Chapter 1 - The Second Birthday Cake
Rebecca pushed through the crowd carrying a pink cake and called:
“Wait, wait, wait!”
I looked down at Lucas’s racing cake.
Eight candles were already burning.
Then I noticed the writing on Rebecca’s cake.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY, LILY.
Lily’s birthday was fourteen days away.
That was when I understood this wasn’t spontaneous.
For six weeks, Lucas had talked about that party.
Not every day.
Lucas wasn’t the kind of kid who demanded attention.
That was part of the problem.
He asked quietly.
He waited patiently.
And because he rarely complained, adults had a habit of assuming disappointment hurt him less.
It didn’t.
He just carried it differently.
When I asked what he wanted for his eighth birthday, he had given me three requests.
A racing cake.
The inflatable castle with the tall green tower.
And everybody singing his name when he blew out the candles.
That last one had made me smile.
“Everybody?”
He nodded seriously.
“Even Aunt Rebecca?”
“Even Aunt Rebecca.”
“What about Lily?”
“Of course Lily.”
“Grandma?”
“Grandma too.”
He had counted them on his fingers.
There had been no expensive wish list.
No electronics.
No giant pile of toys.
He wanted one afternoon when everyone he loved was gathered around him.
So I made sure it happened.
I rented the inflatable.
I ordered the cake from a bakery Lucas had pointed out every time we drove past it.
I borrowed folding tables from a neighbor.
I bought too many balloons.
My mother, Diane, offered to host because her backyard was larger than mine and had enough space for the inflatable.
I accepted.
That decision would bother me later.
At the time, it seemed harmless.
By three-thirty on Saturday afternoon, the yard looked exactly the way Lucas had imagined.
Kids were running between the bounce house and the patio.
My uncle was arguing with the grill.
My cousin Hannah was helping refill lemonade.
Rebecca arrived forty minutes late with Lily.
That part was normal.
Rebecca had treated arrival times as philosophical suggestions since college.
She kissed Mom.
She hugged a few relatives.
She handed Lucas a gift card inside an envelope without a birthday card.
Then she disappeared inside the house for fifteen minutes.
I didn’t think anything of it.
I should have.
At four-fifteen, we gathered around the table.
Lucas stood behind his cake wearing the ridiculous green racing cap he had picked out online.
I lit the candles.
Everyone started moving closer.
Lucas’s eyes swept across the relatives surrounding him.
He was looking for every person he had counted.
Grandma.
Aunt Rebecca.
Lily.
Dad.
Me.
I gave him a small smile.
“You ready?”
He nodded.
Then Rebecca’s voice came from behind us.
“Wait, wait, wait!”
The singing never started.
Everyone turned.
Rebecca walked out of the house holding a round pink cake covered in frosting flowers.
Seven pink candles had already been placed on top.
She was smiling.
Not nervously.
Not apologetically.
Pleased with herself.
“Oh my God,” she said. “I almost forgot.”
I stared at her.
Forgot what?
She placed the cake on the table.
Beside Lucas’s.
“While everyone’s here,” she said brightly, “let’s sing for Lily too. Her birthday’s in two weeks!”
For a second, nobody responded.
Then Mom clapped once.
“That’s a nice idea.”
Something in my chest tightened.
I looked at Lucas.
His eyes had dropped to the ground.
Rebecca was already calling Lily over.
“Come here, sweetheart.”
Lily walked forward slowly.
She looked confused.
That mattered to me.
Lily hadn’t done this.
Lily was seven.
She had been playing near the bounce house thirty seconds earlier.
Now her mother was pulling her behind a birthday cake she hadn’t expected.
A couple of relatives began adjusting themselves around the table.
My uncle muttered, “Two birthdays. All right.”
Rebecca moved her daughter beside Lucas.
“Now we can sing for both of them.”
Lucas looked at me.
I had seen my son upset before.
I had seen him frustrated over homework.
I had seen him cry when his goldfish died.
This was different.
He was embarrassed.
That expression does something to a parent.
Especially when the person causing it is someone your child trusts.
I looked at Rebecca.
“Did you bring that cake here today?”
She laughed.
“Well, obviously.”
“I mean specifically for this.”
She frowned.
“For what?”
“For Lily’s birthday.”
“Yes.”
“Which is in two weeks.”
She rolled her eyes.
“You just said that.”
A few people shifted uncomfortably.
Mom came closer.
“Ethan, don’t make this into something.”
“I haven’t made it into anything.”
Rebecca crossed her arms.
“I thought it made sense. Everyone’s already here.”
“For Lucas.”
“And Lily is family.”
“So is Lucas.”
Rebecca gave me the expression she had used since we were teenagers whenever she thought I was being difficult.
“Oh my God. Nobody is taking anything away from Lucas.”
I looked at my son.
He was still staring at his sneakers.
His candles were burning lower.
Wax had begun dripping onto the icing.
Rebecca followed my eyes.
“He still has a cake.”
That sentence did it.
Not because it was loud.
Because it revealed that Rebecca understood exactly what I was saying.
And didn’t care.
I stepped beside Lucas.
“Hey, buddy.”
He looked up.
“You want to stay?”
The yard became very quiet.
Lucas glanced at the two cakes.
Then at the relatives.
Then at Lily.
Lily looked almost as uncomfortable as he did.
Finally Lucas whispered, “Can we go home?”
“Yes.”
Rebecca threw both hands out.
“Seriously?”
I blew out Lucas’s candles.
Not dramatically.
Not angrily.
I simply wasn’t going to leave eight burning candles unattended.
Then I picked up the stack of gift bags from beneath the table.
Mom hurried over.
“Ethan, don’t ruin his birthday.”
I looked at her.
“I’m taking him somewhere he wants to be.”
“This is ridiculous.”
“Maybe.”
Rebecca stepped in front of us.
“You’re going to teach him to throw a tantrum every time attention isn’t completely on him?”
Lucas heard that.
I felt his hand tighten around mine.
I looked directly at my sister.
“He didn’t throw a tantrum.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No. I don’t.”
“You’re storming out because somebody else has a cake.”
“No.”
I lifted the gift bags.
“I’m walking out because my son asked me to.”
Rebecca laughed.
“Ethan, seriously?”
I didn’t answer.
We walked past her.
Across the patio.
Through the side gate.
Nobody followed us.
Lucas stayed silent until we were inside the truck.
I put the gift bags in the back seat.
Then I climbed behind the wheel.
He still wore the green racing cap.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Finally he asked, “Was I mean to Lily?”
My heart sank.
“No.”
“But we left.”
“We left because you weren’t having fun anymore.”
“What about her cake?”
“Her cake is not your responsibility.”
He picked at the edge of his cap.
“Is Aunt Rebecca mad?”
“Probably.”
He nodded.
Then came the question I had been afraid of.
“Did Grandma know?”
I looked at him.
“Know what?”
“That Aunt Rebecca was bringing Lily’s cake.”
I started to say I didn’t know.
But I stopped.
Because I remembered something.
Rebecca hadn’t carried the cake through the gate.
She had come into the backyard empty-handed.
The cake had come out of Mom’s house.
Which meant Rebecca had put it somewhere inside before joining the party.
And Mom had been going in and out of that kitchen all afternoon.
“I don’t know,” I said finally.
Lucas looked out the window.
“Okay.”
I drove him to a small arcade twenty minutes away.
We ate pizza.
He raced me on a driving simulator six times.
He beat me five.
When we got home, we put one candle in a grocery-store cupcake.
I sang happy birthday badly enough that Lucas laughed.
Before bed, he hugged me.
“Today was still good.”
That almost broke me.
“Yeah?”
“Because we left.”
I tucked him in.
Then I went downstairs.
My phone had thirty-two notifications.
I ignored them.
At 10:47 p.m., one message appeared separately.
Mom.
You still paying for their rent this month?
I stared at it.
For nearly a year, I had been paying part of Rebecca’s rent.
Nobody at the party had mentioned that.
Nobody ever did.
I typed:
Rent? Oh, I thought we were singing for Lily now.
I sent it.
Mom responded almost immediately.
Ethan. Don’t be petty.
I set the phone down.
Then another message appeared.
This one wasn’t from Mom.
It was from my cousin Hannah.
Six words.
You need to ask who bought the cake.
I stared at the screen.
Then she sent a photograph.
It was a bakery receipt.
May you like
And the name printed at the bottom wasn’t Rebecca’s.
It was Mom’s.
