Chapter 15 - A Different Kind of Cake
The cake leaned to one side.
Blue frosting covered half the plate. The other half held enough sprinkles to bury a spoon.
In crooked icing letters, Rachel had written:
JUST US.
I knelt beside Noah.
“Cake can be nice.”
He glanced at the top.
“Nobody puts it on anybody.”
“Nobody.”
“Not as a joke.”
“Not as a joke.”
He nodded, satisfied.
Then he handed me a plastic knife.
“You do the hard part.”
Rachel stayed for dinner. Her husband brought pizza. Noah insisted Bear needed a chair, and nobody argued about where toys belonged.
When it was time to cut the cake, Noah climbed onto his booster seat.
I waited.
He touched the edge of the plate.
Then he dipped one finger into the frosting.
A small taste.
His face changed.
“That’s really blue.”
Rachel laughed.
“It is.”
He took another taste.
Soon he was telling us that blue cake probably turned your tongue into a lizard.
We all stuck out our tongues to check.
His laugh came suddenly.
Loud. Startled. Completely his.
I hadn’t realized how long I’d been waiting to hear it without fear underneath.
Healing didn’t happen because we baked one cake.
He still had hard nights. I still woke remembering the marks on the laundry room door. Some days, a question from him could leave me sitting silently in the car after preschool drop-off.
We kept getting help.
I kept showing up.
When he asked a question, I answered it.
When he said no to a hug, I listened.
When he made a mess, we found a towel.
One Saturday, we went through Emma’s keepsake box together.
He tried on the yellow hat, which barely covered the top of his head.
“Mommy had bad hat measurements.”
“She did her best.”
He grinned.
We chose a shelf for the box where he could reach it with me.
Later, he asked whether I would get married again.
“Not anytime soon.”
“Good.”
Then he looked worried.
“But you can have a friend.”
“Thanks, buddy.”
“A nice one.”
“That sounds like a good rule.”
That night, he decided to sleep in his own room.
I tucked Bear beside him and left the blue night-light on.
At the doorway, I paused.
“Open or halfway?”
“Halfway.”
I moved the door.
“Like that?”
“A little more.”
I adjusted it.
He smiled.
“Perfect.”
Downstairs, I opened the drawer where I had put Ben’s photograph.
Noah, smiling. Arms wide. Running toward me.
For weeks, all I had seen in that picture was the moment I looked away.
Now I carried it into the living room and set it beside a newer photograph Rachel had taken.
Me and Noah at the kitchen table.
Blue tongues.
Terrible cake.
Happy faces.
A floorboard creaked overhead.
“Daddy?”
I was on my feet before he called again.
He stood at the top of the stairs, holding Bear by one arm.
“What is it, buddy?”
He didn’t look frightened.
He looked sleepy.
“I forgot something.”
“What?”
May you like
He opened his arms.
This time, nothing stood between us.
