The Mix-Up by Holly McCulloch

CHAPTER 23

‘Do you want me to leave?’

We’ve finished all the wine in our mugs. I even opened the popcorn.

Do I want Noah to leave?

‘No.’

I think he smiles a bit, but he also looks down so it’s hard to tell.

‘Do you want to come upstairs?’

He looks back up at me. ‘What’s upstairs?’

‘My apartment.’

‘You live here?’

I nod. ‘Yes. Well, not here here’ – I motion to the floor – ‘but upstairs.’ Wait. ‘Why did you come here if you didn’t assume I lived here? Did you think I would come back to work?’

‘Honestly, I didn’t really know what to think, I just knew you would have to come back here some time.’ He shrugs. ‘But yes, I’d love to see where you live.’

I nod. ‘OK.’

Except for Sara and her rugrats, I’ve never let anyone upstairs since I moved in, and especially not since Nan died. I have a lot of great memories of her in this apartment; I don’t want to risk overriding them. But tonight, I make an exception.

I stand up, grab what remains of the bottle of wine, and motion for him to follow me, turning off the lights as I go. You can reach the apartment directly from outside, but as we’re already inside, I lead him up the stairs at the back of the kitchen.

Keys already in hand, and hands this time a lot less shaky, I unlock the door relatively easily, fumbling around for the light switch that I swear moves position every time I try to find it. With the lights on, I’m reminded that I didn’t clean up this morning. I didn’t think I would have company but, running through my memory, I don’t think anything too embarrassing is out on show. Like the nearly empty jar of Nutella that has its own special spoon. But luckily, I didn’t have Nutella this morning. It should be safe in its place in the cupboard.

‘So,’ I say, opening out my arms, ‘this is it.’

Noah takes it all in. The accent wall that is chipped in places. The piano that is a bit dusty. The bowl that is left out from breakfast. The magazines that are on the windowsill, and only for decoration. The book that sits, spine cracked, face down, on the sofa. The piles of shoes next to the front door.

‘This is an actual home.’ He walks from the dining room into the lounge. ‘It’s great.’ He peeks down the hallway. ‘It’s a lot bigger than you’d think it would be.’

‘It goes over the bakery and the shop next door.’

He turns back to me.

‘Why haven’t we come to your house before?’

‘You were ill?’ This is an excuse, of course, but it isn’t the worst one I could have come up with.

He resumes his peruse. ‘How long have you been here for?’

‘Erm, about seven years.’ Seven years. You would have thought that by now I would be emotionally stable regarding everything to do with my cancer. I can’t believe it’s been that long.

He’s made his way to the piano and is now looking at the photos that sit on top.

‘Who’s the silver-haired vixen?’

I go over to him and take a look, although I know exactly who he’s talking about.

I pick up the photo and dust it off. I really need to clean more. ‘That’s my nan. My mum’s mum. She’s the reason I live here. She took care of me when I had cancer, and then when I didn’t, she taught me how to bake. It’s really her cake business, not mine.’

‘So this is her house?’

I nod. ‘Yep. Or at least it was.’

He stops looking at the photo and looks at me. ‘But she’s now …’

I nod back. ‘She died a couple of years ago.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘It’s fine. It really is.’ Or at least it is now. ‘It was pretty hard being here after she died. I didn’t want to move anything. Or touch anything. I guess I didn’t really like the idea of erasing my memories of her.’ I put the photo back in its place. You can tell by the darker patch of wood where it is meant to go. The patch that has been protected from the sun.

He looks at me. ‘Ah, so that’s why you didn’t want to come back here.’

I know I look guilty. I can see my face reflected in the glass of the photo frame.

He nods in response and then looks around. It forces me to do the same and I feel the need to justify myself.

‘This place feels like mine now anyway, and I have changed some things. I redid the bedroom, and I’ve been replacing things bit by bit when they break.’ The only pieces I’m still really careful with now are the piano and the armchair downstairs. I take a deep breath. ‘She was a great person, though. The best of all the eggs.’

‘And as a baker, you would know.’

I smile at his attempt at a joke, and at his smile. He does genuinely look a bit pleased with himself. ‘You’re funny.’

‘Thanks.’

As if by mutual agreement we walk away from the photos.

‘Can I get you some more wine?’

‘That depends. Can I sleep over? My car is not the most comfortable bed.’

It’s a day of firsts, so, ‘Yes, you can sleep over.’

‘Then yes,’ he says, almost bowing, ‘I would love another glass of wine.’

I make my way towards the kitchen. ‘And you’re in luck. I have actual glasses up here.’

I opt for the stemless wine glasses, thinking they will be a little safer in my hands. I’m not sure I could handle a stem right now. In a snap decision I also bring out my emergency nuts and walk back over to the sofa with all my spoils on a tray.

‘Ah. Trays are only things actual adults have.’

‘Don’t worry, it’s not mine.’ I sit down and divvy up the wine. I know it’s meant to do six glasses, but somehow I’ve only managed four.

‘Cashews, delicious.’

I sit back and try to relax. ‘I’m really sorry about today. I won’t ask you to help deliver another cake ever again, but you were great by the way. A very competent cake delivery man.’

He shakes his head and grabs some nuts. ‘We both know I was a wreck. I’ve never been beeped at so much, but I couldn’t go faster. I’m not sure my heart will ever recover.’ He finishes off the handful of cashews, but I can tell he is gearing up for something more. ‘I just wish you had felt comfortable talking to me about your cancer in the first place.’

‘Well, when you tell people that you’ve had cancer, unless they’ve been affected by it themselves and sometimes even then, they often get a look.’

‘A look?’

‘Yeah, there are two main options: a look that says they wish you hadn’t brought it up and don’t know what to say, or a look that’s a mixture of worry and fear and pity. Neither is great. And I haven’t figured out a way to tell people that doesn’t lead to one of the looks.’

‘Huh. Did I have the look?’

I grimace. ‘Kinda.’

He rubs his face with his hands. ‘Oh god, I’m sorry. I would have thought that as a doctor I wouldn’t have the look.’

‘It’s OK. I’m used to it. And your face wasn’t the worst face I have seen.’

At this, he almost perks up. ‘Oh yeah? So whose face was the worst?’

I pretend to think, but I don’t have to. It’s a face that is burnt into my memory. ‘Erm, probably my ex-boyfriend’s. Obviously, at the time he was very much a current boyfriend, but not for long after that.’

‘Why? What happened?’

‘Nothing really happened. I mean, sure, he went out for dinner with friends the day I got out of hospital after my operation, but it was more the lack of happening. He was so focused on his new job; it was the most important thing to him, so he didn’t have time for or interest in me and my cancer. I didn’t fit into his life plan, I guess.’

‘He sounds like a prick.’

I bark out another laugh. ‘He kinda is.’ Really. He kinda is. I take a fortifying sip of wine. ‘I’m meant to be making his wedding cake for him.’

‘You are?’ Noah looks genuinely shocked.

I nod. ‘Yep.’

‘And he knows it’s you who is making it?’

I nod again. ‘Yep. He and his fiancée turned up to a cake tasting session.’

Noah pulls a face. ‘I can’t imagine anything worse. Can’t you just not do it? Can’t you say no?’

I sigh. Everyone always has the answers. ‘Yes. And I should have. But at the time, I didn’t have that many cakes for this year, and now, when I can probably afford to turn it down, it’s a bit late. I don’t know if they would be able to find someone else in time. He might be a prick, but I don’t have to be.’ I nod again and take another sip of wine. ‘But yes, you are right. I could have and should have said I was busy.’

Noah is thinking. I can see him thinking.

‘It’s your business, right?’

I nod. ‘Right.’

‘Do you think it will hurt your business in the long run if you don’t make their cake?’

I think about it. They are about as far from my ideal couple as you can get. Typically, most of my work comes from recommendations. They would likely only recommend me to couples that are similar to them. Semi-naked cake couples.

‘No.’

‘Well, then, I vote you turn them down. You don’t owe him anything. In fact, you probably owe him a bit of prickish behaviour.’

I think about it. I have to stop myself from picking at my nails as I think. It will probably give me some short-term pain, but the long-term gains will be worth it. I smile. I am not going to make Chris’s cake.

And then I breathe. My jaw, which I didn’t realize was clenched, relaxes. ‘You’re right.’

He shrugs and looks pleased with himself. ‘I often am.’

I hit him, playfully, on the shoulder.

‘Hey!’ He turns away, equally as playfully. I stop, and so does he. ‘So, it was just your nan that looked after you?’

I nod. ‘Pretty much.’

‘What about the rest of your family?’

I remember the last conversation I had with my mother. ‘They weren’t that great, to be honest. They pretty much stayed away, but it was better that way. For everyone.’

‘Gah. That’s so different from my own family. If anything ever goes wrong, we can’t get away from each other.’ He turns to me. ‘What about friends?’

‘I did have friends. I do have friends. But when I got diagnosed, it was a weird time … and fitting chemo sessions into your social calendar wasn’t really a thing.’

‘What about cancer friends?’ His eyes widen. ‘Sorry, was that a bad term to use?’

‘No. That’s probably what I would call them too.’ I think. ‘Again, it was a bit weird. I was quite young to get breast cancer, so I didn’t really fit into any of the age groups. I found it kinda hard to make friends.’ In truth, I did make some friends, beyond Sara, but they either died or fell away. Sometimes friends are only friends for particular situations. They too have a best-before date.

‘But you’re a friendly person.’

‘Ha. No. A common misconception. I have a friendly face, but I actually like very few people.’

He looks like he is thinking. Cheekily, he turns to me. ‘So … who do you like?’

I know he wants me to say I like him, but I’m not going to, even though I do. Especially because I do.

‘I made one really good friend during treatment. Sara. We are each other’s breast friends.’ I shake my boobs a bit for emphasis and he smiles. ‘Thinking about it, she’s probably my only actual friend.’ I take a sip and eat a nut whilst I reflect. ‘That’s a bit depressing.’

‘What about Mika? She seems really cool.’

‘Oh she is. And she’s a friend, but only in the work sense. I don’t think we would ever meet up without a work subtext.’

‘What about me? You hide it well sometimes, but I know you like me.’

I smile at him and his cheekiness. I try to imagine what I look like in his eyes, but I can’t see myself. Sometimes, OK, most of the time, I don’t know why he is here. Why he stays. Why, if I am such a hard person to get to know, does he want to hang out with me?

Unable to get the questions out of my head, I ask him, straight up. ‘Why are you here? Why do you like me? It’s not exactly like I’ve been good company.’

He looks at me seriously.

‘I’m mainly here for the free cake.’

I try to smile, but part of me is disappointed in his answer. I’ve shared more this evening than I have ever shared before. I can’t help it if I want him to share a little back. I’ve never been one to fish for compliments, but I need to feel secure. I need to feel like this isn’t going to fall away. I worry he can feel the disappointment emanating from me.

He leans across and kisses me right next to my ear.

‘But,’ he says, kissing me on my other ear, ‘I’m also here for the pancakes.’

‘The pa—’

He holds up a finger. ‘I’m not finished yet.’ He directs my face back towards his. ‘A wise woman once told me that I shouldn’t just compliment a lady on her physical features. So, with that in mind, I’m here for the picnic lunches. I’m here for your alpaca walking skills. I’m here for the way you do a little dance when you cook. I’m here for how jealous you got over thinking I was sleeping with my sister. Which is gross, by the way.’ He gives me another, very delicate kiss. ‘I’m here because when you let yourself have fun, you are the most beautiful person in the room. I’m here because I want to watch you have fun, and I want to be the reason you’re having fun. I’m here because you have this strange ability to be so seemingly confident and so heartbreakingly full of doubt at the same time. I’m here because I don’t think you can see how great you are, but I can.’

I try to commit everything he just said to memory, but also try to forget it at the same time. It’s a lot of pressure to have someone like things about you. What if those things change?

‘Oh, and I’m also here for your bum.’