32 | Apology Cupcake

"Hold on, can you repeat that?"

As I raised a hand to interrupt a talking Jessica, she stared at me, as if caught with a secret. I stopped spreading the icing to listen more intently at what she had to say. If my ears heard correctly, I heard her mentioning something about dating Lawrence.

"He's – uh – making advances at me, Ollie," but then Jessica cringed, as if chastising herself, "No, not that bad kind of advances. Just . . . moves, like holding my hand, 'accidentally' touching my arm or face and sometimes, he just stares at me. Does he do this often?"

I hummed, thinking about how I had talked to Lawrence yesterday. He hadn't brought that up, because the topic of our conversation had been me and Jackson.

We were in my house's kitchen, where I was making a personalized cupcake in peace. For once, I had to make it for myself because it was for Jackson. Lawrence made me see that if neither of us is going to do something about mending the relationship, I might as well go for it.

I was tired of waiting. I had to march to the Dales and apologize to him over and over again. And I won't even sneak a bite at the cupcake.

"He has a thing for you, obviously," I told Jess, "And you don't seem to be too happy about it. Is he making you uncomfortable?"

She was with me because she felt like she needed a girl to talk to. According to Jessica, her friends in college were both busy and not easy to converse with. She found me helpful, and she needed help with Lawrence. After all, I knew him best.

"Yes, he is. I'm his matchmaker, for God's sake, and he shouldn't act that way with me. I'm trying to get him a girlfriend, but none of my contacts are interested."

"Well . . ." It could be a strange idea to suggest, but I thought they needed it. I wasn't much of an expert with love, but I could tell that there was hope for both of them.

I carried on putting the icing, "It's Lawrence. You can just go talk to him about it if you don't like it. But in my opinion, he's trying to get you. Now, don't feel offended. It's just because he cares about you."

"But I don't like him that way," Jessica murmured. The thing about her was that she was always on edge, ready to topple down when attacked with problems. She was heavily guarded, and Lawrence was open.

"If you can't find him a girlfriend, then why not just take the job?" There. I said it.

Jessica was surprised, as if the idea never crossed her mind. "Me?" she said with incredulity, "Not me! I can never - ! When I agreed to be his matchmaker, I was not looking for a boyfriend. Just here for the car rides."

"It can't hurt Jess," I told her, "You know why?"

"No, why?"

"Because if you give it a shot, he won't let you down. Being with Lawrence Riley can be the best opportunity because he will always treat you like the queen you are. You don't have to be afraid of him."

Jessica seemed so disbelieving about the thought. "So I just date him like that? When I don't know him that well? We're not even spending that much time together!"

I laughed, partially in doubt that we had seen the same thing. She did spend time with Lawrence a lot, always over at his flat or the other way around. I even knew they studied together. They'd go visit the shop, he'd talk to her casually, and she's involuntarily laugh at his jokes.

And here was Jessica, insisting that they were just friends. Heads up, Lawrence wasn't letting you go that easily.

I smirked, hand on my hip, "Why? How long will it take before you let a man take you out?"

"Months. It's going to be tough work getting through me," she replied confidently.

"No, you see, it's not how tall or big the walls are around you. It's the boy and how he's willing to break all that. You find the right one if he tears everything down with one touch."

Jess ran her fingers on the counter absentmindedly. She looked deep in thought. "You know I'm careful about this. Always, at the end I find myself regretting and asking 'why'. I can't go through all of that again."

I nodded in understanding. I respect what her decisions were.

I went back to the cupcake, all ready with its icing and toppings. I took the box sitting next to it and gently placed the treat inside. There was even a smooth ribbon on the box to knot into a bow.

"So," I tried to change topics to lighten up the mood, "Have you heard anything from Lawrence's night murmurings?"

Fun fact about Lawrence Riley: he talked in his sleep. When I had first discovered it, I had tried recording him whenever he slept. Sometimes, it was fun, sometimes boring.

So when Jess and Lawrence managed to get along and be cool with each other, I had decided to share this precious piece of information with her. Literally, I had taken her from her flat one night and we sneaked into Lawrence's bedroom. There, we had cracked up and the next morning, Lawrence had no idea.

A smile graced her face, thinking about it, "Funny, he'd always mention his problems and the shows he watches on TV. But I heard him say something about 'finding a girl like me' one night."

I cocked an eyebrow, "You stay with him at night?"

"I told you, he just sleeps randomly whenever we talked. And I'll just put a blanket on him and listen to him talk. But when he mentioned me, it freaked me out."

"Then that's his inner dealings with himself. I think he's still confused about how he feels towards you. Debating if he should ask you out or not."

Jess' eyes widened, "He wants to ask me out?"

I shrugged, "How could I tell for sure? Maybe he will." Then, I sighed contentedly, gazing at the perfect cupcake box with the bow on it.

I would've normally decorated it with a skull, but the stock ran out.

"But by the way, I write down whatever he says – or whatever I can understand. It's cute, how he murmurs like that. When he said that about me, I thought he knew I was watching and was just saying that smiling."

"But I poked him and shook him after that, and he's really asleep! I asked him indirectly after he slept, but he said he didn't have any dreams," Jess continued.

Carefully carrying the box in my hands, I guided her down the stairs leading to the shop, and we sat on the steps. Behind us was the silent and empty interior of my home, and down there was my real home, Sweet Moments, with the sweet scent wafting to every direction.

"About your ex-boyfriends . . ." I told her, "You don't mind me asking about them?"

She shook her head, "No."

"Okay, how many are there exactly?" I wondered out loud.

To other girls, ex-boyfriends are like the banes of their existences, but they also say that getting along and being friends with your ex is the mature thing to do.

"Five, or four?" answered Jessica, "Others are serious, like almost proposal serious. And others are careless flings."

"Oh," I said blankly, "They were all jerks to you? Cheaters and liars?"

"Not really." She started counting it off with her fingers, "One was a lost cause from the beginning – we didn't really click with each other. Another tried to use me, two were bad-mannered and one I found perfect until the police caught his drugs stash – thanks to my Dad, of course."

"Wow," I licked my lips, "You know what I think?"

She looked up at me.

"I think it's okay to meet a jerk of a guy. Maybe being rude is part of his personality. But it gets better when he becomes your douchebag, your jerk. You become mean together."

Jessica let out her unique laugh. It was strange, but cute. "You and Jackson, huh?"

I cracked a smile. I guessed that was our story.

"But what about Lawrence, though?" she asked thoughtfully.

I nudged her side, "So it always ends up with Lawrence?"

I saw a faint trace of pink splashed on her cheeks. Aw. "I – I was just curious! He's a different kind of guy, isn't he? Has he – um – said anything about me?"

"I'm not an owl to pass messages between you both, goodness," I smacked a hand on my chest, "What Lawrence and I talk about stays between us and same with you and me . . . but I think I can tell you a few things."

"He adores you, Jess, it looks like. You're the girl with the right badassery and confidence, but you're also the mature one to set him right," I quoted Lawrence.

"Is that so?"

"Jessica, Jessica, Jessica," I chanted, "Lawrence has never brought a girl to his hometown, to his parents. Never. Not one. But I think you might be the first girl to."

"I'm not buying it quickly," Jess tried to keep her face normal, "He has to win me over because I'm not chasing after him."

"He has to look for his dream girl and chase after her. But if you just crash into his life like that, he can't ignore you. Trust me, you're that headcanon he never expected he needed," I winked at her.

Standing up, I went down a few steps. "I have to go to Jackson's now. Bring this cupcake to him," I told Jess.

She followed and stood up as well. Together, we climbed down the stairs to reach the shop. I realized it was comforting to talk to Jessica, it settles a peace in me.

"Funny," she said, "Guys usually say sorry first."

"Yeah, but I'm getting impatient so why not do it myself?"

"You think I'm going to be okay with Lawrence?" she asked.

"It's always Lawrence in your mind, isn't that right?"

We gave each other tight huge for goodbye. Jess was heading to her boring class, and later on she'll be meeting Lawrence. She always had Lawrence in her schedule, and yet she still played hard to get. Poor boy.

Mom was working in the kitchen. I was relieved of my duties today, because Mom knew I was occupied with school and this awful thing I never signed up for called 'life'.

But when she approached me with, looking like trouble was knocking and she couldn't tell it to piss off, I knew something was off. Peering behind her, I saw a familiar man walking and heading out the shop.

Owen. I always saw him visiting and talking to Mom, but Mom never cared to mention him. When I asked her about him, she brushed it off. Owen never spoke to me either.

"Your father," Mom told me grimly, "He's set for getting business partners from Walter and baiting his clients. He's tearing the Dale Studios' plan apart."

"What?" No. No. No. Not good. "What do you mean?"

She massaged her temple, "He's trying to do the same thing Walter has in mind, only better. He's literally stealing everything and making it his own. Then, people will acknowledge that it's all Grant's idea."

"He can't do that!" Anger bubbled inside me, "He can't do that in just a few days! It hasn't even been a week!"

She put in gently, "Your father's a very powerful man. He can do anything."

"No, no," I raised my hands to my face, "You can't let him do this, Mom. We have to talk to him."

"And you think it's going to make a difference?"

I didn't want to imagine how Walter or Maira – or even Jackson – would react if they found out. And there was only one suspect, one stranger who had heard all of the plans over dinnertime.

I had betrayed them the same way Mitch betrayed me.

Not using much time for words, I started to the door, cupcake box held close to me. I felt the tears coming somewhere far, but they'd get to me later. Suddenly, Mom held me back, pulling my arm roughly.

"You stay here, Oliver, I don't want Grant putting you in harm's way. You can only make it worse," she said sternly.

I struggled under her hold, "No! I have to go!"

"Look, you father only told me about it; it's not yet released to the press yet. You have to calm down – "

"That's why I have to go and warn them!"

"I promised myself you're not going through all that trouble I've been in before – "

"Let me go!"

I broke free and dashed out the shop with a heavy heart. I was that gateway and I had let my father win. I ran to the first bus I could find to head to the Dales'.

The trip was a mixture of both aggravation and anticipation and I hated it. Like something was going to blow up soon, and I couldn't tell what was exactly happening. Like I had no control over it. Over my life.

After the short-lived travel, I ran as fast as I could. The gates let me in and the door was wide open. It was only when I reached the inside of the house when I realized I didn't know what I was going to say.

Was I telling Jackson first, or was I breaking the news to Walter? How will they take it?

They'll probably fire me at that instant.

At this point, Bridgeshade and the record deal wasn't looking good anymore.

I walked slowly. Took quiet steps to the living room, hearing the TV. The news was on. And what was going through my ears right now made my blood ran cold.

"This just in, Grant Reynolds launching a new program for the better of Reynold Records, his prized company. Lucky decision for Mr. Reynolds, because he has multimillionaire supporters from around the globe, clamoring in the building for partnerships and investments . . . "

The dialogue trailed off because the volume was decreasing. Cautiously, I entered the room and saw Jackson pacing, angry.

And when he turned around to look at me, there was no doubt he was murderous.

"What did you tell him?" he harshly said as I allowed myself a few more steps into the threshold, stopping a few feet away from him.

"Just a few things – "

I flinched when he cut me off, "Really? Because it looks like you told him everything."

I fell silent, but I was daring enough to look him in the eye. "And what are you going to say? That you didn't mean it?" he glowered at me.

"You don't understand. He threatened me with your family. He said he could destroy you," I defended hopelessly.

"And you believed him? You really believed that? My father is not completely defenseless, Ollie. He knows what to do with a rival."

I pursed my lips, intense emotion overwhelming me. Not the good kind, obviously. It felt like the same with the time I caught Mitch with Brennan. Like there was a hurricane building up inside my chest and it was demanding to be let out. And when you're trying to hold it back, it was the hardest thing in the world.

And you just stand there, taking labored breaths to hopefully calm yourself.

"You could've told me," Jackson paced, "We could've worked it out. I told you we can help you."

"He was in my house, Jackson. What was I supposed to do? Offer him biscuits? He wasn't leaving us alone until he got what he wanted."

"Oh, and you gave him exactly that!" he pointed to the television.

"Stop saying what I did wrong!" I yelled, "I know what I did so shut up! You don't have to rub it on my face, okay? We have to get to fixing it instead."

"Fixing it? There's no more fixing it," he said.

"I'm sure your father can do something – "

"You knew he was planning it for months!" Jackson burst out in rage, "You knew Dad had the idea and you sat there in the damn table with us, listening to it all. You knew it was important to him and you still gave it all away to a liar and a bastard! So don't you dare say Dad doesn't care about this."

"And you know what else your father did? He released scandals and lies to the press about our family! People are accusing him of things he didn't do! You knew he was going to make us look bad either way. And today, I know all Dad will be doing is ward off the media and explain everything!"

No words from me.

I stared at the TV, showing live recording from the Reynold Records building. And there was my own father, being interviewed by a reporter. And I swore that glint on his eye and wicked smile was meant for me.

This was all his doing. Destroying my life, making me feel like this . . . this was all him.

I shouldn't have signed that contract.

"Look, look at what you've done! This is all your fault!"

I started to move closer, but Jackson only backed away from me. When I accepted that he wasn't going to let me anywhere near him, I stopped and my arms went limp at my sides. Jackson sat down on a chair, refusing to look at me.

"I thought you cared about us, Oliver," he spat out my name in disgust. I tried to convince myself that he was as hurt as I was.

"I did – I mean I do, damn it," I gritted my teeth.

"You call this caring for us? I was right before; you're not any better than your father. You're just like him – twisted, and two-faced," he went on, "And I thought this experimental dating thing was going somewhere serious."

It hit me hardest – when he brought up our relationship.

"You know it means more than 'experimental' to me," I said to him.

"Yeah," he laughed bitterly, "Only to you."

"And this was all just a sham, wasn't it? Dating me, using me so you could impress your father," Jackson added.

"No!" Was that how he viewed our relationship?

"You expect me to believe you?"

I scowled. "You know, this is the problem with you. One thing just goes wrong and you turn into this stone cold asshole to keep yourself guarded. It doesn't work, Jackson. Stop it and we can think this through the right way."

"You stop it!' He shook with anger, "Get out of here before I drag you away myself."

"Jackson, I'm sorry . . . "

No, I wasn't crying yet. But I wasn't concentrating on how I felt like right now. I was more determined to do anything about it, no matter if it made matters worse or better.

He put on his 'out of care' mask and simply walked out of the room, leaving me there. I tried to persuade myself that he was being childish and immature, breaking up a relationship over something like that. But I could only accept that it was my initial fault this all happened.

Like a big girl, I walked out of the house, wondering if any of the other Dales were around or if they heard our fight.

If only I had the right guts, I would have followed Jackson up to his room and I would have stopped at nothing to take him back. But I wasn't doing that any sooner.

This girl needed some grieving first before taking the step to do something.

I was first to try to apologize and first to be smart enough not to give up . . . will he ever do something for me?

At the bus, I sat the very back. The cupcake was still with me, and I had decided that if he refused to accept my apology, there was no use leaving the cupcake there. He'd just probably throw it away and waste my work.

I opened it carefully, pulling at the knotted bow. Damn it, jackass, I had a gift box for this and you shout at me? Did he not notice this when he said all those things?

Box opened, I read the letters on top of the cupcake: I'm sorry, written in an artsy icing writing.

Yes, the cupcake was saying sorry to me. Thank you, cupcake.

But I'm sorry I have to eat you. When you're meant to be celebratory, I have to eat you in my agony. And I probably have to eat some more desserts, effectively emptying my allowance.

First breakup in eighteen years. Huh.

Time to take out the wine.

♫ ♫ ♫