“Yeah?” I follow my uncle down the short hallway into a large, open space that includes the kitchen, living room, and a dining room area. The best part about their place is the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Hardware has been very good to my aunt and uncle. “I don’t really know a lot about that stuff. You know, managing or hardware.”
“You could learn.” His face looks sincere; Uncle Chuck means every word.
Not wanting to disappoint the man, I give him something. “I’ll think about it.”
“You do that.” He takes the cake from my hands and walks it into their open plan kitchen. “I’ll make some coffee to have with our cake.”
“I hope I did it right.” When you cut the cake, the center is supposed to be filled with a creamy fudge. Honestly, I don’t know how it works. You put it all in the pan, and when it’s done, voilà, there’s oozy goodness in there—at least whenever my mom made it there was oozy goodness.
Looking around the place, I realize I haven’t seen or heard my aunt. “Is Aunt Annabelle here?”
“Nope.” I watch as he pops the lid off my plastic cake carrier. “Wow.” He leans down and takes a whiff. “Smells the same.”
It does.
I watch as he opens a drawer close to his hip to retrieve a knife. Before he cuts into my creation, he turns and opens an upper cabinet. When he returns to the island, he’s got two small plates in his hand. “Now, let’s see what it’s like inside.”
Stepping closer, I hold my breath as the knife pierces the top of the cake and then down. He does it again about two inches away from the other. Big slice. Tucking the knife underneath the cake, he lifts and pulls the piece out. I blink rapidly at the sight. “It worked.” I sniffle, my voice sounding a bit weak. “I did it.” I feel a tear slide down my cheek. “It looks just like Mom’s.”
My uncle has placed the slice on its side on the plate. When he looks up at me, the smile that was on his face is quickly replaced with something more serious but sincere. “Ah, honey.” He drops the knife and walks quickly around the island. I’m wrapped up in his arms in no time. “She was such a good cook. It looks like you’ve got the same skills.”
“Thanks,” I say, sniffling. “I miss her s-so much.” Oh, crap on a cracker. Now I’m crying.
“I do too. And you know how much your aunt misses her.”
“I know.”
“It’s not fair.” He always says that whenever my mom comes up.
I nod into his chest. “Nope.” It’s not the least bit fair. She was diagnosed one day and gone a month later. It was surreal, especially for a fifteen-year-old. I guess I should be glad I was able to be with her until the end. Some people don’t get that. I got to say goodbye. I was able to tell her how much I loved her.
Uncle Chuck pulls back and looks down at me. “You okay?”
I nod toward the cake. “Let’s taste it. It may look like Mom’s cake, but it might taste terrible.”
It doesn’t. It tastes great—not as good as Mom’s but close. Uncle Chuck decides to eat a second slice, even though he knows it’s going to ruin his dinner. I stick with the one slice but opt for a second cup of coffee. I haven’t spent a lot of time with my uncle, just the two of us, but it’s nice. I forgot how funny he is. When our conversation lulls, I ask, “How’s Vicky?”
That’s when I get an arched brow and a frown. “She’s a mess.”
“What?” My voice sounds startled. “Why?”
He looks left, then right. “Don’t tell your aunt I told you, but after the wedding, things sort of went to hell in a handbasket.”
I’ve scooted to the edge of my seat. “I don’t understand. Vicky’s not happy?” No matter what happened between me and Vicky, I still want her to be happy.
“Well, you know what happened with that Carrie person.”
“Chrissie?” Uncle Chuck does the same thing my father does—if he doesn’t like you, your name is mud.
“Yes, her.”
“About her sleeping with Anthony?”
“Yes, that.” My uncle’s face looks fierce. “Well, she kicked that Carla out and then happily married Anthony—it seemed to be the end of it.”
I’m leaning way over now. This is getting good. “But it wasn’t the end of it?”
Uncle Chuck’s head rotates left, then right.
