Her expression softens. “Oh, I know, babe. Of course he’s sad, we all are. I mean, well, your dad talks to him almost every day and, well, we just thought he’d be more—together. And the house … Look, all I’m saying is I know you wanted to be here, but you can still come with us. We’ll hire the best tutors. You’ll graduate on time. This time next year, we’ll be moving you into NYU. Besides, this trip is going to be life-changing. Think about how much closer we’ll be to our culture.”
Mom doesn’t get it. We’ve always been A Levitt Family Production, whether we were investigating the ethics of cattle farming in the Midwest, examining the effects of climate change on the beaches of the Outer Banks, or exposing the realities of gentrification in major cities.
I love chasing stories with my parents, but I can’t go to Israel with them. It isn’t even about graduating on time. It’s about having a senior year that’s mine—I have big plans for OTP and building an NYU-worthy resume, a resume that screams publishing.
If I say yes, I’ll get caught up in A Levitt Family Production—distracted by long days on location, switching out camera lenses to capture the perfect headshot, proofreading interview questions—the familiar, comforting chaos of filmmaking. It’s a chaos I haven’t felt since my parents moved us to Charlotte for their raising teenagers sabbatical three years ago, devastated by Oscar loss number six. Being on location and behind a camera is the closest thing to home I’ve ever had—until Kels.
If I go, OTP will take a back seat to my parents’ demanding schedule and fitting school in.
I can’t afford to go on hiatus for a year.
My presence will evaporate. NYU will have nothing to look at. Kels will disappear.
“I’m staying. For Gramps.”
For me.
Mom nods. “I get that. It just might be harder than you think, okay?”
“Every day is already hard.”
Mom’s arms open and I fall into her embrace. She strokes my hair like I’m a little kid again. It used to be identical, our hair. Long and medium brown. Whatever Mom’s chosen hairstyle was for the day, she’d replicate it on me. If Mom braided her hair, she braided mine. Crown braid days were my favorite. Along with matching green eyes and the same small mole above our lip. Everyone on set used to call me Mini-Mad.
Now, I keep my hair shoulder-length and styled in layers.
Mom’s is still as long as ever because, quote, screw ageism.
I’m going to miss her so much.
Mom lets go first and glances at her smart watch. “We need to get going.”
Still chewing my cheek, I nod.
“Come on, the boys are all outside.”
I follow my mother’s footsteps out the back door. Mom referring to Dad, Gramps, and Ollie as “the boys” gives me flashbacks to sand between my toes and the smell of hydrangeas in bloom. Summers were always for Middleton. If we weren’t on location, we were here. But now it’s August, and there’s a whole year here in front of us.
Dad pulls me into a hug as soon as I reach him. We don’t say much, but we don’t need to. Dad isn’t a man of many words. Mostly, he speaks in cupcakes and cinematography. I can’t wait for the pictures I know he’s going to send me from Israel.
“Take care of Gramps,” he whispers in my ear.
“I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry,” Mom says, then smushes Ollie and me together into one giant group hug and promptly bursts into tears.
There it is. We’ve been waiting for it. Mom always cries in threes, and she cried twice during the road trip to Middleton. It’s like three-act structure is built in her DNA.
On that note, Gramps turns around, Scout in his arms, and retreats inside. It’s the first Gramps thing that has happened since we’ve arrived, him running away from Mom’s tears. He kind of always has.
Mom wipes her eyes. “Okay, well.” She looks back and forth between Ollie and me. “I love you. We love you.”
“We’ll love you more if you win an Oscar,” Ollie says.
“No pressure,” I say.
Mom rolls her eyes, but she’s laughing. Ollie always knows what to say like that.
“Okay, one more hug. Then we’ll go—I promise!”
After a final round of hugs, Mom and Dad get in the van and they’re off to JFK. Then onto a plane. Then halfway around the world.
I don’t realize I’m crying until they’re already gone.
One True Pastry—three years ago
Debuts You Should Be Reading / Cupcakes You Should Be Eating
FIREFLIES AND YOU by Alanna LaForest
Okay, here we are. #50. The post I’ve been teasing on Instagram all week.
I can’t believe I just typed #50. Fifty reviews. Fifty recipes. Do you have any idea how many cupcakes that is? I can’t even tell you, because my brother always starts eating them all before I have the chance to count. Thankfully. If you were worried about food waste, rest assured, these cupcakes never go to waste.
Today’s recipe is lemon cupcakes with lavender frosting, topped off with gold glitter. Inspired by my new favorite book you probably haven’t read. Which is absurd! So I thought, How can I get this book on YA Twitter’s radar? I can write a glowing review (see below!)—but I know way more people are engaged with my #CupcakeCoverReveals on Instagram.
So I turned thirty-six cupcakes into a book cover cake.
Fifty cupcakes recipes later, and I have finally taken #CupcakeCoverReveal literally. You’re welcome.
These cupcakes taste like spring and are the perfect pick-me-up to get through this endless winter. Which, evidently enough, is how I feel about FIREFLIES AND YOU. If you asked me how many times I’ve read this book, I’d say two.
I’d be lying. The answer is three. I’ve read this book three times and I am the definition of book hungover!
So, what’s the book about, Kels?
FIREFLIES AND YOU is the YA contemporary book of my dreams—one where the romance elements are squee-worthy as anything, but nothing compared to the core of the story—a friendship so complicated, so codependent, you never know whose side you’re supposed to be on.
Every year, Annalee waits for the fireflies. Summer is for swimming, working two part-time jobs to save up for college, kissing Jonah Beckett, and fireflies. It’s a phenomenon that marks her small town outside of Baton Rouge. No one can explain why the fireflies keep coming back. And when they do, so does Maisy Daniels, Annalee’s best friend, and everything is perfect.
Except this summer, Annalee and Maisy are broken and barely even speaking. Annalee’s POV is in chronological order and Maisy’s is reverse chronological, both intricately woven together leading up to the night they fell apart. It’s wild, but so worth the ride, figuring out what happened.
With that, I will say no more about plot because spoilers!
But in terms of feels, the thing I loved most about this book was the moments of levity. It sounds heavy, reading a book about a friendship breakup—hoping Annalee and Maisy will figure it out and find their way back to each other. Parts of it are. But it’s also a lot of laughter, a ton of atmosphere, and the best depiction of summers in the too-hot South I’ve ever read (speaking as someone who’s lived there!).