How The Cookie Crumbles (2 page)

I sighed quietly to myself so my mom didn’t hear anything.

I finished mixing the brownies, poured them into the greased and floured pan and popped them into the hot oven. Then I started creaming more butter for the icing. My older brother, Glen, walked in and stared at me.

“Did you break up with Matt?”

“Glen!” My mom admonished him. “Don’t pry, I’m sure Frances will tell us when she’s ready.”

I burst into tears. “Why does everyone know what’s going on with me? Am I so boring and predictable?”

My mom came over and hugged me awkwardly, since I was still waving a buttery wooden spoon around. Glen came over and made it a group hug. “Sorry, Franny,” he said, “It’s just when you start randomly baking, you’re usually upset about something and Matt had left, so I figured.…”

I went back to the washroom and washed my face with cold water. Now I definitely looked worse. I tried to repair my mascara, and I borrowed some of my mom’s makeup to cover the splotches on my skin. This wasn’t working since she was about three shades darker than me, so I finally gave up. It was my family after all; they had seen me look way worse.

Dinner went okay. Apparently Mom had warned everyone to be tactful, so they shut up about dating, random baking, and chartered accountants. We chowed down on pasta with a spicy tomato sauce, rosemary chicken, garlic sautéed greens, and a green salad with figs.

Just before dessert, my grandmother couldn’t hold back any longer. “You’re well rid of him. That one never passed a mirror he didn’t like.”

A complete silence descended. Everyone was watching me to see if I was going to get hysterical again. But after a delicious family dinner, I felt calmer and I merely smiled.

“You may be right, Granny.” I told her, and then I went to the kitchen to cut the brownies. I had iced them with melted Belgian chocolate chips, and they looked scrumptious.

2. Anthropologist on Planet Hockey

Dinner was delicious, but I had kept my portions small—even my brownie was half the size of everyone else’s. I had to be strict with myself since I used to carry about 25 extras pounds on a 5’ 2” frame. That was enough to stop me from doing a lot of the things I wanted to do. Like wear skinny jeans or the stylish fashions I loved. And date someone I wanted to date, instead of… nobody.

So in the spring of Grade 10, I decided that it was time that I lost the weight. And I dealt with that problem like I approached everything else in my life: I got organized. I set some goals and made some rules for myself and then followed them. Hey, it worked for getting good marks at school, so why not? Basically I just ate less and exercised more. I wasn’t really one for doing a lot of exercise, but I had always played soccer, and I started walking and going to the gym. My dad was into hitting the gym, so he helped me create a weight lifting program. It was tough and it took a while, but I finally lost those 25 pounds and now I looked great. I realized that I would never be thin; I was curvy with boobs and hips. However now I wasn’t getting called Fat Franny by my skinny brothers or anyone else, and I could finally wear what I wanted. Unfortunately skinny jeans still didn’t look right on me, and anything in the leggings/jeggings family was out. But you can’t have everything, and now I got to indulge my passion for fashion, on my own terms. What that meant was dresses and heels. I loved dresses and I could sew, so I made pretty dresses with fitted waists and flippy skirts in a rainbow of colours. My wardrobe used to consist of too much slimming black, so I avoided it now. And I had always loved shoes and hated being short, so I already had a full selection of lovely high heels.

If only dating after losing weight could have been as easy as whipping up a new wardrobe. It took me a full year of social adjustment before I got into a relationship with Adam. Initially I had some trust issues. After I lost the weight, I was excited to go back to high school in the fall. I was Frankie Taylor: New and Improved, Now with 30% less fat. But all the guys seem to see was Frankie Taylor, now hot with big breasts. Ugh. If guys that used to be mean to me or ignored me asked me out, I found that kind of phony. Because, hello boys, elephants do have good memories. And besides, I did have my super-picky boyfriend checklist. I had lots of guy friends, and guy friends who wanted to be more than that, but I was looking for the complete package. That might be why although I had gone on zillions of first dates, I had had only two serious relationships my whole life. It made me sad to think how perfect Matt had been, but in the back of my mind I wondered if his good looks had led me to overlook some of his lesser qualities. Unfortunately in my current state of upset, all I could think of were his good qualities.

When I started at U.B.C., I had left home and moved into residence right away. The commute from North Van to U.B.C. was a brutal one even if you had a car, which I did not, and besides I wanted to be independent. I loved my family and I didn’t want to move far away, but a little distance was perfect. Now going into my fourth year, I shared an apartment with two friends, but I was still close enough to come home occasionally for dinner and a bit of spoiling. My mom, feeling extra sorry for me because of the breakup, had already handed me a twenty and told me to get myself a treat. I planned to go straight to Shoppers Drug Mart and blow it on a bag of chips, a fashion magazine, and some red lipstick. And now, having been fed and coddled, it was time to go back to my apartment.

“Um, can someone give me a ride home?”

There was a dead silence. Then the excuses began.

“I have to mark exams,” said my mother, which was true even though it was a Saturday night. My grandmother didn’t drive anymore, which was something all of Vancouver should be thanking us for.

My dad, Glen, and Allan all looked at me, aghast.

“Frankie, hello? In five minutes it’s game two of the playoffs, Canucks vs. Kings! Nobody wants to drive you home during the game, afterwards, sure. Why don’t you watch the game with us anyway?”

So I ended up in the family room, watching the game with the boys. Maybe it was better that I wasn’t alone, wallowing in self-pity. If Matt were still here, it’s probably what we would have done anyway. I had just forgotten about the playoffs, which was apparently a huge sin. I know the basics of the game and who the cute Canucks are, but I am not really a hockey fan. Unlike my roommate and good friend, Bianca Leung, who is a complete hockey fanatic. In fact, she was one of the fortunate 16,000 to actually be at the game tonight.

My indifference to hockey began when I had to drive my younger brothers to their games. Mom had insisted that I stay and cheer their feeble efforts on. Glen was not bad, but Allan was too much of a dreamer. He had once scored when a puck hit him on the helmet and then went into the net. And then he expected me to compliment him on the way home! After I said, “Way to stand in the right spot and have a hard head,” he started whining and told Mom on me when we got home. Little brothers. These days, I avoided hockey whenever I could, which wasn’t easy in Vancouver.

One ridiculous thing that happened when guys watched hockey was that they stopped speaking English. And it didn’t help that Glen’s best friend, Mitchell, was here too. Testosterone overdrive. I felt like an anthropologist observing a primitive tribe.

“Oh baby, sweet deke!”

“Ohhh ho! Burr’s got danglelitis!”

“Did ya see that filthy t-drag?”

“What a dirty gino!”

“That’s some sick sauce.”

“Nooooo, Luuuuu! Stay between the effing pipes!”

“Man, the Canuck’s PK is sucking big time.”

“Fricking Kings score again! At least Cookson gets the apple, I’ve got him in my pool.”

I had no idea what they were talking about, so I just watched the game and resumed knitting this sweater I had started last Christmas and forgotten about. One thing was for sure: the Canucks needed to stop taking penalties, because every time they did, the Kings scored. The final score was 3-2 for the Kings in overtime, with the Kings scoring on yet another power play. All the boys were unhappy. After the Canucks had won the first game, everyone was ready to jump on the Stanley Cup bandwagon. Now everyone seemed ready to jump off the Second Narrows Bridge, but hopefully not before they drove me home. Being a Canucks fan meant living on an emotional seesaw.

Mitchell offered to drive me home, since he was leaving anyway. My mom had packed me a little container of leftovers, since she’s always worried that nobody will eat properly once they leave her house. She was the one who taught me cooking, so you’d think she remember that I was a great cook. But maybe it was a good thing to have a healthy meal around, since I didn’t want to resort to eating junk because I was unhappy. So I kissed her and thanked her.

“Hey Mitchell, you know that I live on the west side, near U.B.C., right?” I thought that he lived about five minutes away from here, but his parents had split recently so I wasn’t quite sure.

He bobbed his head up and down. Mitchell was kind of on the quiet side, which was probably why he got along so well with my loudmouth brother. We drove along in silence across the Second Narrows Bridge. Since it was only Game Two, there were no jumpers yet.

“I might be going to U.B.C. next year,” Mitchell informed me.

“Might?” I wondered. Glen had decided on Waterloo a couple of months ago.

“Well, I will. For sure. What do you study there?”

“Art history.”

“Oh.”

Yeah, that answer usually brought the conversation to a screeching halt, and Mitchell wasn’t even a talker in the first place.

“Maybe I’ll see you there?” He looked over nervously at me and swallowed.

Oh man, I recognized that look. Was I trapped in a little Honda Fit with my brother’s friend who had a crush on me? Damn. This was my punishment for being too lazy to take the bus. I could remember this guy from when he showed up at our place with too-short sweatpants and bedhead to play endless rounds of Call of Duty. The fact that he was now 6’ 3” and used hair product was not going to wipe those memories away. Plus, get real: I wasn’t into little boys.

“Maybe. It’s a pretty big campus though. What are you taking?”

“I’m at the business school.”

Great, just like Matt. As if I needed a reminder of my ex when I was trying to keep him out of my brain, like some horrible sea monster waiting to drag me under. It was all I could do not to tear up again. One of the benefits of having a boyfriend was that I didn’t need to deal with the attention of random guys. Just the magic words, “Sorry, I have a boyfriend,” and it was like a cloak of unavailability was tossed over me. But if I were to start crying, then Mitchell would try to be all nice and comforting, and I totally did not want that to happen. So I took a deep breath and changed the subject to one I knew he could discuss.

“Do you think the Canucks will win the series?” I asked, and off he went. I didn’t even have to listen, which was a major relief.

Unfortunately, not listening meant I couldn’t keep the conversation going, so after a long ride with painful silences, we finally arrived at my apartment. I thanked Mitchell and scooted out of the car before he got the courage to say anything that would make our relationship eternally awkward.

Then I marched upstairs where I could finally be blessedly alone and miserable. I had two roomies, Bianca and Lauren, but this was Saturday night, so they’d be out on dates. Because that’s what girls with boyfriends did. Sniff.

3. Postgame Interview

Jake Cookson

“Jake! Jake! How does it feel to steal one in the Canuck’s own barn?”

“Feels good, real good,” I said happily. It felt pretty fucking amazing after all the predictions that we were going to get swept in this series. And the Canucks were pretty much the most arrogant team in the league, so beating them was that much sweeter. It was our first playoffs in five years, but we were coming together pretty good. My D-partner, Josh Malinowksi, glared at me, and I remembered I was supposed to be all humble. I’d gotten in trouble before for saying the wrong shit. “But y’know, it’s only one game. We’re happy to get the split and now we get to play in front of our own fans.”

“What changes have you made to the power play that’s making it so successful?”

“Uh, I’m actually getting my shot on net,” I replied, and the reporters laughed so I grinned back at them. I guess I had a rep for saying funny shit, but usually I just said whatever I was thinking.

“Can I get some video, Jake?” This blonde reporter from an L.A. station squeezed in between me and Mally on the bench. Her name was Amy-something, and she didn’t know dick about hockey but she was pretty easy on the eyes. She was wearing a tight skirt and a tighter blouse. She turned to her cameraman, “Okay, Michael, are you ready?” And then she smiled brilliantly at me. “I’m here with the King’s star defenceman, Jake Cookson. Jake, your team squeaked into the playoffs, and you lost Game One, but now you’ve managed to beat the Canucks at home in Vancouver. What do you think the keys to tonight’s game were?”

“Well, we got our power play goin’, which was huge for us tonight. Other than that, uh, we just try to follow our game plan.” Nothing for the other team in that, was there?

“So, you got two assists tonight and were chosen as one of the game stars. Congratulations! It’s only your first playoffs, Jake, but how do you think you’ve matured as a player this year?”

I heard Mally snort, but I ignored him. “I dunno. I always compete hard every game, but I think I’m improving in our end.” She opened up her blue eyes wide and gave me a blank look, so I explained, “Y’know, the defensive part of my game is getting better.”

She asked a few more questions, and I think I answered them pretty good. I was ready to shower and get ready to leave for the plane ride home.

“Just one more question, Jake.” Amy leaned forward and I could see down the front of her blouse. She had nice tits, and I could smell her perfume even in the dressing room. She smiled warmly at me. “Any predictions for the series?”

I smiled back at her. “Uh, sure, I think we’ll take it in six.” She thanked me, then they packed up and left.