The Icing on the Cake by Deborah A. Levine Read Free Book Online Page A

dollars a year. But it’s still a nice neighborhood to walk around, and there’s a really great park along the waterfront with my favorite ice cream place and amazing views of the bridges and the Manhattan skyline.
    The loft is big and white and very bright, with giant windows taking up most of three of the walls. Talk about views! I bet it’s incredible at night when all the lights are on along the bridges and in the office buildings across the river. Renting this place for a night probably costs more than our apartment does for a whole month, but it’s on Nana’s list, so she must be able to afford it. And if she insists on throwing me a party, I think this “venue” will do just fine.
    Unfortunately, Nana and I aren’t exactly “on the same page” as my mom used to say about herself and my dad. “This is the plainest of all the rooms I’m going to show you,” she says. “It’s big, but it’s nothing special.”
    â€œBut what about the view at night? It must be incredible,” I say, pointing to the Brooklyn Bridge out one window and the Manhattan Bridge out another.
    â€œThe views are nice,” Nana says with a shrug, “but if everyone’s looking out the windows, nobody will be looking at you!”
    Exactly! “That’s okay, Nana. I don’t want everyone to be looking at me.”
    â€œNonsense,” she says, waving me off. “It’s your special day. You should feel like a princess!”
    Ugh. This afternoon is definitely starting to go as expected. I text Nana’s princess line to Frankie and Lillian. Frankie sends me back a crown emoji surrounded by little hearts. Not helpful.
    The next place we visit is a little fancier than the loft, but it’s not completely obnoxious. It’s a big room in the back of an Italian restaurant that I’ve heard people talk about on some of my cooking shows, but I’ve never been there. The walls are mostly mirrored and there’s a painting on the ceiling, but there’s no gold paint or chandeliers. It’s not exactly my style, but I could live with it.
    It is not a shock to me that (even though this place is on her list!) Nana looks totally less than thrilled. She’s just come back from talking to the manager, and she’s shaking her head. “You can’t have outsidecatering,” she says. “All of the food has to be provided by the restaurant.”
    That makes sense to me—what restaurant would want people bringing in food from someplace else for a party? “That’s okay with me,” I shrug, trying to show how accommodating I am, “I love Italian food.”
    â€œThat’s nice,” says Nana, “but you won’t love having tomato sauce stains all over your pretty dress. Red sauce and party clothes do not go together.”
    â€œCan’t we just bring extra napkins?”
    Nana shakes her head, tugging one of my braids. “Cute,” she says, even though I wasn’t trying to be.
    *  *  *
    We see three more places—all in Manhattan—each with a little more flash than the one before. The last one might as well be Buckingham Palace. Nana is in heaven.
    â€œDon’t you love it, Liza?” she says, opening her arms to emphasize the glittering expanse of the room.I take a long hard look at her to make sure she’s not actually holding a wand.
    â€œIt’s pretty,” I say, trying to start off on a positive note, “but it’s, uh, a little too fancy, don’t you think?”
    Nana pretends to look surprised. “Not at all, darling, not at all. It’s perfect.” She straightens a fold on one of the long velvet curtains. “And besides, we can always tone it down.”
    I try not to panic, and force myself to smile. “Even if we could, Nana, it’s in Manhattan. All of my friends live in Brooklyn, and most of Mom’s, too.”
    My