfume,” I say finally.

“I think my mom has a candle that smells like this tastes,” Mackenzie says, placing her fork down gently on the edge of the tray.

“Seriously?” Polly says. She turns to Toby, her last chance to get someone on her side.

“I’d rather eat the display cake,” he says, and I think I agree with him.

“Sorry, hon, it’s just…cake should taste like sugar. Maybe chocolate. Fruit is okay under some circumstances, but this is just…a disappointment,” I say.

Polly glares. “Well, what do you suggest? And don’t say rainbow chip!”

“I love rainbow chip!” Mackenzie says, and for the first time I see the girl with the collaged walls in her childhood bedroom sitting in front of me.

“Thank you!” And, wonder of wonders, Mackenzie holds up her hand for a high five, which I provide.

Polly stares at her fiancée with her mouth agape, but Mackenzie just shrugs. “What? Boxed cake is classic for a reason,” she says.

“I don’t want our wedding cake to taste like kindergarten cupcakes!”

“We could do a version of rainbow chip, but elevated,” Merilee says, reappearing from the back. I’m guessing she was hiding right outside the door, waiting to swoop in for a victory lap. She scoops up the plate of lavender laundry soap cake and hands it to her assistant, whose nose wrinkles in distaste. Apparently Merilee, ice queen that she is, also believes the customer is always right—or should at least get a chance to taste how very, very wrong she is. Merilee is a Machiavellian boss bitch, and she can sneer at me all she wants, because making that cake was a genius move. “It could be fun and retro, but without all the chemicals.”

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