“What did you say?”
“I said the cake was disgusting and she should be ashamed.”
I blinked.
“You said that?”
“I used more words.”
“What did she say?”
“She hung up.”
I laughed for the first time in days.
A week after that, Mrs. Callahan appeared at my apartment door.
I had not seen her since the party. She stood in the hallway holding a foil-covered plate and looking nervous.
“Ryan,” she said. “I hope this isn’t inappropriate.”
“Mrs. Callahan?”
“I brought banana bread. That’s not the inappropriate part, I hope.”
I stepped aside and let her in.
She looked around my apartment with the careful politeness of someone entering another person’s private grief. I made coffee. She set the plate on my table and smoothed the foil once, then again.
“I should have said something,” she said.
I knew immediately what she meant.
“At the party?”
She nodded.
“When I saw that cake, I knew it was wrong. I knew. And I just stood there like a fool with a paper cup.” Her eyes filled. “I’ve thought about it ever since.”
I did not know what to say.
She continued. “Your mother told everyone you overreacted. Your father says you ruined things for Jake. But I saw your face. And I saw theirs. That was not a joke. That was cruelty with frosting.”
Cruelty with frosting.
I almost smiled.
“Thank you,” I said.
