He had been on the phone for nearly half an hour now and all she could think was Oh God, the cake is going to melt. From her place of honour at the head of the table, she had a direct view down the hall to the kitchen where the cake sat out on the counter waiting impatiently for its ceremonial reveal. Oh god, she thought miserably, I just know it’s going to melt.

  Her mother had spent all day and part of yesterday making the cake, her favourite cake. She had assured her, as the icing was being remade for the second time, that she really didn’t need to go to all this trouble, that birthdays weren’t that important to her. The truth was that she didn’t really like her birthday at all. It was too much; the attention, everyone wanting to make you happy, to make the day special, and her mother always went to too much trouble, no matter how many times she told her she shouldn’t. Her mother dismissed these reassurances, called it a labour of love; she just wanted to make everything perfect for her. And now all that trouble she had gone to, that labour of love, was going to melt right onto the floor as the cake sat out sweating in the thick August heat.

  The cake had just been brought out from the fridge to be served when his phone rang. She had tried to convey with a look: please, not now, please don’t answer it. He didn’t seem to catch on though, and only mouthed a polite ‘so sorry everyone’ as he excused himself from the table to take the call in another room.

  Her eyes had instinctively snapped to her mother, who was standing in the kitchen, frozen halfway between the fridge and the island with the cake still in her hands, looking like a bride jilted at the altar. Just put it back in the fridge, she had silently begged her mother, you know it’ll melt if you leave it out for too long. The next moment though, her mother had roused herself, placed the cake resolutely on the counter, and swept back into the dining room, all smiles. It would be easy, she thought, to mistake her mother for an optimist. She knew better, just like she knew that her mother could never have put the cake back in the fridge, could never acknowledge that things weren’t going to plan. She knew that every late arrival, every spilled drink, every lapse in conversation, every wrong reaction, every misstep was a defeat that her mother was suffering, mourning, and filing away, each one another mark off towards failure. Is the icing starting to droop down the sides of the cake? -10%.

  At last, she heard the click of a door opening and she was flooded with relief. Her mother heard it too, and they both leapt into motion. Her mother headed to the kitchen to prepare the cake, and she hurried down the hall, almost running into him as he came out of the living room. She took him in; his eyes were red and his phone was still gripped in his hand. He was reaching around her, grabbing his bag from the hook and oh no. Oh no, oh please no.

  “I am so, so sorry, but I have to go. My grandfather had a fall.” He seemed to detect the panic in her expression and misread it, reassuring her, “He’s totally fine, don’t worry, but I need to go to the hospital. My brother is there now and —”

  “But you can’t go!”

   “What? Why? What’s wrong?”

   “You have to stay for the party,” she pleaded. “The cake . . .” It’s going to melt! 

   “Are you — listen, I really am sorry, but you can’t honestly expect me to put this on hold for your birthday party. Fuck, I’ll take a piece of cake with me if it’s that important to you.”

  “It’s not! Important to me, I mean. That’s not it.” Don't you understand? Please, won’t you understand?

   “Ok, ok,” he held up his hands and spoke more softly, carefully, like he was speaking to a child. “It's not important to you. Ok. So what's going on? Tell me.”

   That was just it though, he’ll never understand. “I can't.”

   For a beat they just stared at one another, his expression unreadable to her. He was the one to give in and break the contact, glancing down at his phone with a sigh. “Sorry, but I seriously do have to go. I’ll call you tomorrow, ok?”

   He won’t. “Sure, ok.” He kissed the top of her head. This is it. This is goodbye.

   Standing awkwardly on the doorstep, he gave her a final look, a halfhearted smile. “Have a happy birthday, alright?” He shut the door softly behind him.

   She wandered back in a daze towards the sound of the guests, chattering on, oblivious. Her mother was waiting expectantly in the kitchen doorway; the candles were already on the cake, it was ready to start the procession. When her mother saw that she was alone, she faltered. Their eyes met, and she knew that she and her mother were both thinking the same: failure, failure, failure. Her mother reached out a hand to her shoulder, she leaned into the touch, she was so tired. But then her mother was spinning her around slowly and guiding her towards the dining room: it was time. 

   Candles were lit, and the cake at long last made its grand entrance to the traditional music. She heard his car start up over the last wavering notes of the song. How could he ever understand? Momentarily they were all blinded by the headlights of his car reflecting off the window. She blew the candles out quickly, can’t let them melt the cake, and the headlights went out with them. She realised suddenly, pathetically, that she had forgotten to make a wish, and for some reason that is what finally made her eyes water. She took one moment in the safety of the dark to let her face fall. Just one moment before she would have to muster up all her energy and —

   “Smile!” A photo was snapped as the lights came on, the first of many. The cake received the necessary oohs and ahs (up close, she could see that it’s appearance was without flaws, it was entirely intact). Her mother seemed pleased by the reception, thank god, maybe a passing grade after all. That done, the cake could be sliced and served. She got the biggest piece, obviously; it was her special day. She brought the fork to her lips, she could sense her mother carefully watching its path. She took the bite. 

   “It’s perfect.”

   She took another bite and, again, tasted nothing.