Page 51 of August Lane
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
L uke prided himself on being a good cook, but desserts had never been his strong suit. No matter what he did, the three layers of devil’s food cake remained lopsided. He thought adding the icing would help, but the glossy chocolate cream cheese only highlighted his mistakes.
He should get used to that. According to the internet, he was the biggest fraud since Milli Vanilli.
There was a petition to add a worst songwriter of the year category to the Golden Raspberry Awards, even though he hadn’t released anything new this year.
That was how bad his career was going. They wanted to change the rules to memorialize his fuck up.
“Do I smell cake?”
August walked into the kitchen just as he added the candle.
It was a red-and-white thirty-two that he’d planned to light before waking her.
She stopped when she saw it, her expression unreadable, and for the first time since he found Birdie’s recipe card, he doubted his decision to surprise her.
It didn’t go so well the last time he’d tried.
“It’s my birthday,” she said, in a way that sounded like both a statement and a question.
He gestured at the brown monstrosity he’d created. “It looks worse than it tastes. I used your grandmother’s recipe, so—”
“This is Birdie’s devil’s food?” She studied the cake more closely. She was wearing his T-shirt and nothing else. Her hair was a fluffy, wiry mess. She looked so sated and thoroughly loved-on that a rush of pride flowed through him, swiftly followed by the desire to do it again.
“Yeah.” He tried to focus on the cake. “It’s all the ingredients, anyway.” He grabbed the recipe card and showed it to her. “She didn’t leave any instructions on how to decorate it, though.”
August held the card carefully, as if it could crumble in her hands. “Everyone loved her cakes,” she said softly. “After a while, she couldn’t make them without help. I tried.” She shook her head. “But it wasn’t the same. She’d get so frustrated because they were never right.”
Luke put his arms around her, pulled her into him. “I didn’t mean to make you sad.”
“You didn’t,” she said. “I miss her. I always will.” She leaned back to look at him. “But I’m also grateful. I always tried to ignore this day. But she never let me.” She glanced at the table. “It’s the perfect gift.”
Luke kissed her temple. “Don’t thank me until you taste it.”
They sat next to each other with plates of cake. Luke grabbed his fork but waited until she took the first bite. She made a soft, pleased sound. “Perfection.”
He ate some and agreed. Ugly or not, it was damn good. “I’ll make some eggs and bacon before you head to rehearsal.”
August stopped chewing. “What?”
“A message came through on your phone. I wasn’t spying. Just saw it when I was cleaning up.” Her notifications were flooded with people trying to reach her. David, in particular, had resorted to all caps, demanding confirmation that she would perform with Jojo.
August put her fork down. “What if I say no?”
Luke paused, but then took another bite of cake. He couldn’t feed her fear with his pining. They weren’t children anymore. “Not an option.”
“It’s not your decision.”
“This is what you’ve always wanted. You’re about to perform with your mother.”
She slumped in her chair like a sullen child. For August, any mention of Jojo would always rewind time a little. “It wasn’t her idea,” she said. “This was David doing damage control. Pulling strings behind the scenes.”
“That’s how this stuff works.”
“I hate it,” she said. “All of it. They told me I couldn’t work with you. What kind of dream is worth having if it breaks your heart?”
Luke grabbed her hand. “Let me tell you a story.”
She rolled her eyes. “Don’t.”
“Once upon a time, there was this beautiful, talented, but stubborn little girl—”
“Enough. I get it.”
“Who couldn’t take a compliment,” he continued.
“Because she didn’t hear them enough. So even though the girl was all those things, she hid them from the world because she didn’t feel entitled to them.
And everyone around her, whether or not they meant to, constantly confirmed that.
She had a thunderclap of a voice, and all they knew about storms was that they were dangerous. Something to be avoided.”
She propped her cheek on her fist and gave him soft eyes. “So, who are you in this story?”
“Oh, I’m the cautionary tale. I’m the boy who bumbles around, not even knowing storms exist until I’m standing in the eye of the most beautiful hurricane in creation.
But I don’t know what to do with it. I try to hold it in my arms, but that’s not what hurricanes are made for. You can’t keep a force of nature.”
Luke leaned over to brush cake crumbs from her lips. “Everyone gets it now. They’re offering you what you’re owed. A record deal. Maybe a tour—”
“They haven’t offered me anything.”
“They will,” he said. “And when they do, it’ll be your happy ending.”
She bit her lip. He could tell she was softening, bowing to his logic. “But is it yours?”
When Luke thought of August, there was always a whispered hope he’d refused to listen to, fearing it would overwhelm him.
Now he let it surge forward, painting images he’d avoided for years.
Her in a white wedding dress. The house they chose together.
Rooms filled with photos and trinkets, evidence of their shared life.
He saw her laughing and happy, nursing babies that had her big, dark eyes.
Their life sprawled before him, years of learning each other until there was nothing frantic in how they touched. Just quiet knowing.
That ending, the selfish joy of letting her throw everything away for him, squeezed him so tight he couldn’t breathe. But he didn’t tell her any of that. He touched her face and asked, “Do you love me?”
August didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”
“Do you trust me?”
Again, there was barely a beat before her answer. “Yes.”
“Then yeah. It’s also mine.”
When Luke left to help Silas with the club, August was alone long enough to give in to the temptation to search her name online.
Aside from a few caustic social media posts, most of it was positive.
A major news outlet ran an article with a candid picture of her at the fairgrounds.
It was the day she’d confronted Luke onstage and everything exploded.
She was in profile, steps from the microphone.
Beside it was a picture of Jojo performing at her last concert.
Her mother’s arms were outstretched, her long hair lifted by a wind machine.
The article summarized the controversy surrounding Jojo’s award and included a link to another piece about Luke’s confession.
August didn’t click on it. Those articles all read the same, as snide jabs at his integrity along with a cursory nod to his youth and subsequent battle with addiction.
Instead, August focused on the effusive praise the media was giving Jojo for adding August to the lineup.
“Bringing her daughter onstage will be a pivotal moment for the genre. It’s a nod to the erasure of Black artists the industry has yet to answer for.
What was stolen will be reclaimed when the Lane women sing their version of ‘Another Love Song.’ Jojo Lane is a visionary.
A pioneer. But most important to her talented daughter, a devoted mother. ”
August closed the article and switched to her messages.
Still nothing from Jojo. She opened her contacts and stared at her mother’s number, trying to will her fingers to do the work for her.
But she kept hearing their last fight in her head, the apathy in Jojo’s voice when she announced she was skipping Birdie’s funeral.
Why would this be any different? Her mother would probably show up the day of the show and saunter onstage to play the devoted mother like this had been her plan all along.
August switched to the King’s Kitchen GroupMe and read through the rants that used to annoy her. Now it felt comforting to see Rodrigo’s intense opinions about the grease catcher. “You have to heat the grease first! THEN you clean it. Cold grease just gets smeared everywhere!”
It was nearly closing time, which meant they’d be doing clean up. August drove to the restaurant, intent on being useful. When she arrived, there were more cars out front than she’d expected. Mavis’s sparkling Land Rover was parked near the entrance.
The door was locked. August knocked and a young woman she’d never seen before walked to the door and yelled, “The kitchen is closed!”
“I work here,” August yelled back, and the woman stared blankly, unmoved.
“Let her in,” Mavis shouted. The new employee sighed and finally unlocked the door. August was stunned to see her cousin wearing brown dungarees and plastic gloves. Her hair was covered with a scarf.
“What are you doing here?” Mavis asked.
August tried to walk inside but the new girl, Anita, based on her temporary name tag, blocked her path. August tried to stare her down, but Anita stared back, unintimidated.
“I will pay you to move,” August said.
“That’s my boss,” Anita countered, gesturing over her shoulder. “She pays me once a week.”
“ She’s your boss?” August met Mavis’s eyes. Her cousin sighed and told Anita it was okay to step aside.
“I knew you’d do this,” Mavis said. “I told Silas the minute they added you to the lineup that you’d run off and bury your hands in dirty dishwater like it’s a better use of your time.”
“They want me to sing a song I’ve known for years. Might as well be useful while I wait.” She looked Mavis up and down. “Why are you here?”
Mavis peeled the gloves from her hands. “Cleaning the grease catcher.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes. Or I was about to before you interrupted.”
“You mean before I saved you?” She pointed to Mavis’s scrub brush. “This isn’t the right equipment. You need a face mask, nose plugs, and a bag of edibles.”
Mavis sat at a table. “I’m avoiding my husband.”