Rex
“It’s called a smash cake,” Isabella says, her voice a morning type of groggy.
I consider the picture on her phone screen. Leo. One year old. Cake covering his face and hands. Happy as a clam. He likes his sweets. I can respect that. “So, you just buy the baby a cake to… smash?”
“Yeah, it’s not complicated,” Isabella says.
“That’s… weird,” I say, furrowing my brow.
She laughs, her head tipping back on the pillow. “Then you have a regular cake for the guests too.”
I don’t reply, just taking her in. It didn’t take a lot of convincing to get her to come back to my motel room after our tryst in the desert. Same place we met all those years ago, except the motel isn’t some gritty dump anymore. Someone bought it and turned it into a trendy retreat where rooms go for an absurd amount. I
