5. Amanda

AMANDA

Iwoke up the next morning with a foul taste in my mouth from the wine and crawled into the shower to let it revive me. There was no hangover since I never get them unless I drink cheap wine; had it been vodka, that would have been a different story.

I pulled on some leggings and an oversized tee shirt and pulled my hair up in a ponytail after moisturizing my face and hands. Downstairs, I came up short when I saw the trays of cupcakes, cookies, and cakes I’d made the night before.

When the hell did I do all that? I almost felt sick at the waste but then remembered that I could call Mom to come pick up most of it. Then I remembered the nice doorman who was always kind and had gone above and beyond helping me move stuff when I first moved in.

I found an old catering box among my baking stuff and boxed up an assortment of cupcakes to take down to him later. I cleaned up the empty wine bottles and brewed some coffee, then sat down to read over my notes from the night before.

Wow, that is all I can say. It appears that the drunken me likes to focus on all the things I haven’t done instead of my glaring achievements. It’s true that if I had a choice, I’d choose baking over my current profession, but fear of another failure rode me hard.

Still, I sat there for the better part of the day, pouring over my notes and daydreaming about what if. Sometime a little before sunset, I asked myself, why not? There was nothing holding me back. I had enough money in my savings and investment accounts to float me for at least a year or two, but where do I even start?

I felt excitement for the first time in way too long, and before I could think better of it, I was on the phone with Mom and my sisters, begging them to talk me down off the ledge. Instead, they encouraged me to go for it.

Dad, who is always the voice of reason, said that I shouldn’t quit my job just yet in case it didn’t work out. Instead, he suggested I put in for all of my PTO, sick days, and accumulated vacation days, which would give me three months at least, which sounded like a brilliant idea.

I hung up the phone in a daze, still not sure what I was going to do but knowing what I wanted to. My eyes landed on the boxed cupcakes, and I checked my watch to make sure Henry’s shift had started. He was pleasantly surprised and grateful. As I walked away, he said something about a poker game, but I wasn’t sure exactly what he said because I was already back on my way to the elevator.

Mom and my oldest sister came by later that evening to pick up the rest of the treats and keep me company for a bit before heading back to our hometown an hour away.

By the middle of the week, I realized I was feeling much better than I had been. I’d opened the windows in the apartment for the first time to let the sunlight in, but once my work was done, way before knock-off time, I might add, I felt bored and went back to the kitchen to bake another batch of goodies.

I always baked when I was happy, even if there wasn’t an occasion, just because it brought back some of my fondest memories from childhood. Sunny Saturdays spent in my grandma’s sun-filled kitchen baking and cooking while listening to stories about our family’s past.

My other sisters were never very interested, and that’s how I ended up with her collection of recipes, some of which went back to the eighteen-hundreds and were among some of my favorites. Back then, before everything became commercialized, people seemed to experiment more with flavors and their cakes especially were more extravagant than today’s offerings.

I had another kitchen counter full of goodies by the time I was done and decided that I’d take them to the office for my monthly meeting that was coming up in two days.

* * *

I wason my way back from said meeting when Henry stopped me with a sheepish look on his face at the front door. “Hey, Miss. Stewart, um, I don’t know how to ask this, but you don’t happen to bake to sell, do you?”

“I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Here’s the thing. Like I mentioned the other night, I took those cupcakes to my poker night with the buddies and one of them has a ten-year-old daughter who has a birthday coming up in a week. He wanted to know if you could bake some cupcakes; he said they were the best he’d ever tasted. He’d pay you, of course.” He rushed to add the last. “I told him about six dollars per cupcake; I’m not sure if that’s right or not.”

I almost swallowed my tongue. “You? And he agreed to that price?”

“He can afford it, trust me. I think his only interest is in one-upping his wife. Every year, the two of them go out of their way to see who can make their kids happiest on their birthdays, and the oldest loves her cupcakes. So what do you think? I can give you his number, and you two can work out everything.

“Did he say how many cupcakes he might need?” The way his face cringed gave me pause.

“About three hundred?” He scrunched up his shoulders as if expecting a blow, which made me laugh out loud.

“A week, you say. I guess I can. Give me the number, and I’ll call him as soon as I get upstairs.”

“Really? Oh, you’re the best, Miss. Stewart, whew, I thought you’d be pissed. I mean, it’s such late notice, and I wasn’t even sure if this was something you’d be interested in doing, but he was adamant. That’s why I quoted him that price. His name is Carter; here’s his card.”

He opened his wallet and passed me the embossed business card. I almost pinched myself in the elevator because things like this just don’t happen to me. Not that people hadn’t asked to buy my desserts before, but not on such a grand scale, and definitely not with such short notice.

I called Carter Silverspoon as soon as I got upstairs. He sounded way more excited than I expected, and I soon found out why. Henry was right; he was in a friendly competition with his wife to see who could make their daughter the happiest on her big day.

Apparently, his wife had ordered a specialty cake from a local bakery, but he was sure my cupcakes would put theirs to shame any day. When it came to the price, he didn’t bat a lash at paying almost two thousand dollars for cupcakes, which, when you think about it, is insane.

I know with time and product it works out, but it still seems insane to me. He wanted the assortment box like the one I’d given to Henry, so I got started grabbing supplies and making a list of all the things I needed to pick up at the store.

I sat down and organized my time and decided that making seventy-five cupcakes a day for the next four days, then icing them the day of, would give me more than enough time to get it done. The money wasn’t anywhere near what I make at my job, but for some reason, it felt even more fulfilling.

After I worked up the invoice and sent it to him through email, Carter sent the money through PayPal, which I hadn’t used in forever, but I was glad it was there. I couldn’t believe it; my first real commission that didn’t come from friends or family. I reminded myself to make a batch of cookies for Henry as well as a thank you.

That Saturday morning, I was as nervous as a first-time baker, and when the phone rang an hour before Carter was supposed to pick up the order, I expected the worst.

“Hey Amanda, I’m so sorry to spring this on you at the last minute, but is there any way possible you can drop the cupcakes off? Our youngest isn’t doing too well, and my wife and I are swamped. I can’t find anyone on such short notice. I’ll compensate you for your time, of course.”

“Oh, that won’t be necessary. Just give me a minute to grab a piece of paper and a pen, and I’ll jot down the address.” I had to make three trips to get everything downstairs to my car, which was thankfully always kept clean.

I put the address into the GPS and half an hour later found myself in one of the prettiest and most expensive sections of the little town. It was hard to imagine that there was a whole metropolis about an hour away from this quaint little idyllic spot.

My mouth hit my chest when I pulled through the gates to the estate. The place was huge with what looked like acres upon acres of lawn with a garden that ran the whole length of the place in back it looked like.

There was a carnival-sized water slide on one side of the lawn. I saw a magician when I drove down the driveway, a few Disney characters, a face painting stand, and, of course, a bouncy castle that would put Magic Kingdom to shame. Just wow.

I was more nervous about being here than I was about the cupcakes. It’s a good thing I’d changed out of the jeans I’d been wearing when he called and into a summer dress that seemed more appropriate for the setting.

There were a few people already sitting or standing around outside, and a woman in a servant’s uniform came out to greet me and take me inside. There was a table already set up with three carriage shaped cupcake stands that looked like they were made out of real gold. I was almost afraid to touch the things.

“You can just leave the boxes there; the mistress will sort them out when she comes down.” I was about to answer when a man in his thirties came bounding across the room.

“Amanda, I take it? Thank you so much for doing this for us; we really appreciate it. Estell, you go on and do what you were doing; I’ll see to this.”

“Yes, sir. But are you sure you shouldn’t wait for Mrs. Silverspoon?” She said it kind of tongue in cheek.

“Are you saying I can’t do this without my wife’s help? Get out of here, and remember, don’t drink too much.”

“What are you saying in front of Miss. Stewart.”

“Uh, he’s finally down.” A beauty queen came waltzing into the room. Surely, this woman wasn’t just getting a sick child down. She looked like she’d stepped off the pages of a fashion magazine.

“Oh, you must be Amanda. I heard about your cupcakes, and if they’re better than my cake, I’ll skin you.” She smacked her husband playfully on the chest.

“You can’t have any before our guests, Millie, hands off.”

“I did bring extra, as well as some cookies.”

“You did?” Carter made a beeline for the boxes, and I showed him which one held the extras. His wife beat him to it. Now, I’m no food snob, but this lady does not look like she’s a lover of desserts.

She went straight for the key lime-flavored one and took a bite. “Oh, you dirty dog, you did it again. I hate you.” She scolded her husband, who grinned and filched a praline cupcake before offering Estell to choose whichever one she liked. I liked them already, just for the way they treated their staff.

There was a loud booming voice coming from the front of the house. “Millie girl, where the hell are you?”

“Oh, it looks like your guests are starting to arrive. I can put these up for you if you’d like.”

“That’s no guest; that’s my father-in-law.” Millie rushed from the room with a whoop and a laugh.

“I’ll take you up on that offer of help. I have to get in there and make sure my Dad doesn’t try to steal my girl again.” He grinned and followed after his wife, and I turned to take care of the cupcakes. Estell thanked me for the cupcake and went back to work while I got lost in one of my other favorite things to do where baking is concerned. Organizing the cupcakes in some sort of pattern that catches the eye.