It was mid August this year. Summer had dripped by, hot, and boring as Summer 2020 was for most people. My husband and I had been working on cultivating new friendships. I had carried mine along, picked them up along the way through various jobs and social engagements. He hadn't done the same. His friends were mostly mustang drivers, all sharing a common interest with plenty of things to do.
Kate came into my life that month. We became quick friends. She had started as his, first, as they usually do when it comes to cars. Her boyfriend was stationed overseas. She had kids around the same age as my own. She was my age, shared my interests, and seemed like someone I would love to spend Tuesday evenings drinking wine with on the porch.
She moved, sometime during that period. She had just built a beautiful new house, that I was immediately jealous over. Ben helped her move for days. I gladly hurried him out the door, knowing how much acts of service meant to him. I, seeking the same personal fulfillment, began crafting some cupcakes as a housewarming gift.
I had been decorating cakes for nearly twenty years at this point. Sometime a year before this, I had started creating my own flavors, instead of following recipes. I delighted in developing a flavor profile for each. I started to take pride in them. So, for Kate, I stopped on lemon lavender cupcakes. They matched her bright, sweet personality. I packaged up the cupcakes and dropped them off at her house. We drank wine and smoked cigarettes and laughed for hours.
Shortly after, within the next few days, Kate and my husband brought my world crashing down. I'll spare you the details, I'm sure you can draw your own inferences. My marriage was over, I had been betrayed by someone I thought was a friend, and all I could think about was those damn cupcakes.
I started therapy as soon as I could. I was overwhelmed with my feelings of grief and loss and anger, but also overwhelming anxiety at the idea of moving my children, my dog, and myself 600 miles to the East to start over. The first few weeks of therapy were slow going. I couldn't organize my thoughts well enough to tell her what exactly I needed help with. Finally, sensing my own frustration as I cried over the computer screen that my life was just so overwhelming, she asked, "What is it you can't get over?". I thought about it for a minute or two before I answered. "Honestly," I said, "I can't get over the fact I made her those cupcakes." Without any pause at all, she answered back, "Sounds like you need to make a new cake".
Thus, Cake Stories was born.
It is simply impossible to eat this much cake, and what better thing to do with cake than to share it?