The Icing on the Cake Read Online Free

ceiling (my brothers love the old laundry chutein our house so much that they decided to try to dig a second one through the floor of their room), and way too many other relatives—but they still really like each other. After eighteen years together, they still kiss when they get home from work, hold hands when they’re walking, and cuddle on the couch. It’s actually kind of sweet, when they’re not being too romantic about it. (Really, guys, as my seven-year-old brother Nicky likes to say, “Not in front of the kids!”)
    I mean, I get it. Liza wants the kind of family she thinks she used to have, and she’s not taking the Big D (that’s what we call her parents’ divorce) lying down. The thing is, I was around her family before her dad left, and most of the time it wasn’t the way she remembers it at all. Her dad was always working, and her mom got really frustrated with all of the kid stuff and housework she had to do, even though she has a big full-time job too. After Cole was born, they were both really happy about having another kid, but it wasn’t like they became this super-tight family. I can’t even rememberseeing all four of them do anything together—unlike my family, who spend way too much time together. I think Liza’s mom and dad really tried, but after a while they decided that it just wasn’t working. At least that’s what it looked like to me, anyway.
    It’s not like I can say any of this to Liza, though. As her best friend, it’s my job to have her back, just like she always has mine. She just told us that she plans to use the party to undo the divorce. So if she wants to use Nana Silver’s not-mitzvah as the glue to put her parents back together, then I’ll be right there with her, doing the hora (that’s a traditional Jewish dance Liza taught me after her aunt Sarah’s wedding two years ago).
    I grab another pot-sticker and try to pull Liza out of her funk.
    â€œWhat do you guys think of this semester’s new clubs?” I say. At least, that’s what I mean to say, but with a mouth full of dumpling I doubt anyone can understand me.
    Lillian laughs and points at my cheeks bulging with food. Of course her sister, Katie, chooses exactly this moment to appear in the kitchen. Her perfect sister. Lillian calls Katie that all the time, and honestly, she’s not exaggerating. The girl is amazing. She’s beautiful without looking cheesy or like she’s trying too hard (or at all, really). And her clothes are so cool—“understated” is what my new favorite fashion blog would call her look—and they fit her just right, like she was the designer’s muse (another piece of wisdom from the blog).
    The coolest thing about Katie, though, is that she seems so confident and sure of herself. Man, I’d like to have people think that about me. Starting with my stupid brothers!
    Katie sees us shoveling in our dumplings and saunters across the kitchen to grab a clementine. Dr. Wong offers her a pot-sticker, but she shakes her head.
    â€œToo heavy for me,” she says with a sniff. “I justwant a piece of fruit.” As her mother makes a disapproving cluck, Katie peels her little clementine calmly and precisely, without getting all sticky from the juice. How does she do that?
    Lillian is talking about something she did in art class, but my eyes are basically glued to Katie. “Do you want to sit down?” I ask her, taking my backpack off the stool next to mine. The others look at me in surprise. So does Katie.
    â€œNo, no. But thank you, Frankie. I don’t have time to chat.” She polishes off her snack and puts some water on to boil. “I’m going to make myself some mint tea and go upstairs. I have to write a position paper on India’s independence for Model UN. We have a conference in Delaware next month. The best delegate slipped through my fingers last