16. Alice

ALICE

A nother drip of reddish water splashes onto my shirt, and I have to press my lips together to stop the whimper that wants to come out.

Michael spit out my cake.

He said it was an abomination.

Terrible.

The worst thing he’s ever eaten.

An inedible mess.

I sniff and wring out the cloth into a second bowl before dunking it back into the first one filled with warm, soapy water.

Centering myself, I pull in a breath and scrub at another frozen Jell-O spot in the freezer.

I had to stay standing beside my horrendous dessert while the judges went to the other three contestants. But I couldn’t repeat a single thing that was said about the other ice cream desserts. My ears were too full of shame to hear anything, and my cloudy gaze stayed rooted to the floor.

No matter what happens tomorrow, I’m not winning. Not unless every other person commits a heinous crime tonight, ends up in jail, and therefore drops out of the competition.

“Uh, ma’am, you don’t have to do that,” a voice states from somewhere behind me.

“I know.” I try to steady my voice. “But it’s my fault.”

They called a wrap on the episode a few minutes ago, but I couldn’t in good conscience leave and make some other poor soul clean this up. Plus, if I’m being honest, I couldn’t face the other contestants. They’ll all walk back to the rooms together, just like yesterday, and talk about dinner and what time to meet in the restaurant. And I just can’t. I can’t do small talk. I can’t do dinner. I can’t just laugh it off and pretend I’m okay.

It’s not even about losing. Without my disaster today, there was only ever a slim chance of me walking away a winner, getting the prestige and several thousand dollars. I mean, the money would be great. It wouldn’t keep me from losing my apartment or get me that dream bakery, but it would’ve helped my situation.

But that’s only salt in the wound, or should the saying be fruit punch in the ice cream ?

I snort, but my tiny attempt at a laugh morphs into a tiny sob, and I clap my free hand over my mouth.

Just finish cleaning this up, then you can go to your room.

Just make it through the next ten minutes.

Just pretend you didn’t embarrass yourself in front of the man you’ve loved for years.

I press my hand down harder, a pair of tears rolling down my cheeks.

You’re almost done.

I scrub at the last frozen puddle, pushing all my disappointment into the freezer, when a warm palm settles against my lower back. The heat seeping through my clothing, just above the waistband of my skirt.

“Don’t cry.” Michael’s deep voice brushes against my ear. “It’s just dessert.”

Emotion swamps me, and instead of stopping my tears, his words send them flowing down my cheeks.

Michael is here.

Touching me. Comforting me.

Telling me it’s just dessert.

My chest hitches.

Dessert is his whole life.

“Please don’t cry, Baby Cakes.” The pressure of his hand on my back increases. “I can’t take you crying.”