Page 4 of Royal Icing
“She wants to talk to you about a job. Said she couldn’t get through on the email.”
An alarm bell went off in Emma’s head. She had definitely deleted a couple scammy-sounding messages from someone claiming to be a royal publicist last night. People were in their DMs all the time pretending to be celebrities to jump the waitlist for personalized creations. But she’d never had a scammer visit in person.
“Can you deal with her? I’m still loading the case,” he added.
Maya smoothed her ponytail and disappeared through the double doors.
If Emma remembered correctly, the messages had mentioned something about procuring their services for the country’s 500th anniversary celebration.
She straightened. In the incredibly unlikely event that this was legitimate, would Maya go there and leave the country for two weeks? There would be no greater gift on earth.
Even better, Maya had zero baking knowledge. None. Her father owned the business and had placed the day-to-day operations in her hands, which of course meant that everything fell on Emma and the other staff members. If this country was planning to hire her, she’d be turning in nothing. Unless she somehow ordered the bakery staff to FedEx cupcakes across an ocean.
Cheered by the thought of a Maya-less holiday season, Emma cranked up the Christmas music and returned to the croissant problem.
“Mom? I’m home,”Emma called.
The front door swung shut behind her, and it didn’t feel much warmer inside than it did outside. The apartment seemed extra dingy today in the gray New York winter. One of the light bulbs in the entryway had burnt out, and paint was starting to peel off the wall.
A maelstrom of stress swirled inside her, but there was nothing she could do about the derelict apartment. It was a great location—in Greenpoint, close to the G train, on the first floor, and it even had a tiny garden in the back to let the dogs out. But even if it had been on the fortieth floor of a mega apartment building next to the airport, they could never leave. It was one of the last rent-controlled apartments left in the city, a gift from her great-aunt, whom they had cared for in her last years. They couldn’t afford to live anywhere else.
All the damage was cosmetic, and her mom had told her time and again that her savings and future business were the only priorities. But her heart ached at the thought of her mom trapped between these shabby walls all day. Someday, she would fix everything. Better physical and occupational therapy, fresh vegetables, name-brand peanut butter. Come hell or high water, she would make life easier for the woman who raised her.
Thunderous footsteps came from down the hall, and Cooper, the Bernese mountain dog, happy-stepped toward her.
“Hi, baby,” Emma crooned. She buried her face in Cooper’s mound of hair. He was unbothered by the cold.
“Back here, sweetheart,” her mom called.
As Emma hung her purse on a peg in her room, the collage on the wall caught her eye. Images of the Eiffel Tower, tulip fields in Amsterdam, and pigs swimming in the Bahamas stared back at her. She really needed to take the collage down. She’d never see any of those places. In fact, she’d probably never see anything outside the tri-state area.
She pushed those thoughts to the side and stepped back into the hallway, determined to put on a cheery face for her mom. A bag of rejected croissants crinkled in Emma’s hand. Their Thanksgiving leftovers had finally run out, but at least they still had a dented can of green beans left in the pantry. It wouldn’t be a hearty dinner, but it was better than nothing.
Her phone buzzed, and she pulled it out. Ugh, Maya. She was off duty.
She let it go to voicemail and wandered down the hall. Maya had left without a word shortly after the alleged representative of the kingdom had showed up. With any luck, she was already on a plane.
“You have to turn the heat up. You’re going to freeze,” Emma said as she walked into the living room.
It was like walking into a terrarium. Plants covered the far wall, crammed into every space touched by sunlight. Her mother had once been a master florist for New York’s most elite weddings and fundraisers. Now she tended a tiny garden in their backyard during the warmer months.
The TV was on, set to an episode ofBlue Planet. Her mom had an unquenchable thirst for both knowledge and mundane real-life drama.
“Heat’s expensive, love.” Lisa sat in her wheelchair under a pile of blankets. Arizona, her service dog, sat on the floor next to her. “I can manage.”
Emma shook her head and cranked the heat up to sixty-five. She would dip into her savings if she had to. “How’s your hip?”
“I told you this morning, it’s fine.”
“You know you need to ring the bell if you need me in the middle of the night.”
“I’m not going to wake you up every time I have to pee,” her mother said sternly. “I can get to the bathroom myself with the walker.”
A retort was on Emma’s lips, but she swallowed it. Things hadn’t been easy for her mom these past two years. Watching her transform from a 5k runner with a zest for life to a wheelchair-bound homebody had been heartbreaking in more ways than she could count. Lisa was a proud woman who had never asked for help, and she wasn’t about to start now.
A change of conversation was in order before this escalated. “How was Shante today?”
She glanced at her mother’s daily pill container, which was appropriately empty, thank goodness. Shante, their day nurse for the past two years, was excellent company but sometimes forgot to take her home care duties seriously.
