Free Heartbreak Cake by Cindy Arora

assume a bride knows everything about her husband-to-be the day I watched, in horror, a groom go into an anaphylaxis seizure after his new bride fed him a forkful of peanut butter and chocolate wedding cake. Lesson learned. Rule 1 was established.
Rule 2: I don’t talk about my personal life.
I once got friendly with a bride and confided that I was dealing with the breakup blues. Later that night I got a visit from a good-looking groomsman with a bottle of champagne tucked under his arm saying they were both a gift from the bride. I took the bottle of champagne and sent the groomsman packing, thus implementing rule 2.
Rule 3: I am a pastry chef, not a therapist.
I can turn chocolate into a sunburst flower and can frost a cake faster than I can shave my legs, but what I cannot do is give you counsel. After more years than I’d care to admit to working the wedding circuit, I have discovered that weddings make people crazy. Notice I said people. Not just women, but men, grandmas, aunts, definitely mothers, and I even get the occasional power-tripping best man, who seems to think he knows everything. Guess what? He doesn’t.
Weddings are fun. There’s free food, plenty of booze, teary toasts and about the only place you can openly dance to “Play that Funky Music White Boy” without being mocked. But the road to wedded bliss is rough terrain. Brides-to-be are almost always in a haze that hovers between bliss, anxiety, panic and rage. Since I’m the gatekeeper to chocolate and spun sugar, a lot of them seem to think I know the secrets to love. I know nothing. Alas, rule 3 was born.
“Before you get mad, I know I just showed up here without calling,” Teresa says trying to scramble up from the steps, but keeps falling back down while eyeing me nervously. “I broke rules 2 and 3, but trust me I have a good reason.”
“Get up from the floor, Teresa. I nearly maced you thinking you were some wild animal.” I give Teresa my hand and pull her up.
“Pedro gave me your address. He said that you handled all bride one-on-one questions.” Teresa gives me a big smile. “I told him I needed some advice on the wedding details and he said you’d be more than happy to help.”
Oh man, Pedro is piiiissed . Sending a client to my house on a Friday night and encouraging her to share her feelings with me? It’s war.
“If there are any changes or questions you have, Pedro knows just as much as I do. Are you changing your mind about doing the individual apple-caramel pies? It’s really a great idea, since it’s a fall cerem…”
“Actually, I’m going to call off the wedding!” Her face crumbles, and she throws her arms around me as I stand there with both hands at my side, unsure of what to do.
Pedro is going to pay.
“Hey, hey, hey, what’s happening?” I pat her back gingerly and detangle her arms from around me, so I can unlock my front door. “You want some wine,” I ask Teresa, who nods like a small child and follows me up the stairs to my apartment on the second floor. “Come on in, I have some brownies that will taste great with a glass of Cabernet.”
I set my purse down and pull out an 8-inch cake pan from the fridge and hand her a fork. “Dig in. Walnuts and chocolate. You can’t go wrong when sticking to the basics.”
Teresa stares at me with such gratitude that I can’t help but feel like her older, wiser, slightly screwed up sister. She reminds me of a combination of Alicia Silverstone in the movie Clueless mixed in with that pretty little cocker spaniel in Lady and the Tramp . It’s very hard not to like her and to not feel protective.
“What’s going on between you two? Oscar dotes on you! I can’t imagine him doing anything to make you want to stop the wedding.” I pour us both wine and slide the glass over to her. “Are you getting cold feet?”
“Why do you think it’s me?” she says while stuffing a chunk of brownie in her mouth.
Bull’s-eye.
“Just a feeling. I know a thing or two about