Melody

Ha! Fake engagement. No freaking way. I’m having nothing to do with it. NAH-THING. It was a drunk pool game idea, I reason, scoffing and staring at the floordrobe of clothes I’ve created for myself.

I let Mark’s phone call go and continue folding my washed clothes neatly in my hometown wicker basket. I’m not sure why. I should just put them straight into my suitcase, but I’m not ready for that reality.

Inhaling one of my skirts, I avoid thinking about the fact I only have one day to go. Mmm… lavender laundry-scented papers. Keeps everything fresh in the wash. A Cramer domestic ritual handed down to me and one I’ve carried on with.

When I look around my room with its nostalgic keepsakes and trinkets, I realize I’ve brought Dulver Springs with me in every facet of my life.

My gosh. I never really left, did I? Maybe I don’t hate it that much…

My mind’s all over the place, but it brings me back to Mark somehow. What a riot. Fake engagement. Sheesh. What was in that beer? Something funky I bet. That can’t happen.

I don’t think I have the ability to pull off being “fake” anything.

Moving to the next room with my bed and the cheap whitewashed vintage drawers I purchased, I examine my bare Boston apartment bedroom.

I barely have anything left in my room.

Wow. This is it. I’m going back home. A heavy whoosh hits my head as I check my forehead temperature. Yup. I’m still alive. My overwhelm clock is on overdrive as intrusive thoughts do what they do best. Invade.

What am I gonna do when I get back there? I’m flat broke, and I’m gonna be a laughingstock, just like I used to be. I didn’t change my fate one little tiny bit.

All the thoughts running through my head have me paranoid. Anything I invested when I came to Boston had to do with my baking supplies, a few pieces of necessary furniture, and a few other things.

I worked so many summers for so long in Dulver Springs only to ride right out into the sunset from there. Sure, I got a little money from my parents, but they wanted me to learn the old-fashioned way.

“No point us throwing money at you. You’ll never learn the art of business that way. We’re extremely proud of you.”

A drifting sadness washes over me as I look at my blank white canvas of a room. Sticking my hands on my hips, I sift through my best options.

Sell them. Sell these items to your friends and staff. I nod my head in silent agreement with myself, thinking over Mark’s proposal. “We could just pretend to be engaged up until Founders’ Day. That would make our families happy. Soften the blow. What do you think?”

And my inebriated response was. “Hell yeah! Let’s do it. No big deal right?” and that was right before I proceeded to pocket a blue ball in the left corner pocket.

Why would I have a relationship with a boy who teased me about my cupcakes when I was younger and generally thought I was ick as a girl growing up?

I chuckle to myself, folding the rest of my clothes and sitting down to email what’s left of my staff—the people who I call my friends.

The next day, I forget about the phone call because I’m redirecting my mail back home, sending last minute emails to the administrators, pulling items out of cupboards, and it’s a mad dash to get everything organized, including booking a Greyhound ticket.

Milla, a dear staff member who’s stuck with me through all the bad reviews and rapid decline of Cramer Delights, knocks on the door with her eternal sunny side and blonde hair.

“Hey girl!” Milla hugs me tightly and steps inside.

“I’m so happy you’re here. I have all the furniture packed up and ready to go for you.” I hand her a small stack of fiction books, a couple of vintage stools, my dresser drawers, and a cute embellished mirror.

“Wow. It looks so bare here! I can’t believe you’re leaving us. I’ve never loved a boss so much in my life. I almost want to follow you to Dulver Springs. Can you fit me in your suitcase?” Milla says cutely, hugging my tired shoulders. I cup my hands around her elbows and lean in, needing the hug.

“Trust me, you don’t want to come back to Dulver Springs with me. I’ve got too many cupcakes demons there.”

“Cupcake demons. What are you talking about? The Cramers are huge, right? Isn’t it your family that founded the town?”

“Yeah, yeah, but so far I haven’t lived up to the Cramer baking standards.”

I try to think about the good parts of Dulver Springs as Milla’s boyfriend joins her to carry items down the stairs.

We do have epic autumns with maple leaves of all shades, amazing mountainscapes, coyotes, beautiful small-town architecture, and a community feel, but somehow my head’s stuck on repeat with childhood experiences.

“You sure have them now. I haven’t found any cupcake owners in the Boston area that have come up with what you have,” Milla praises.

“Thanks, Milla, means a lot to me.” We stack the last item in her van as we hug.

“By the way, how are you getting back home?”

“I’m catching the Greyhound.”

“Hmm cool. Well, I hope to come visit soon. I wish you all the best back in Dulver Springs.” But her response is dull, and I truly do want to fit her in my suitcase as I stand at the door with a wasted smile.

“Thanks, I appreciate it,” I say sadly, wishing everything could be different.

A few more of my valued customers come through to collect the last of my temporary possessions, and by the time nightfall hits, I pretty much have an empty apartment. And as I hug my knees into myself, sitting on the floor, maybe there’s part of my soul left behind as well.

How am I going to recover from this?

I stare at chipped paint on the wall, thinking Mark’s proposal through…. It will be so much easier to come back into town with him. I won’t have to leg it to Dulver Springs with all my stuff and we can just split gas.

What about the engagement? What are the rules? I stop my brain from coming up with any more questions, getting up off the floor, and doing what I always do when I have a problem.

I bake. There’s no way in Dulver Springs’ rolling hills I want to be engaged to Mark. What was I thinking! Setting the thermostat on the oven with a light head shaking scoff, the warmth of satisfaction fills me as I embark on making the perfect cupcake for my Greyhound trip.

Apple Spice cupcakes with cream cheese frosting and a sprinkle of toasted cinnamon and nutmeg. Hmmm…mini cupcakes or full size ones? Now that’s the biggest question.

A smile automatically drifts over my face because baking is my jam. I’m glad I’ve got all the ingredients to shape the recipe up.

Just as I slice the tart green apples and grease up my cupcake pans, my cell phone beeps.

“Shoot! Don’t they know I’m baking?” I exclaim and look at where the dreaded beep’s coming from.

Ramona Cramer—my mother with an email. I smile at first, but the smile quickly morphs into gut-wrenching panic.

It’s not just any email, it’s the email of all emails that break me out into thousands of goosebumps. A Founders’ Day run sheet.

On the run sheet is information that has my feet glued to my tiled kitchen floor and boy do I need some water now.

Dear Melody, it’s your mother. A little formal, but you know how these folks are here. Please find attached the Founders’ Day events, but I wanted to basically tell you what you’ll be doing, and maybe as you travel here, you’ll come up with some cupcake inspiration!

You will be responsible for a Cramer Delights cupcake stand, with eight tiers (we’ll help of course.) That’s about 150 cupcakes all up, give or take, and this will be the main feature of Founder’s Day representing the Cramers. It’s to be photographed, and you’ve got an interview lined up with the papers as well.

We’re so proud of you and all you’ve achieved in Boston. We really want to show off what a little hard work, dedication, and persistence can do.

Love, all the Cramer women. What a homecoming it’s going to be and a helluva a Founders’ Day! Love ya kiddo.

I press the incessant pulse in my wrist.

Stay calm, Melody, it’s a cupcake stand. You’re not gonna let a little thing like being shut down stop you, right? We can surely leave that part out of the newspaper article?

No way, I can’t let my family down. A bad memory flashes with faces of high school classmates of the town, pointing and laughing in my face as I walk down the grocery store aisles.

“Aren’t you the one that burnt those cupcakes on live television?” Snicker, snicker, snicker.

Quickly, with sweaty fingertips, I call Mark. “Ah hi, let me get this out before I chicken all the way out. I’m okay to be engaged to you. There’s only one stipulation,” I warn, holding up a finger on my end as if he can see it.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?” There’s excitement in his voice, but it’s physically making me ill that I have to do this in the first place.

“It’s that it can only be until Founders’ Day. Then we have to call the whole thing off peacefully and do our own thing. Nobody will ever know.”

“Technically, the whole town’s going to know but yeah.”

“Do you have to be so analytical about things?”

“Hey, I was about to become a lawyer, makes perfect sense.”

I roll my eyes as I find my piping bag for the icing.

“Are you packed and ready to go?”

“I mean, pretty much. I’ve sold everything and I planned to book a Greyhound ticket, but since we’re together untechnically…”

I can hear Mark’s cocky grin down the line, and it irks me to no end. “Not when your fiancé is picking you up. Send me your address and I’ll be there around eight-thirty to pick you up,” he says.

“You got yourself a deal. Fake fiancée until Founders’ Day. See you in the morning.”

Omigod. What have I done?