The Mix-Up by Holly McCulloch

CHAPTER 20

A knock at my door.

The cake is almost ready to go.

I have been crapping my pants about this one. Mainly because I really don’t want to crap my pants. This is the first cake I am making for Mika, and even though I didn’t get the booking on her recommendation, I can’t mess it up. Which of course means I messed everything up. I even burnt the first lot of sponges. I haven’t burnt a sponge in years. I blame my emotions. They have been off all week. The burnt sponges were just an unfortunate casualty.

I am cranky and emotional and worried that they are going to hate the cake.

But obviously it isn’t just the cake that is making me emotional; there’s also the ripple of my emotions since that awful birthday lunch.

I sigh, even though there is nobody around to hear it.

I wish my car was drivable so I could do this alone. Cake delivery days are emotional enough without the added pressure of impressing Mika, dealing with the phantom of boyfriends past and … Noah. I wasn’t lying to him when I said delivering the cakes was the most stressful part of my job. So much is out of your control. My nan and I never argued, except for when we delivered cakes. Having been a cake baker and business owner and single parent for years, she rarely let anything get to her, everything that went wrong could be rectified. Unless, of course, your naively confident granddaughter drives over a pothole, a really deep pothole, at forty miles an hour. I think she eventually accepted the fact that I couldn’t have done anything else – braking harshly is also a big no-no. But either way, she didn’t speak to me for two days and I never drove above thirty miles an hour with a cake in the boot again. After this incident, we decided to always carry emergency supplies with us when we were out on deliveries: icing, sugar flowers, edible art paint, dust … whatever the cake might require.

There is another knock at my door. I had forgotten someone was waiting.

‘Paige?’

It’s Noah, a very punctual Noah. I check my reflection in the mirror as I pass it. I am wearing the leggings – I had to, it was part of our arrangement. But today I woke up early so I would have time to do something with my hair and makeup. A faux-naturelle look. My reflection says I shouldn’t have bothered. I’m just plain naturelle now. How can makeup just disappear off your face? Where does it go?

Out of habit, I peek through the peep hole. It gives me the chance to see Noah totally unguarded. He looks as nervous as I feel. Maybe I overdid it last night when I sent him the list of things not to do when driving with a cake in the back of your car.

I open the door.

‘Hey.’

He smiles and then seems to relax a bit as he exhales. I relax too. Seeing his face makes me happy.

This realization sends a jolt through my body. Shit. I really should have found a different mode of transport for today.

He steps forward and tugs me to him for a kiss. It’s only a brief kiss, but it unbalances me further, physically and emotionally. I stumble a bit, highlighting my awkwardness. It’s only a small stumble, but it makes me feel even less able to handle and control my feelings for Noah. He’s going to get bored with me soon, I know he is. He wouldn’t stay with someone who stumbles and doesn’t know how to move properly with another person beside them. I need to harden myself against the inevitable because I have been letting myself slip. I step away, giving us both some space.

‘Come in.’ When he messaged me to discuss timings and arrangements for today, I tried to come up with a plan where he could pick me up from somewhere that wasn’t here. Somewhere that wasn’t quite so personal. But every scenario I came up with had one massive snag. I would need to move the cake somewhere in order for Noah to help me move the cake, but, trapped in a never-ending circle, I needed Noah to help me to move the cake in the first place, and I couldn’t find anybody else even though I tried.

So I failed, and as a result, here he is, stepping into my cake workshop.

‘This is where you work?’ He looks at me and I nod. ‘It’s great.’ I leave him looking round at things.

He jumps slightly as I shut the door. Now that I look at him he really does seem on edge.

‘Are you OK?’

‘Yeah, sorry.’ I nod, but then he begins to speak so quickly that it’s hard to decipher words. ‘It’s just that when I offered to do this, I didn’t really think it through. I’m not great at thinking things through. And then your message last night really made me think. And now that I’m here I’m worried that I’m going to drop the cake. Or trip up and then drop the cake. Or crash the car and destroy the cake. Or accidentally leave the cake somewhere within reach of a hungry dog. And this is your livelihood. I can’t fuck up your livelihood.’

For someone who saves lives for a living, you’d think he’d be able to handle a cake.

I let him walk it out a bit. When he finally stops pacing, and starts breathing again, he sits down. In Nan’s Parker Knoll chair. He rubs his face with his hands and then looks at me. His hair is all ruffled and his eyes are wide. He looks petrified. On this occasion I’ll risk the bum imprint.

I go over to him and rest a hand on his shoulder, despite my need for distance and self-preservation.

‘Well, today you’re in luck. Because I’m a pro. And I know what I am doing. And I will talk you through every step.’ Seeing him so nervous makes me put my own nerves on the back burner. I move to put my hands over his hands, which are still on the side of his face. I can’t help myself as I lean down and kiss him. It seems like the natural thing to do.

I move to pull away, but Noah doesn’t let me go. Instead he moves his hands on to me. More specifically on to my butt. My own go to rest on his shoulders before I climb on to his lap, straddling him. I’m not sure Nan would approve of me using her chair in this way, but then maybe she would.

He kisses me so well. I close my eyes and fall into the kiss. I can’t help myself. I can’t remember anyone ever kissing me so well. And he smells great. He’s freshly showered, but I don’t think he’s used any aftershave. He smells like laundry and … maybe a hint of that minty shower gel. I feel like a teenager again. In the days when all you (really) did was kiss. It feels luxurious and fun. Even though my body is keen for more.

He’s arrived earlier than asked, and I asked him to arrive earlier than I needed him to, so we have time. And I want to thank him for his service. He might as well cash it in now.

He makes a noise, and I don’t think it’s an encouraging, moany kind of noise. It sounds like he is trying to say something to me.

Reluctantly, I pull away and ask, ‘Are you OK?’ The wide-eyed fear that was in his eyes a few moments ago has gone, replaced by a hint of sparkly, drowsy lust. It turns me on knowing that I turn him on. I want to go back to kissing him. But again, he stops me.

‘I am … really great, but …’ He rests his head on the back of the chair. ‘I don’t think I can do this. I don’t perform well under stress, and I am still really worried about this cake.’

I’m worried about his career as a doctor. Surely it’s a calling that comes with a lot of stress?

And I’m a little disappointed. I can’t help it. ‘I didn’t do a good enough job of distracting you, huh?’

‘Oh no, you are doing a great job.’ He kisses me, a quick, soft kiss, and then he rests his forehead against mine. ‘But I am really, really nervous.’

I sigh out an ‘OK,’ and climb off him, walking back towards the cake. Before I reach the workbench, he comes up behind me. I can feel him there even before he touches me. He brushes my hair back and places a kiss right in the spot. The spot that’s just below the ear. I wiggle a bit and goosebumps travel up my arms. I’m unable to hold in the tingles.

He chuckles behind me. ‘Good to know you like that.’

When he walks away, his absence feels like having a blanket ripped off. It’s a feeling I know I’m going to have to get used to.

He goes around to the other side of the bench and looks at the box that’s on it. The box is obviously bigger than the cake itself, but not by much.

‘Is this the cake?’ I nod in reply and he continues. ‘It’s huge. I’m glad I took out my golf clubs.’

It’s quite a big one, this one. My nerves pick up again. I hope they like it. I hope Mika likes it. If things don’t go well today, there’s always a risk she will swap me out on the fourth of June. You’re only ever as good as your last cake, and if the couple in June are stressing Mika out, I can only imagine that their standards, and expectations, are very high.

I look at Noah. He looks scared again; he’s not quite as wide eyed as before, but not far off. I must stay confident for him, if no one else. We can’t have two nervous wrecks delivering a cake.

‘Noah. You’re going to have to pull out on to the road eventually.’

We weren’t even cutting across traffic, but Noah wanted to wait until there were absolutely no cars on the road, in either direction, before pulling out. He’s been overly cautious the whole journey over. It’s the second time in two weeks that I’ve been in a road-rage-inducing car journey.

His head is going from side to side. ‘OK.’ He looks to the left. ‘OK.’ He looks to the right. ‘Let’s go.’ He pulls out.

It’s taking all my self-control not to yell at him. And I would, if I didn’t fear that yelling at him would make him drive even more slowly. But I am grateful that the entrance to the venue is both off this road, and is also on the left, which should hopefully make it less panic-inducing for Noah to turn into. I haven’t told him yet that often the last bit is the most dangerous. Venues always have either horrible potholes or horrible speedbumps to contend with. Sometimes both. Neither go well with cakes.

Another thing I haven’t discussed with Noah is that Mika will also be at the venue. It feels weird. Her presence – well, their combined presence – was another reason for me not to want Noah involved today. I can’t get it out of my head that they have slept together. I told myself that I would talk to him about it, but he’s been so nervous the whole ride over that I haven’t wanted to broach the subject. At least, this is my excuse for being a total and complete chicken. Feathers and all.

‘It’s just up here on the left.’ I can see the sign for the venue. I can read all the writing, even the smallest type, but it still feels like it takes us five minutes to finally reach the entrance. As we turn in, the car behind us beeps and the driver shouts something on his way past that I can’t decipher. Noah doesn’t react but I wave in apology.

I figure now is as good a time as any for my confession. There should be very few cars coming and going. His stress levels should decrease.

‘Noah, I have to tell you something.’

‘Oh my god.’

‘Are you OK?’ I look at him. If anything, he looks even more stressed than he did on the road.

‘There are speedbumps? Why are there speedbumps?’

I try not to laugh at the sheer panic in his voice. ‘I think they are mainly for taxis.’ His knuckles are white.

‘Well, we’re not a taxi. Why can’t they remove them?’

He slows down even more as we reach the first bump.

We’re going so slowly that I’m not sure we’re going to make it over. He finally realizes this, and puts his foot, very gently, on the accelerator. Eventually, when we do crest the bump, I grab on to the dashboard, in what I had hoped would be a comical way. A way to cut the tension.

It has the opposite effect.

Noah slams on the brakes, if you can slam on the brakes when you’re only going five miles an hour.

‘Oh my god, is the cake OK?’ Noah looks at me, and I half smile, half grimace, realizing that it isn’t a good idea to make fun of someone in a delicate state.

‘Sorry, I was only joking. It was meant to relieve you of some of your anxiety.’

Looking at him face on, I can see that he has some sweat forming on his brow. Trying to make him laugh was cruel. I am a horrible person.

‘You’re doing a great job.’

‘Yeah, well’ – he shoots me a piercing look – ‘you’re not. I feel extremely tense right now.’ He keeps going. ‘Distract me. You said you needed to tell me something.’

‘Oh yeah.’ I say this casually, like I haven’t been thinking about how to say this for the last three days. ‘I just thought you should know that Mika is the wedding planner for today, so she’s going to be at the venue.’

‘Mika?’

‘Yeah, from, erm’ – a one-night stand you had a couple years ago – ‘from the party we met at.’

He grips the steering wheel even tighter, but as we’re nearing another speedbump, I don’t know what’s behind it.

‘OK. Cool.’

A very nonchalant response. For a moment I hate him. I wonder if one day he’ll talk about me with such little feeling and thoughtfulness?

Finally, finally, parked, I take one of his hands in mine. It’s really sweaty. It’s kinda gross. It’s also kinda endearing.

‘Thank you for driving.’ He places his head so it is resting against the steering wheel, the wheel that his other hand is still clutching. Had I known he was going to be so anxious about the journey, I wouldn’t have let him help. ‘How are you feeling?’

‘Light-headed.’

He was meant to help me carry the cake to its final destination, but I worry this might be too much for him to handle in his delicate state.

‘I have an idea. Instead of you helping me carry the cake in, why don’t I see if someone else can help me, and you can get some fresh air, stretch your legs, wash your face.’ After all, the drive had taken an hour when it was meant to take about half that time. ‘Maybe see if there are any sweets in the bathroom.’ Sure, they are meant for guests, but this is an extenuating circumstance. He still needs to drive back. I worry for his blood sugar level and the safety of other road users.

He nods as much as he can with head still against the wheel. ‘OK.’

‘OK.’ I put his hand down before getting out of the car. I clip my bum bag on and turn back to Noah. He hasn’t moved. ‘I’ll take my phone with me in case you need me for anything, but I’ll be back soon.’ He replies with a nod. ‘If you leave the car, can you keep it unlocked?’ This time he grumbles a response. ‘Thank you.’

Once inside the venue, I stop to take a look around. I have seen a lot of wedding venues, but I know that this one will leave an impression. Essentially, we are in a converted barn, but this is no typical barn wedding. It is more like an art gallery, but there is a spiritual feel about the place. Magical. It is modern, and light, and there are pops of colour everywhere.

I think the cake is going to look great.

As long as it is still in one piece.

‘Paige!’ I am woken from my reverie by Mika, who is walking towards me with purpose, once again looking like a vision, this time in a patterned jumpsuit and authoritative-sounding heels. She comes over to kiss me, three times, and as she does, I can see that she looks a bit tired.

‘I’ve brought the cake!’ This is obvious, but I say it anyway.

‘Fab! Let me show you where it will be set up.’

We head through to the large room on the right; it has been sectioned off with industrial barn doors, but when we step through, it is like we have been transported into a photo shoot. Big, modern balloons are draped across the impossibly high ceilings. There are even a couple of mirror balls. Anywhere else they would look tacky, but here they look fabulous. Everything here looks purposeful. Everything here looks ready for a photo shoot.

‘It will be on this table, here.’ The table is in front of a huge mirror. I am glad that I spent a couple of extra hours making sure every angle of the cake was picture-perfect. Most of the time you can mask glitches or seams or accidental finger marks by hiding them at the back, but I’m glad I made sure this cake was glitchless. When it is set up it will be gorgeous. ‘Do you need some help bringing it in?’

This is the point at which I realize that I also hadn’t told Mika about Noah. I forgot that Mika should also know. Know that I had inadvertently brought our one-night stand to a wedding.

‘What? What is that face for?’

‘Remember black top guy?’

She hangs her mouth open. This is the least composed I have ever seen her. ‘He came with you?’

I nod. ‘My car broke down the other week and he offered to help. Although I’m still going to need help carrying the cake in. He found the journey quite stressful, and I’m not sure he’s able to help lift.’

She closes her mouth, but she still looks a little stunned. ‘Well …’ She blinks a couple of times. ‘Let me get Max.’

I nod. Part of me hopes that Noah stays away and doesn’t try to help carry the cake. I’m really trying not to think about the fact that he and Mika slept together. The prospect of seeing the two of them together is making me twitchy. She is much better suited to him than I am. She is much better suited to everything than I am. I set a very average bar.

Mika turns her head slightly to the side and shouts, ‘Max!’

And as if by magic, a small pale boy appears at her side mere moments later.

‘I heard my name?’ From the way he is looking at her, I can tell that he is a little bit in love. I don’t blame him.

‘Max! Always here when I need you.’ She walks and beckons us to follow. ‘Can you help Paige with the cake?’ I smile and wave at him so he knows it’s me she’s talking about. There is nobody else around, but this logic doesn’t hit me until it’s too late. ‘If you two lift and carry, I’ll get the doors.’ She reaches the main entrance in seconds and looks at the array of cars in front of her. ‘So, which one is Michael’s?’

Michael?

‘Who’s Michael?’

Just then Noah appears from behind his car, looking a lot less grey and sweaty, and a lot more composed. But I am less so. I’ve been dreading the two of them meeting. Again. I think back to his white knuckles. I wonder if he’s a bit nervous too. Nervous of seeing Mika, the fittest girl he’s probably ever slept with. He certainly looks a bit like he is avoiding her gaze.

‘Max, close your ears. Paige, who the hell is that sexy chunk of meat?’

I look to see where she is looking. She is looking at Noah, and I am utterly confused. I point at him, casually.

‘That is black top guy. The guy from your party. The guy you said would be the perfect distraction.’

She turns to me and smiles. She is party to a joke, and I think I’m the punchline. ‘Honey, that is not Michael. That is not the black top guy.’

‘It absolutely is. I mean, it isn’t. His name is Noah, not Michael, but he was the only one wearing a black shirt.’

Her eyes go up and to the left. ‘From memory, Michael was wearing a sweater.’

I look at her, and rifle through my own memory.

‘Mika!’ I finally remember who Michael is. ‘The sweater was purple.’

She looks at me and shrugs. ‘Oops. My bad.’ But she doesn’t look remorseful at all. ‘Sorry for the mix-up, but it kinda looks like I did you a favour. He’s hot.’

Fuck.

Noah is now almost within hearing distance of us.

I turn to Mika and angry-whisper at her. ‘Then who is he?’

She shrugs. ‘No idea. But he’s definitely not Michael.’

‘Hi. No, I’m not Michael.’ Noah closed the final distance more quickly than expected. He smiles at Mika, totally oblivious. ‘I’m Noah.’ He shakes her hand.

She nods at me. ‘He’s Noah.’ She looks back at him. ‘It’s nice to meet you, Noah. You were at my party.’

This time, I’m certain, he does avoid her gaze.

‘Ah, yeah I was.’ He looks like he has just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. ‘Sorry. A friend brought me along to your party. I didn’t say hello. I just kind of snuck in, and then, well’ – he looks at me – ‘left before I had a chance to introduce myself. I hope you don’t mind.’

Mika shakes her head and smiles. ‘No need to apologize. I hope you had a good time?’

Noah doesn’t say anything, but he does look mildly uncomfortable. Mika, meanwhile, looks like she is enjoying this far too much.

Somehow, we manage to get the cake into the room and on to the table. I don’t remember any of the journey. I go to unleash the cake but have to stop. My hands are shaking too much.

Noah appears beside me. He must see me shaking. ‘Are you OK?’

I can’t quite look him in the face.

‘Yes, I’m good. I’m good, I just need some space.’ He doesn’t say anything, but I can hear him not say anything. I half turn to him, but not enough for him to see me. ‘Sorry. My arms are just a little tired from carrying the cake through, so they’re shaking a bit. And setting up always makes me antsy.’

He touches my shoulder.

I’m at risk of crying. Why am I at risk of crying? I never cry.

I need to send him away. Still not looking at him, I say, ‘Hey, can you do something for me?’

‘Of course.’ He removes his hand.

I don’t actually need anything from him, but I do need him to go away. ‘Could you go get me … a knife? From the kitchen?’ The kitchens in these places are never just around the corner. And they should be manically busy. Hopefully too busy to get him a knife for a nice, long time. I just hope they don’t behead him with it for asking. I need some space from him to consider what this means, but it doesn’t mean I want him beheaded.

‘Of course.’ I can sense his distance even though I don’t see him leave.

When I am certain, with a quick flick of the eye, that he is gone, I shake out my hands.

‘He might not be Michael, but he is definitely something.’

I look and see Mika to my right.

‘You OK?’ There is concern in her eyes when she sees my face.

I am not OK. I would never have kept sleeping with him if I’d known he wasn’t a one-night-stand kinda guy. Because now, all I am going to do is hurt him. I am not a relationship person. I don’t know how to do them. I will ruin this. I don’t want to share things. I don’t want to have deep and meaningful conversations with him. I know that I like him, but the idea that he might like me back is petrifying. I know that I have been stretching my own rules, but I thought I would be the only one to get hurt, and it would serve me right for acting outside my tried and proven process. But if there is a possibility of more …

I don’t want to share more with Noah than I already have, and I don’t want him to get angry at me for not sharing. I don’t ever want Noah to look at me like I am ugly once he sees all my scars. I just want him to disappear.

But I also don’t want him to disappear.

I want to be the type of person who can share, and open up, and let people in.

I want to be the type of person who someone could love.

But I am not that person. Sometimes I hate that I am not that person.

I am someone who works better alone. I am someone who is only lovable for a short period of time.

It’s better if I stop this before I hurt him. I will set the cake up, but I will find my own way home.

I turn to Mika. ‘Can you help me get the cake out?’

She just nods a reply.