Make dinner.
I whimper.
I’m so freaking tired that I don’t even have the energy to reply to a quick text from Francesca. Maybe I can get a thirty-minute nap in before dinner.
Maybe—
A knock at my window makes me shriek in surprise.
I look up, expecting to see Holt, imagining him frowning at me like he’s caught me eating another rotisserie chicken in another car, but it’s Mrs. Massery from across the street.
I kill the engine and pop open the door. “Afternoon, Mrs. Massery. How are you today?”
“Is Holt home?” the older white woman asks. She’s in the cutest flowery housedress, and her white hair is in curlers.
But it’s the cake dish in her hands that truly catches my attention.
Swear it’s crystal, and the cake inside is covered in white frosting and coated in coconut.
I feel like I’m in another era anytime I see her, but even more so when she shows up with a crystal cake dish.
“If he’s not, he likely will be soon,” I tell her. “I’m not sure what his schedule was today.”
The neighbors all know he’s home. They’ve commented to me about it when I’ve taken Jessica out on her nightly walks.
I don’t know how the hell I’ll find the energy for it tonight, but somehow, I will.
Maybe food will help.
Food and a nap.
“It was his birthday last week. I made him a cake. Can you make sure he gets this?”
I step the rest of the way out of my car, grab my bag, and fling it over my shoulder. It was his birthday?
And he didn’t tell me?
Right. Of course he didn’t tell me. We were barely texting then. And he celebrated his birthday by breaking his foot.
Who’d want to talk about that?
And why does it make me feel like an even shittier friend, even though I couldn’t have possibly known it was his birthday?
“I’ll make sure he gets this,” I tell Mrs. Massery.
“Don’t go eating it before he gets a piece.”
“I would never.”
“It’s for his birthday. You know this is his first birthday since his brother passed. That’s a hard birthday.”
“I promise I’ll tell him you made it with extra love, and I won’t take a single piece unless he insists.”
“Don’t let Jessica have any either.”
“Pretty sure cake’s not good for dogs.”
“This is my world-famous coconut cream cake. You make sure he knows that, okay? You tell him it won a gold ribbon at the Iowa State Fair in 1996. And you tell him I don’t make one for just anyone. Not with my arthritis the way it is.”
