The Icing on the Cake Read Free

“American” food. Right before the big night, Frankie’s mom, Theresa, accidentally set our homemade sourdough rolls on fire, and then one of her brothers smothered them with a fire extinguisher. Everything was ruined. Frankie almost lost her mind, but Lillian and Theresa saved the day by coming up with the idea to make waffle ice-cream cones. I think we had the most popular project at the museum thanksto them. Frankie decided Lillian was a keeper after that, and I was so glad not to be stuck in the middle anymore.
    *  *  *
    I’m warming my feet on the radiator when the phone rings. It’s thirty-four degrees out with drifts of two-week-old dirty snow still bordering the sidewalk, but I wore flip-flops home on the bus so I wouldn’t destroy my pedicure. So what if no one’s going to see my toes for the next four months? My bright-pink nails with their perfect little flowers are enough to cheer me up on a slushy winter day.
    â€œLiza, it’s your dad,” my mom calls from the kitchen where my phone is charging.
    â€œCan you get it?” I ask, not yet ready to move my toes from the heater. “Please?”
    â€œHmm,” my mom says, shaking her head, but she answers it anyway. “Her Highness is busy thawing her paws,” she says, grabbing the phone and heading in my direction. She gets halfway across the roombefore she stops and scrunches up her eyebrows. “Really? What about?”
    Instead of handing me the phone, my mom leans back on the arm of the couch. “Oh yeah,” she says, looking at me, “Liza told me. Nana Silver strikes again.”
    Clearly, they’re talking about the party.
    â€œOf course I remember,” Mom says, her lips curling up ever so slightly. “My cousin Denise still hasn’t stopped talking about that chocolate fountain. At least your mother’s wedding planning was a hit with our guests.” Then my mom does something really weird, considering she’s talking to my dad: she laughs.
    â€œAnyway,” she says, “I told Liza that I’ll do my best to be supportive, but if Nana’s running the show, I’m just going to step back and let her do her thing. If she goes too far—which we know she will—it’s up to you, Daddy, to rein her in.”
    She laughs again. “Oh yes, I did say that. Youheard me right.” She’s practically bubbling. I give her a look, but she waves me off. “We’ll see about that,” she says into the phone, still chuckling.
    Still smiling, my mom picks at a loose thread on the arm of the couch, not saying anything. Then, suddenly, she clears her throat. “Oh right, of course,” she says, looking up at me, in her back-to-business voice. “She’s right here, hang on.”
    Mom hands me the phone. “It’s Dad.”
    â€œUm, thanks,” I say. “I knew that.”
    I’m not sure what just happened, but it sounded to me like my mom and dad were actually enjoying talking to each other. If Mom was laughing and making jokes, I’m pretty sure Dad was too. Hmm . . . Maybe letting Nana plan my birthday party won’t end up being the unluckiest thing that ever happened after all. . . .

CHAPTER 3
Liza

    I’m watching Antonio’s Kitchen for the first time in weeks—all of December was repeats, which is pretty boring when it’s a cooking show, even if it is my favorite. Antonio’s Kitchen has a new look for the new year. The set looks more modern, somehow, with shiny steel appliances and black-and-white subway tiles on the wall behind the stove. Here and there are splashes of red—the pots hanging from the wall, the tea towel thrown over Chef’s shoulder—that keep things fromlooking too slick and fancy and matching. I imagine Chef Antonio pushing a giant update button and instantly upgrading the studio kitchen like it’s an app on his