Birthday Cake

My worn car keys clattered against my kitchen table, eyes heavy from my extensive shift at work today. On the way home I picked up a small white strawberry short cake for my birthday from a small bakery only a few minutes from my apartment. The cake had twelve white dollops evenly spaced on the edge of the cake along with light pink icing swooping like drapes along the side with sliced strawberries atop. I never was a big fan of chocolate or vanilla, so I was ecstatic when I saw this strawberry cake still there right before they closed. 

I’d worked all day with an extra few hours of overtime, not that I minded as I hadn’t really celebrated my birthday in several years and I needed the extra money for rent anyway. By the time work ended I thought why not get myself something nice? Excitedly, I peeled back the white cardboard which wrapped around my sweet treat and my small apartment filled with the strong aroma of sugar and vanilla icing. The scent was enticing and I began to lick my lips. I couldn’t eat it just yet of course as I had to sing Happy Birthday. I stood up and walked into my kitchen grabbing a knife and a fork from the dishwasher. I opened another drawer where two spiral pink candles sat from when we celebrated my girlfriend’s, Wynn, birthday a few weeks ago. We plan on doing something for mine this upcoming weekend so being alone tonight didn’t bother me. I hadn’t known what we would do yet, but anything with her was enough for me. 

I sat back down, placing the candles in the icing and pulled out the lighter which sat in my pockets from work. I struck it and lit both candles watching the flames flicker before beginning to sing softly: “Happy Birthday to me. Happy Birthday to me. Happy Birthday Dear Myself. Happy Birthday to Me.” I leaned forward blowing out the candles. Snuffed out a small cloud and trickling trails of smoke rose. I raised my knife, about to slice into my cake when I was interrupted by a— Ding-Dong — at my door.

“Weird,” I said. As I stood up to move to the door I grew excited, maybe Wynn got off work and she was able to come celebrate my birthday. I grinned, a sense of hope swelling in my chest. It would be nice to see her often as the day was long and it would be a great surprise, plus I had so much cake that I know she’d love. I swung the door open and a man wearing a white buttoned uniform with a white cap on his head smiled at me. He was an older gentleman, face wrinkles with gray wisps swirling from underneath the cap. “Excuse me,” he said. His voice was friendly but slightly raspy from age. “Are you the same man that was in my shop earlier?”

I blinked. “Mr. Goren?” I asked. He was the baker who sold me the strawberry short cake I had gotten less than twenty minutes ago on my way home. “Why are you here?”

“Ah, I’m sorry, Monsieur. I do apologize for this minor inconvenience.” He stepped into the house, pushing me out of the way and examined the small apartment with a frown. “Quite the tiny place you have here.” He walked into my kitchen and grabbed a paper plate from the countertop which I’d left out. “You see, you came to my store and bought the cake I made earlier today.”

“I did…”

“Well, I can’t just give you all of it,” he said. “It’s far too sweet for a man to eat by himself.” 

“I wasn’t going to eat it all now,” I said. “I planned to save some.”

“Still, don’t you think this is a whole lotta cake for one man?” He walked over to the cake and cut an entire quarter of the cake off, plopping it onto his paper plate. The whole quarter would be too much for any singular person to eat in one sitting, although I was planning to eat that much through three slices throughout the evening. It was my birthday afterall. “I figured I’d come by. I’ll be using this recipe for all future cakes I make so don’t feel bad about me taking it, Monsieur, as it will assist the bakery.”

“But I bought the cake to help the bakery,” I said.

“No, you bought it because today is your birthday,” he argued. “Everyone needs cake on their birthday.” He waved his finger at me then grabbed a fork from the dishwasher and took a small bite from the cake. “Please, enjoy some. It’s very good. I did a splendid job.”

I was annoyed at the man’s presence but today was my birthday. I hadn’t been able to enjoy one in years and all I wanted to do now was take a slice of cake, eat it, crack open a beer then watch a shitty movie. I sat back down, grabbing my knife. There was plenty of cake left for me to enjoy so I shrugged off my frustration. As I was about to cut my own slice my doorbell rang— Ding-Dong— once more. 

I sighed, putting the knife down and walking past Mr. Goren. I opened the door, once again finding myself hoping it was Wynn, only to be disappointed as Mrs. Prune stood on the other side. She was an older woman with scraggily hair and wore a purple hand-knitted sweater frizzed around her shoulders. She walked with a cane but often I didn’t think she needed it as it lazily smacked against the floor. “Hey sweetie, how are you?”

“I’m okay, Mrs. Prune,” I said, trying my best to wear a polite smile. “What can I do for you?”

“I heard it was your birthday,” she said, inviting herself into my home. “Wow, this place is small.”

I sighed, closing my eyes with defeated anger. “You do own the place, Mrs. Prune.”

“I know, dearie. I just forget who tiny it is sometimes compared to my own place,” she said, walking over to the kitchen table. “This cake looks delicious.” She stared at the blown out candles. “Oh, did I miss singing? Do you want to do it again?”

“No, Mrs. Prune,” I said. “Once was enough.”

“Do you need a plate, Mrs. Prune,” Mr. Goren said, handing over one of the paper plates and grabbing a fork from the dishwasher.

“Oh my,” she said. “I didn’t see you there. Whose this, my favorite resident?”

“This is the baker,” I said. “He made the cake. I bought it from him on my way home from work. Now he’s in my home.”

“I think that tone is very ungrateful, Monsieur,” the baker grumbled. 

Mrs. Prune wiggled her fingers excitedly over the cake as she sliced off her own sliver. It was large but not an entire quarter like the baker had taken. It plopped on her plate. She took a fork and began eating. “My God, this is good.” She lifted her dainty hand and covered her mouth as she spoke. “You did a good job, baker. You should try some, my favorite resident, what are you waiting for?”

I sighed. “I’ve been trying too, lots of interruptions.” I sat back down in front of the cake holding my utensils.  It was alright. Yes, I went out of my way to get this cake and have been looking forward to it all day, but there was plenty of me to enjoy still as long as no one else—

Ding-Dong. 

“God damn it!” I yelled, hands slamming on the table. My two uninvited guests jumped in alarm at my sudden outburst clutching their plates like pearls laced around their necks.

“Don’t curse like that, dearie,” Mrs. Prune said, shaking her head disappointedly. “Not very kind.”

“He’s been particularly cranky,” the baker whispered incredibly loudly.

I groaned but didn’t argue, instead I stood up from my chair and walked over to the door. Surely this time it had to be Wynn because I literally don’t know anyone else nearby who would come by on my birthday. I hadn’t told anyone at work it was my birthday and my parents live several states over. I swung the door open and a man in a business suit stood on the other side. His hair was slicked back and he had on a silver watch which sparkled every time he moved.  

Uncomfortably the business man held a cardboard box filled with cake. It was so big he had to hold it with both hands and rested it on his legs for balance. It looked like three cakes towered atop one another like a giant wedding cake only smushed and stuffed into the box to fit. I was surprised the thing even closed. “Hey, sorry I’m late,” the man said. He walked into the room with an awkward squat, sliding his cake onto the table next to mine. He brushed off his suit and stuck his hand out to greet me.

“Who the fuck are you?” I yelled, hands rising in frustration with bewildered eyes staring at the man.

He turned to Mrs. Prune. “Oh, he’s not being very kind today.”

“No, he’s cranky,” she said, white icing decorating her wrinkled lips.

“You don’t know me personally to be honest, but it’s not really your concern,” he said, looking down at my strawberry shortcake with hungry eyes. “Now if you don’t mind.” He reached his hand out and the baker put a paper plate in it. The man took a large slice and put it on his plate. He didn’t even eat it, he just opened up his cake box and tossed it in. He brushed off his fingers, licking off a bit of icing which got caught on his thumb. He attempted to close the box and bits of icing squirted out from the top. “Oh my,” he whispered, then slammed the lid down until it fit. The man picked up his cake box and made his way to the door. “Thank you, have a good day.”

“What the fuck?” I muttered, eyes trailing after the man as he left my home. “Why didn’t you take his cake?” I asked the baker, gesturing to the man.

“Oh, I can’t take his cake,” the baker said. “He has so much cake that we aren’t allowed to take his, so we have to come and try yours.”

I blinked twice. How did that make any sense? “Why did he come in here to take my cake?”

“All the stuff he does for you,” Mr. Goren said, slicing his fork down into my cake.

“Like what?” I asked, arms waving in frustration at my side. “What could that man possibly do for me?”

“Like,” Mr. Goren said, waving his fork in the air in thought. “You know, all the stuff he does. I’m sure it’s a lot. Come, eat some of your cake. You deserve it.” I groaned in frustration, but it was fine. I still had about a third of the cake left. That was plenty to enjoy by one person, sure I wouldn’t be able to eat it all week long like I wanted but for tonight I could sit down and enjoy the cake. It’ll be great and I’ll still have some for tomorrow, maybe the day after if I save it right. I want to save some for Wynn when she comes so I’ll put a little slice for her to the side. 

The baker was almost done with his cake, which I thought he was saving for the bakery but I guess not, and Mrs. Prune was taking her sweet time and was wearing half of it upon her face. I sat back down, picking up my knife and hovered it right above the icing. My knife slid down into the cake and I plopped a slice onto a paper plate. Finally, I thought.

Ding-Dong.

I squeezed the knife and fork in frustration, my face growing red. My knuckles turned white and I began to stand up when Mr. Goren interrupted me. “I’ll get that one,” the baker said, walking to the door. He opened it and two screaming kids ran into my apartment. The two rascals jumped up and down, knocking books off my shelves and trailing mud over the floor. The one wore a green cap and a shirt with dinosaurs all over it, the other wore blue and had a big yellow cartoon lightning bolt on his shirt. Snot filled and screeching they ran over when they saw the cake. Behind them trailed the man from before with the large box of cake, the weight of it dragging his hands towards the floor. It looked as though he was going to throw his back out just moving the cake around.

“Can I have some mister?” the dinosaur kid asked, bouncing up and down.

“Please, mister, please!” the other kid with the lighting bolt pleaded. Together I thought they were going to break my table with how much they were bouncing around. 

Any other day I would have happily given kids some extra cake, even these snot-nosed brats. But I was so done. I just wanted to be left alone and watch a god-damn awful movie that I wouldn’t remember the name of by next week because it was simply that forgettable. All I want is my cake and a beer with some peace and quiet. “No!” I snapped, my voice trilling with anger. “Jesus Christ! All of you leave my fucking house.”

The room fell silent, all eyes staring at me. Then the snotty nosed brats began to cry, bawling their eyes out. They screamed, kicked, wailed, and shook the chair with frustration. “Please, mister, please give us cake! We need cake!” they cried eerily in unison. 

 “Are you serious?” the business man asked, hauling his box up off the ground. “You aren’t going to help feed the kids? What kind of sick monster are you?”

My mouth fell agape, staring at the man. “You have way more cake than I have! You give them some cake!”

The man’s eyes pressed down in confusion and frustration. “I can’t give away my cake, it’s not even my cake, not until I take it out of the box.”

“You’ve been holding onto it this whole time though,” I holler. “And you have enough cake there for like fifty people in the box!”

The baker clicked his tongue and shook his head. “It’s in the box, Monsieur. You can’t make him give it up.”

“He’s asking me to give my cake up,” I said.

The baker nodded. “Yeah, he’ll ask you anytime you want to eat your cake. If you want to eat it at a restaurant or the store or even if you are at home watching tv he’ll probably want you to give your cake to the kids. You always have to feed the kids, Monsieur. Can’t let them go hungry.”

The two snotted nosed rascals looked at me with tears in their eyes, small bottom lips pouting and quivering. They fell on their knees and crossed their fingers together. “Please, mister, just a little slice.”

“No, no I’m sorry,” I say, my heart lowering in my chest.

“Wow,” the business man said, scoffing. “Just wow, what a selfish prick. I can’t believe people like you.” He put his cake box down onto the floor for a moment. “Just disgusting, totally disgusting.” He began shaking his head and his face grew red with pungent anger all of the sudden. “You know what, asshole! Since you’re going to be such a selfish fucking prick. Not even feeding the kids.” He walked over to the kitchen table and reached his hand down, manhandling the remaining blob of my strawberry shortcake and slapping into their open palms. “There! Kids, take some!”

“Yes!” They both screamed with excitement, jumping up and down. They one with the lightning bolt grabbed my slice from the table and began shoving it in his drooling mouth. Then the two snot nose brats ran ahead, giggling and snorting as they trailed bits of cake all on my floor. All I had left was the white cardboard box, even that was torn and broken from the brats making a ruckus. 

I slumped down into the chair, my knife and fork falling down on the table. Mrs. Prune excused herself with cake still on her plate. The baker came over and put his hand on my shoulder. “Maybe this time next year you can come get a bigger cake so you can try some,” he said, before leaving my house. He hadn’t even bothered to close the door. 

I stared at the empty spot where my cake was for a long, long time. Too long. I felt… nothing anymore. A glossiness swelled in my eyes as I remembered why I didn’t dare celebrate last year. I knew I wasn’t going to have enough for myself. Why would I have thought this year to be any different? All I wanted was a little slice, a little something for myself.