She arrived 20 minutes late in a pink blouse (understated). She air-kissed me with her years-honed performative devotion and then focused on the cake like a heat-seeking missile.
“It’s so tall,” she added, mockingly concerned. Are you sure it’s stable?
Jenny, bless her, kept going. Mom, it’s fine. Personally, I drove it over.”
As I watched her circle the cake like a shark, looking for an area where the color was showing through the icing, I felt that old strain in my shoulders.
It was unbearable. Before she could ruin the occasion, I had to cut that cake.
“Well, let’s get to the main event,” I said, holding Patricia’s arm and leading her away. Gather around!
We gathered around with phones ready to record the moment we’d been waiting for. With knives in hand, Daniel and I positioned ourselves.
Patricia struck as we posed for Jenny’s shots.
“Oh no, let me just move the cake closer to you,” she offered.
I was horrified when she held the cake foundation. One flip of her wrist tilted the cake.
The nicely manicured lawn was covered in frosting and pink layers like a pastry crime scene.
Silence in the yard.
I stood still, blinking tears. We were supposed to shine now. She had one wonderful memory without her need to be the focus of attention. Patricia stood with her hands over her lips, hardly concealing her delighted grin.
Then Jenny laughed. A real, joyful laugh, not a nervous or forced one.
I glanced at her as tears fell freely. Was Jenny involved?
“I knew!” The Jenny crowed. Mom, you’re unpredictable, so I came prepared. I need time to get the real cake, everyone.”
Jenny ran and returned with another cake box.
