Adelaide
The next afternoon,I opened my door to two separate deliveries that arrived at the same time. The first was a massive bouquet of white and red roses that must have cost my father a small fortune.
Even though they nauseated me, I couldn’t bring myself to throw the flowers away and placed the vase on my dining table, plucking the card from its holder.
Adelaide,
My darling, I apologize I missed your visit. I’ll make it up to you. Lunch this week. I have your gift for you.
Love,
Dad
That, I did throw away. There was nothing he could do to make up for the past ten years of mistreatment and neglect.Nothing.
I’d forgive him anyway.
It was what I did.
The second delivery was a white box from a luxe bakery. I’d never been to it, but I’d heard they have the most delicious and beautiful cakes in Manhattan. I set the box down in my kitchen, slid my thumb under the sticker sealing it, and lifted the flap.
I couldn’t stop myself from gasping.
There was a mini wedding cake inside. Three tiers, only as tall as my hand, decorated with tiny flowers made of fondant. It was so, so sweet.
I opened the card like a man walking to death row. I knew what was coming, dreaded it, but there was no other outcome for me.
Baddie,
I heard you have dreams about eating wedding cake and some asshole ruined your chance to eat a slice a while back. I got you a whole one. I don’t know if it makes up for it or not, but I hope you like it.
I want to be there with you when you make all your other dreams come true.
xoxo,
Adam
That bastard. That sweet, thoughtful bastard.
I will not wreck our friendship over a couple orgasms. I can get those anywhere.
Anywhere, anywhere, anywhere. I couldn’t stop thinking about all the anywheres Adam was getting his orgasms. All the freckle-faced, curvy, girls next door warming his sheets. The worst thing was: I couldn’t be mad at him.
Only myself.
I grabbed a fork, took my cake into the living room, and wrapped myself in a fuzzy blanket. Then I turned onTrain to Busan, ate my perfect, perfect cake, and cried.
My father was the first man I’d loved with my whole heart who’d never given even a fraction of it back.
Adam Wainwright was the second.
My dad was too consumed with his lost love for my mother to see me, and after all these years, Adam was still haunted by Molly’s ghost.
Today, I’d cry and eat cake. I’d let myself be sad, because not being loved back was a sad thing.
Tomorrow…or maybe the next day—let’s be real, I might need more wallowing time—I’d slip into one of my fabulous, poofy Betsys, throw on some bright lipstick, and march on like I always did.
My dad was still alive, and though he didn’t care as much as he should, he did care enough to send me flowers and at least pretend to be sorry. And Adam might not have loved me the way I wanted him to—which wasn’t really his fault—he was still my best friend. He bought me cake and FaceTimed me on Christmas and made me laugh without even trying.
So, yeah. I’d march on.
After I cried a little more and ate all of this fucking cake.