Chapter 1 - The Frosting Hadn't Melted Yet
The frosting hadn't melted yet. That was the strangest part. It was thick and cold on my forehead and in my hair, pink and white, dripping slow down my cheek while the sun kept shining and the pink balloons bobbed above the cake table like nothing had happened. I could taste sugar and salt on my lip. My light pink dress, the one I'd picked because it stretched soft over my stomach at thirty-two weeks, was smeared across the chest and sleeves.
My mother-in-law stood two feet from me with her hands still out, palms pink. She hadn't wiped them off. Her pearl necklace caught the light and her pink lace dress was spotless. Behind her, the garden was still set for a shower — the folding table with the half-smashed cake, the green foliage blurred in the heat, the folding chairs where my friends had gone quiet.
My name is Maya, I was thirty-two weeks pregnant with a girl, and that afternoon I'd wanted to feel like I belonged in my own backyard.
It had been maybe thirty seconds since she'd done it. We were cutting the cake. She'd come up beside me to help me with the knife, her hand over mine, smiling for the photos my friend Jenna was taking. I remembered the knife, the little plastic handle, the way she said hold steady. Then her other hand was in the cake itself, in the thick buttercream, and then it was on my face. Not a light smear. She'd pushed. Hard. Across my mouth, my nose, up into my hair. I heard a gasp and then my own breath. I lifted my right hand without thinking and tried to wipe my eye where the frosting stung. The balloons shifted in a little wind.
She looked right at me, at my belly, at the frosting sliding down my dress, and said it clear enough that the table behind us could hear it.
"My son deserved a boy."
I didn't move at first. I could feel the frosting in my eyelashes. The light was so bright and even it made everything look normal. My husband was three steps to my left in his navy blazer over his white shirt, the collar open. I'd watched him watch it happen. His mouth was slightly open. His eyes kept flicking from her hand to my face to the ground. He didn't step forward. He didn't reach for a napkin. He just stood there with that tense, concerned look he'd had since his mother arrived early to rearrange the balloon arch because she said I didn't do it right.
I turned my head just enough to look at him. Frosting pulled at my skin when I moved. I could hear myself breathing.
"Are you going to say anything? The shower's over, leave."
I wasn't sure who I meant at first. Her, for a second. Then him, for staying silent. Then both of them, for making me feel like a guest at a party with my name on the banner. My voice didn't come out loud. It came out flat, the way it does when you're trying not to cry in front of people. My hand was still pressed to my chest, fingers sunk in the frosting on my dress, holding pressure like I could keep it from spreading.
He swallowed. I saw his throat move. He glanced at his mother, then back at me, then away toward the trees. That small pause before speaking stretched so long the air felt thin. He didn't say leave. He didn't say stay. He just kept watching from that soft middle distance between us, like if he stayed blurry enough he wouldn't have to pick a side.
My mother-in-law didn't flinch. She tilted her chin and adjusted her pearls, her stern posture unchanged. She'd expected me to run inside to clean myself off, to cry in the bathroom while she apologized to the guests for the mess I'd made by making her upset. I could see it in the way she already had her hand half-raised to wave me off, toward the house, toward somewhere out of the frame.
I didn't go. I pressed my hand harder against my chest and held her eye contact until my own eyes watered from the frosting.
"You want me to leave gladly, since you're so concerned about who belongs here, let's settle that today."
May you like
The words hung there. I hadn't planned them. They just came out, quiet and even. A couple of our guests shifted in their chairs. Jenna had lowered her phone. The cake sat ruined on the table behind me, the frosting dented where her hand had scooped it. The balloons tapped lightly together overhead.
My mother-in-law's smile thinned. My husband finally took half a step forward, his hands opening and then closing again at his sides, his eyes wide now on both of us. No one had left the garden. No one had wiped my face. We were still locked right there under the daylight, the three of us in that tight triangle, waiting to see who would speak first and who would have to move.
