“Happy Birthday!” Azalea threw her arms around James as he stepped out of his car. “I have a surprise for you.”
Beaming, James pulled her into his chest, his fingertips brushing through her hair.
“You’re wearing the dress.” James’s gaze lingered as the summer breeze lifted the hem of her minidress.
“Come see my surprise!” Untangling herself from James’s grasp, she intertwined her fingertips with his, pulling him toward the front door.
“This is why you’ve always been my favorite. Always my perfect girl.” Laughing at Azalea’s excitement, James allowed her to tug him into the kitchen.
Gesturing towards the chocolate cake at the center of the kitchen table, Azalea grinned. The cake consisted of two tiers, each with a ring of piped swirls that threatened to slide off the edge.
“I made you a cake.”
James blinked a few times. She quickly continued, twisting her hands together. “Belgian chocolate with cream cheese frosting . . . do . . . do you like it?”
After a moment’s pause, he smiled. “That’s my favorite.”
James settled at the kitchen table and Azalea joined next to him, crossing her legs into a pretzel. He pulled the edge of her chair closer. Azalea inched it back to its original position.
“You don’t have to do all of this. You already know what I want most, said James.
“You don’t need to say that.”
“I mean, this really is a surprise… you don’t even know how to bake. You burn everything and complain every time you have to make anything, even a sandwich.”
Azalea’s eyes widened and she scowled. “That’s not true! I can bake… now.”
James rolled his eyes. “Can you bake well?” James playfully stuck his tongue out. “I’m not eating it.”
“Oh, stop it. ” Azalea tensed. “It’s a cake. And you will eat it.” She smiled up at James, but his lips had stiffened.
“You’ll love the cake.” Playing with her curls with one hand, Azalea’s other hand lightly pushed against James’s wandering arms. “You should have seen me with that massive piping bag, frosting the cake and trying to get it even. That sticky stuff got everywhere, but of course, I changed. Just for you.”
“You know exactly how I want you.” His voice lowered to a whisper as he pressed his lips against her ear, his fingers still wrapped around her waistband.
“Oh, shoot I forgot the silverware. How silly of me!” Azalea sprung out of the chair. She rummaged around the kitchen, opening and shutting drawers. His eyes tracked her.
“Can you believe that? How are we supposed to eat cake? With our hands?” She paused for a second at the silverware drawer before drawing out two forks and then two matching knives. “And, plates! Plates!” Azalea opened the cabinet, shifting through the orderly sets of painted dinnerware. “We should use these. Red is your favorite color. See how well I know you?”
“Come sit next to me, my blossom.”
“Oh, gosh, I am so silly.” Azalea’s laughter rang out, shrill. “I even forgot the candles! I was so excited to show you my surprise that everything else slipped my mind.”
Azalea glanced around the kitchen. “Where are those darn candles?!”
“Top right cabinet, over there. The matches are there, too.” Without looking up, James motioned to the other side of the kitchen.
Azalea’s fingers traced the painted roses along the edge of the plates before she settled back down next to James. She took another deep breath, but instead of air her nostrils drowned in the suffocating scent of his cologne.
“You need to make a wish,” said Azalea loudly. James pulled his hand back, running his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair, shaking his head.
“Oh, I’m too old for wish-making. Why don’t you make a wish, little Azalea?”
“We can both make a wish. It won’t take long.” She had already pulled out two candles.
“If you insist. It’s just cake.”
She lit both candles. “Together, on the count of three.”
“One.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
As the flame extinguished into a whisper of smoke, Azalea’s wish ignited within her. James placed his hands on Azalea’s cheeks, pressing his lips to hers.
“Perfect.”
Azalea grabbed the knife. She handed it to him.
“Make the first slice, birthday boy.”
James pressed into the cake.
“Belgian Chocolate.” James smiled.
“With cream cheese frosting.”
“You really are just my girl.” Both James and Azalea’s eyes fixated on the cake inches from their faces.
Gathering a piece of cake onto his fork, he took a bite. The frosting clung to every part of his mouth as the cake dissolved.
James’s lips froze, his words trapped in his throat.
“It’s just how you like it.”
Yanking his head up, she clawed her fingernails into his cheeks. Locking eyes with him, she could only think: after everything, this was a piece of cake.
“Surprise.” Azalea’s smile extended to her eyes, crinkling into crescent moons.
James remembered how, as a child, Azalea’s eyes had crinkled, turning into what he called happy little moons whenever she smiled. So many years passed since he had seen them like this, but he swore he now saw those happy little moons again. Seeing Azalea’s genuine smile made James smile sincerely in return. He tried. He tried again to move his lips—to move anything. But he could not. Falling into darkness, grasping for moons but only seeing stars, he heard three words echo in the night.
“Happy Birthday, Dad.”
