As Livy washed her hands in preparation to help me bake, I decided to drown out the melancholy thoughts trying to seep into my head.
“Why don’t we turn on some music?” I suggested. “It’ll be like a cake-baking birthday party.”
Livy bounced up and down, water droplets spraying off her wet hands. “Taylor Swift! Taylor Swift!”
I handed her a towel and brought up a playlist on my phone. Once we had the music going, we measured out the ingredients for the cake, pausing now and again to dance along to our favoritesongs. Fortunately, my ankle had recovered while I slept the night before, so I could dance with abandon.
After I put the cake in the oven, I collapsed onto the couch, exhausted.
“That was like a cardio baking routine,” I said.
Livy threw herself onto the couch—and me—with a giggle.
“It’s going to be the best cake ever!” she said as she wrapped her arms around me. “Daddy would love it.”
I gave her a gentle squeeze. “He would.”
“When can we eat it?”
I laughed at that. “I thought you wanted chocolate frosting?”
“I do! Lots and lots of frosting!”
“Then we have to wait for the cake to bake and cool.”
Livy let go of me and flopped onto her back. “That’ll take forever.”
“In the meantime, let’s get some dinner.” I pushed myself up off the couch, ignoring the fatigue in my limbs.
“Can’t we have cake for dinner?” Livy asked, hopeful.
I ruffled her hair. “Nice try, sweet pea.”
Later, as I slathered chocolate frosting onto the cooled cake, I silently wished Ethan a happy birthday. The heavy weight of grief in my chest intensified, but then I looked at Livy, who was licking frosting off the hand mixer’s beaters, and I smiled.
“Can we show the cake to Grandma and Granddad?” she asked as I smeared on the last bit of frosting and handed her the spatula to lick.
“Let me just check if they’re home,” I said.
Really, I wanted to warn my parents about why Livy had asked to FaceTime with them. If they didn’t feel up to talking about Ethan’s birthday—or didn’t think they could do it without breaking down—I wanted to give them a chance to decline.
As I typed out a text message to my dad, I wondered if my mom’s recent stance on Livy’s custody had anything to do with Ethan’s birthday. It was the first one since he’d died. Maybe, as theday had approached, her need to cling to Livy—all she had left of her only son—had become heightened. I could understand that. And if that was the case, would she back off on the custody issue once we all got through this day?
My dad replied to my text within minutes, and soon Livy was chatting away with my parents on FaceTime, showing them the cake and telling them all about how we’d baked it.
I could tell my mom was blinking away tears at one point, but for the most part, the call seemed to have a positive effect on her and my dad.
After saying goodbye to my parents, we finally ate a slice of cake each. Buoyed up by the sugar, Livy had another dance party, solo this time, while I watched from the couch. Then, finally, she crashed.
As she wriggled into bed that night, she hugged her dinosaur stuffie to her. “Do you think Daddy could taste the cake from heaven?” she asked.
“Absolutely,” I replied as I tucked the blankets around her.
She burrowed down deeper. “Auntie Emersyn?”
“Yes, Livysaurus?”
“Is it okay to be happy and sad at the same time?”
