CAKE FOR ONE
1439 Words
Point of View — Maya
The home was so silent that Maya could hear the refrigerator sounding.
This was the first thing she realized once she put down the phone. The stillness. It full the room like water fills a cup, gradually and entirely.
She sat on the edge of bed for a moment, holding the phone in her hand.
The display was dim. David's name had gone. She looked at the empty screen and anticipated a shift within her. Fury. Sorrow. Anything with a form she could hold.
Nothing arrived.
He kept quiet.
She put the phone on the nightstand. She looked at his side of the bed, the pillow, the book remaining open to page forty-two. She reached out and closed it without looking at the text. She didn't have to read them once more. They were stored somewhere deep within her eyes.
She stood up.
She was not sure of her role. She's just knew that remaining static in that room with silence overloading from all sides was too painful. She took her cardigan from the chair by the door, place it over her shoulders, and moved to the road.
She looked in on Ethan first.
His door was not closed just as she had left it. She sat herself in the frame while looking at him. He lay on his back with one arm extended above his head, and the birthday crown remained on his head , now the gold paper gently softened. His mouth was slightly opened. His chest moved up and down steadily , as if the world were a secure and predictable environment.
She observed him for more time than necessary.
Then she pulled his door back to where it was and went downstairs.
The kitchen was still how she had left it. The balloons in the corner are not as strong as it was at first, their strings hanging lower than before. The basket near the entrance was filled with paper plates, napkins, and the plastic picking from the decorations. The surfaces were completely sanitized. The chores were completed.
All items tidied up and stored.
All items other than the cake.
It remained on the table where she had placed it , three tiers of chocolate with blue icing and the tiny superhero figure perched above. She had neglected to store it. Or maybe she remembered after all. Maybe a part of her deliberately placed it there, not informing the others of her reasons.
She drew the chair opposite David's vacant one and took a seat.
She gazed at the cake.
The superhero at the top was among Ethan's favorites. She took twenty minutes in the store selecting it. She desired it to be perfectly correct. She desired that everything be perfectly in place. As she sat there, looking at the tiny plastic figure in the blue frosting, she reflected on how much effort she had invested in creating the perfect day.
The blowing up objects. The embellishments. The meal. The nice dishes. The unique seat.
Everything.
The one thing she was unable to bring about was precisely what Ethan had repeatedly stared at the door for.
She leaned forward and sliced off a small piece of the cake. Not due to hunger , she didn't even believe she desired it. She did it since the cake was present and she was here, with the kitchen being quiet and needing something to occupy her hands.
She took a single bite.
It was nice. The chocolate was bland, the icing overly sweet, and on another evening, she would have grinned while savoring it. Tonight, it brought back memories of a meal she had made for a celebration that was now finished.
She placed the fork on the surface.
She glanced at David's chair once more.
That morning, she had arranged it with great attention. She had slightly pulled it from the table to be prepared. The gold-rimmed plate was set in front of it by her. She had pressed the seat with her hand as if that slight action meant something.
It was the initial task she accomplished when she went downstairs that morning, prior to the sun being fully risen. Prior to the cake being completed. Prior to the balloons being suspended. She placed David's chair out first.
She gazed at it now, and she couldn't articulate why that specific thought , among all the thoughts she'd entertained all day , was the one that ultimately caused her throat to constrict.
She positioned his chair first.
She breathes in gently through her nostrils. She looked at the ceiling. She closed and opened her eyes. She was determined not to shed tears once more. She had already wept this evening, and there was a particular type of tiredness that followed crying , an empty, raw sensation , and she lacked the strength to experience it once more.
She looked back at the cake.
Ethan had hardly made contact with it. He grabbed a slice and was then swept away by his new toy car, giggling as he dashed off with two other kids and didn't come back to the table. That was exactly what a four-year-old should do at his own birthday party. She had felt happy. She felt relieved he overlooked the cake and dashed away giggling “ relieved because for those last two hours he was just a little boy playing, not a little boy watching a door.
He had forgotten about the door.
At least for a while.
She stretched out and sliced off another tiny piece. She placed it on a tidy plate next to her. She was unaware of who it was intended for. She simply didn't want the cake to be present solely for her.
She bent back and wrapped her cardigan more warmly around her shoulders while observing the room. At the gradually losing air balloons. At the container filled with party supplies. On the counter, the covered dish remained untouched, never used by her. In the kitchen, she had carefully cleaned while the house remained crowded with people, as cleaning provided her an outlet for her emotions.
She had been engaging in that for quite a while now.
Tidying up. Culinary preparation. Arranging. Staying occupied to prevent the silence from becoming overwhelming. Maintaining the home so smoothly that it seemed completely intact from the outside. She excelled at it. Anyone who attended that party would not have walked through these rooms and realized.
That was what exhausted her the most.
Having a talent for making everything appear pleasing.
She held her phone from the table where she'd placed it after coming downstairs. She gazed at it briefly. Then she accessed her messages, scrolled past David's name without pausing, and located Linda's.
She inputted two words.
“I'm fine.”
She dispatched it prior to Linda being able to inquire. Linda had already looked in on her twice that night, and Maya was aware she was awake , Linda was consistently awake late. She texted those two words to avoid concern, then set the phone screen-down on the table.
She looked at the cake once more.
The superhero remained positioned on top. Tiny and made of plastic, completely indifferent to everything around. She nearly felt like laughing at that. Close.
She extended her hand and carefully took him from the frosting. She cleaned the blue off his feet with the corner of a napkin and cradled him in her hand for a moment, this little creature she had taken twenty minutes selecting because she wanted everything today to be perfect for her son.
She placed him next to the additional slice of cake she had prepared for no one.
Her phone illuminated. Linda's response arrived right away, just as she expected.
“You are not well. I am familiar with you. Reach out to me.”
Maya gazed at the note.
She took the phone. Place it down. Repicked it. Her thumb lingered above Linda's name, and a sensation in her chest shifted , a tiny thing that had been grasped firmly finally starting to ease a bit.
She hit the call button.
It chimed once.
Before Linda had a chance to speak, Maya started talking, and her remarks were different from what she had intended. It wasn’t “I’m fine” or “I simply wanted to chat with you” or any of the other careful, measured phrases she had been employing for months.
What emerged was reality.
Three terms.
Three words she had never spoken aloud to another human being.
Three words that transformed, at the instant she uttered them, entirely everything.
- Writer
