Free Confectionately Yours #2: Taking the Cake! by Lisa Papademetriou

decide to add a few pecans to the recipe.
    “You seem lost in thought,” says a voice behind me.
    Turning, I see the warm, smiling face of Mr. Malik. He’s peeking out from behind a tall bouquet of dahlias. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
    He places the weekly bouquet — a barter arrangement from his flower shop — on the counter and takes a seat. “You were lost in thought,” he says in his elegant Pakistani accent.
    “Thinking about friends,” I tell him as I scoop batter into paper cupcake liners.
    “Good friends?”
    “Old friends. Ex-friends, maybe.” I shrug.
    “They’re hard to replace.” Mr. Malik places his fingertips together.
    “Yeah.”
    “It’s hard to compare someone you’ve known your whole life to someone you’ve known only a few weeks,” he says, and I nearly fall on the floor because that is exactly the problem and I hadn’t been able to figure out how to say it until he just did.
    He sighs and smiles at the same time. “I remember how I felt when my wife died,” he says. “I lost my closest friend, and I did not want to know anyone else. All I wanted was her. But, eventually, I made new friends. And, in time, thosefriends that I had known for a few weeks became friends that I have known for years. And I treasure them, and the memories we have made together.”
    “Mr. Malik! There you are. Just in time for tea and madeleines.” Gran bustles out from the back room, smiling. Mr. Malik brightens at the sight of her as she pours hot water into the teapot and takes a plate of cookies to a small table near the window.
    “Will you excuse me?” Mr. Malik asks. “It’s time for me to have tea … with my friend.” He gives me a courtly bow.
    “Sure,” I tell him. I want to say thanks, too, but I’m worried it will sound weird, so I try to just look grateful for what he’s said. I watch as he goes to sit down with my grandmother, who never would have become his close friend if his wife hadn’t passed away. That was sad. It was tragic — but something good still came out of it.
    Chloe and Rupert sit near Gran, playing some card game that Chloe has invented. That is another friendship that grew out of a sad story. Chloe’s friends turned on her and started bullying her. For a long time, Chloe’s only companion was her imaginary friend, Horatio. But she changed schools and met Rupert. And he understood her in a way that her old friends never did.
    Mom laughs at something Ramon has said. She catches my eye and waves to me. I wave back, and Ramon nods. Pressing my lips together, I turn back to my cupcakes.
    I guess Ramon is my mother’s new friend. The person who appeared to fill the hole my father created when he left.
    It’s funny to think that my mom might be feeling kind of the same way that I’m feeling — deserted. Confused. Relieved to have a new friend.
    I guess I should be glad for my mom.
    Maybe I will feel that way.
    In the future.

I ’m sitting at dinner that night, minding my own business, when Chloe asks, “Can we invite Ramon to Thanksgiving dinner?”
    Suddenly, it’s like I don’t know what to do with the bite of fish in my mouth. I can’t seem to swallow it. I just chew and chew and chew until it’s practically fish juice, and then I’m still chewing and I have to take a sip of water to wash it down.
    Gran watches Mom, a little smile on her lips, as if she’s wondering how my mother will respond. Mom looks dazed. She gazes off toward the kitchen, as if she’s considering trying to escape.
    “Isn’t he your boyfriend?” Chloe asks. Her face turns pink, and I think she’s realized that she has said something embarrassing.
    “He isn’t my boyfriend,” Mom says in a tone of voice that means, “not exactly .”
    “Okay, well, even if he’s just a friend, can’t he come over?” Chloe asks. “Don’t you remember that he said he spends Thanksgiving alone?”
    “He spends it at a soup kitchen,” I correct her. “Maybe he likes helping