Chapter 9 - MY BIRTHDAY CAKE
I turned thirty-five eleven months after the anniversary party.
Normally, I avoided birthdays.
Dinner maybe.
No party.
No cake if I could prevent it.
That year Ruth called.
“You are having one.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I’m thirty-five.”
“Tragic. We’ll alert the newspapers.”
I gave in.
Small dinner.
Twelve people.
My apartment.
Ruth.
Dad.
Mom.
Camille.
Hannah.
A few friends.
No elaborate flowers.
No private dining room.
No premium champagne.
I cooked pasta.
Camille brought salad.
Mom brought cake.
That made me nervous.
When dessert came, she placed the cake in front of me.
Chocolate.
My favorite.
Thirty-five candles would have triggered the fire alarm, so there were five.
Everyone sang.
Then Mom picked up the knife.
Stopped.
Looked at me.
And handed it over.
“You first.”
My throat tightened.
Nobody else understood.
Ruth did.
Of course.
I cut myself the first piece.
Large.
Camille laughed.
“Greedy.”
The room froze.
Then Camille’s face went white.
“Oh my God.”
I stared at her.
She covered her mouth.
“I meant—”
I started laughing.
Then Ruth.
Then Dad.
Eventually even Mom.
I took another bite.
“I'm keeping the big piece.”
Mom smiled through tears.
“You paid for none of it.”
I looked at her.
Dangerous.
Then she added:
“And you can still have as much as you want.”
That was an apology better than some speeches.
Not because cake mattered.
Because she remembered.
Behavior had caught up with remorse.
Later, Hannah helped me wash dishes.
She asked:
“Are you and Mom okay now?”
“Better.”
“What does that mean?”
“We’re learning.”
“Will you ever be best friends?”
I smiled.
“We were never best friends.”
“That seems inefficient.”
She sounded like me.
Terrifying.
I said:
“We don't have to become perfect to become healthier.”
She nodded as though filing it away.
Then:
“Can I have more cake?”
“Yes.”
“Even though I didn't pay?”
May you like
I threw a dish towel at her.
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