The walls were as white as the cake box placed reverently on the mahogany oak dining room
table.
A few balloons in pastel green, violet, and lavender wobbled uneasily in the corners of the room
like bubbles blown from a child’s toy. Cas felt the sudden urge to pop one.
“You made it! It’s so good to see you, Calvin,” Theresa folded Cas into her body the way a chef
folds egg whites into flour.
“It’s Cas.”
“Right! My mom texted me about that. Cas,” Theresa smiled beatifically and pulled away,
pausing to let her left hand linger over her stomach, ruffling the fabric of her dress like a hand
making waves in the ocean. The diamond on her ring finger winked.
“Let John get you a drink, and then make yourself at home,” Theresa somehow managed to smile wider as she ushered Cas into the house.
“Hey Cas! Impressed I remembered? How’s it going? Things goin’ well? How about a drink?”
John, who spoke almost exclusively in rhetorical questions, handed Cas a beer. “Cheers!”
He clinked his own glass against theirs and, upon seeing another hapless house-guest across the room without a drink in hand, forged ahead to fulfill his manly duties of getting everyone else shit-faced.
Cas felt a migraine coming on, a dull anvil ache in their temples. They sipped their lukewarm
beer at 11 a.m. in the morning and winced as the syrupy liquid slid across their front teeth. They
gulped it down anyway.
“How are you dear?” Aunt Jenn emerged from the throng of party-goers, “John’s already got you a drink I see,” she raised her eyebrows. “I told him I’m waiting until we cut the cake. I don’t
need to be calling a cab because I can’t drive home. You didn’t drive here, did you?”
“I took an Uber.”
“Are you sure that’s safe? I’d take a cab.”
Can nodded noncommittally and took another sip. “You excited to be a grandmother?”
“Of course. Retirement was getting too quiet.”
Cas smiled. Their aunt spent most of her days taking care of her aging father, planning her
youngest’s wedding, and helping Theresa and John landscape their backyard.
“Auntie! Auntie!” A trio of small spiky kids ran in from outside, tracking sand and mud with
them. “Pick us up Auntie!’
“I’m a little too old for that, Gregory,” she said. “Why don’t you let Unc- why don’t you let Cas
pick you up?”
“No! We want you!”
The headache spiked. Cas’s grip tightened around the glass.
“Excuse me,” Cas managed a half-smile that they hoped was charming rather than grotesque and slipped away so find the bathroom. They sat down on the side of the bathtub and took a breath. Only a few more hours.
They had forgotten to ask Theresa where the Advil was, so they opened cabinets and rummaged
through a few drawers before finding the pharmaceutical section, uncharacteristically
disorganized (not alphabetized, for one, a few bottles knocked over, even a couple stray pills
flirting with dust bunnies. They’d have to clean it up before the baby arrived).
One bottle caught their eye because it was the same bottle that Ellen took out every morning and popped the lid like it was a champagne bottle. But this one was empty, and the date was over a year old.
Cas imagined the late-night arguments, whispered fiercely over a seafoam froth of lace napkins
and tablecloths and, later, frilly nightgowns and duvet covers.
“Your doctor says—”
“I just need—”
“Don’t you want—”
“Don’t you—”
They pictured Theresa biting off little delicate half-arguments, chewing them slowly, and
swallowing. They wondered if Theresa was worried about post-partum.
They closed the door and shut the argument back up.
They checked their make-up in the mirror, wiping away a thin line of silver that had crept up to
their eyebrows.
Back in the living room, more guests had arrived.
“Calvin! So nice to see you.” Some family friend or another, Cas murmured a few generic
Good -Nice to see- How is the- Must meet-
“Your hair is very fun,” someone else said, “I wish I was brave enough to do that with my hair.”
Cas felt themself flushing. They tried not to wonder what everyone would say when they left,
who would be getting or giving condolences and sympathy cards.
“OK everyone, it’s time!’ Theresa had a sing-song slant to her voice. She’d been singing to the
baby, John told everyone. Cas couldn’t help but map some inner sadness over her pregnancy
glow: a hesitation in her voice, a shiver even though it was August. Maybe they were just
imagining things.
They wished Ellen were here.
The crowd hushed, and a somber, almost religious quiet filled the room. They gathered to
worship around the dining room table. The good wife stood next to the likeable husband, both
smiling like devils.
The cake spade poised majestically in mid-air, like a trapeze artist in flight. The collective breath of the audience was held. Cas’s migraine caused black spots to swim in front of their eyes.
Glasses raised in expectation. Even the children were caught up in the gravity of the moment,
and had settled cross-legged on the floor, staring open-mouthed at the $200 special ordered
vanilla-slash-coconut cake.
And then it fell like a guillotine, a piece was wrenched forcibly from the plate, and the mauled
cake was violently displayed before the rapt watchers.
Photo by jt ff from FreeImages
Adan Jerreat
Adan is a postdoc at Ryerson University in the School of Disability Studies. Their creative work has appeared in The New Quarterly, Qwerty Magazine, Soliloquies, and The Steel Chisel. Their debut novel, a YA fantasy entitled "The Girl of Hawthorn and Glass" was published with Dundurn Press September 2020. Adan lives in Kingston, ON, with their cat Dragon.
