Yikes. She’s like a tigress wanting to claw my eyes out.
“Angry is not a good look for you,” I point out, licking the remaining icing off my fingers. “Your face is all—” I pull a face to mimic her unattractive one, my mouth and cheeks in different directions.
“I’m sorry, are you mocking me?" Now she's gesturing wildly. "Is that supposed to beme?”
I try to pull the cake to my side of the table and out of her possession—and back into mine—but it’s too far to reach, even for me.
“I’m just sayin’, you don’t need to be all pissed. We’ll get your birthday friend Jana another cake.” I smile. “My treat.”
Posey pulls it farther out of my reach.
“Her name isAnna. Not Jana. The cake is for Anna—and I don’t want to get her another cake. I wanted to bring herthiscake because it’s her favorite. She loves roses, and I made the goddamn cake!”
Whoa.
“I highly doubt this Anna person is as deserving as I am of an entire cake.”
“It’s herbirthday.”
“Well, I spent half the mornin’ cleaning out that shed. I could have gotten tetanus. You should see all the dust, not to mention the raccoon and mouse shit.” I lunge forward to jam a fork into its spongy side—a direct hit!
I feed myself the scrap with a groan. “Damn, this is good. So fresh.”
So moist.
“Oh my God, what iswrongwith you?” she shouts, positively livid, face red. “Stop eating it, dammit!”
I lick my fork. “It’s already ruined! I don’t see what the big deal is.”
Jeez.
“You know what? This arrangement is never going to work.”
Posey swoops up the cake plate, marches to the trash, opens the lid—and dumps the entire cake inside.
“You”—she points at me—“have no boundaries. This wasclearlya birthday cake intended for someone else. Why would I make a giant man-child a cake with pink roses on it? Why? Why wouldn’t I make him a blue cake? Or a black cake to match his soul?”
“Ouch. I’m offended.”
Not.
“And you go eating it without asking first,” she bedraggles on, slamming the lid to the trash can shut.
I rise out of my chair. “You’re wasting a perfectly good cake!”
My voice has risen several octaves because HELLO! Cake!
“I...wouldrather...throw it. In. The.Trash.Than let your greedy face eat the rest!” Her sentence is stilted and punctuated by passion.
In a few short strides, I am in front of the trash, pop the lid back open and assess the damage. The cake, although discarded in such a careless manner, seems to be mostly intact and visibly edible. I mean, beneath it might be some other random waste, but nothing so disgusting I can’t find a way to eat around it.
I still want it.
Rooting around to get the best grip, I lift it out with my fingers sinking into the frosting, palms now covered in ooey, gooey deliciousness.
Cake and frosting chunks fall to the floor.
Her eyes follow.