A man who never celebrates his birthday suddenly wanting a cake?
Yeah, I wasn’t being delusional back at Ms. Vera’s. He’s telling me to come back.
“How about ‘Happy Birthday Pup’?” I ask.
He nods at my suggestion, then looks up at the ceiling. “If I’m calculating right, he should be turning thirty today. I think LaTanya was pregnant with him in the fall of 94’. How ‘bout I put ‘Happy Thirtieth Birthday, Pup?’”
Thirty?
I hold in a choke.
He’s older than all the other guys who ran to Uncle Kenny.
“I like that. It’s simple,” I croak out, clearing my throat.
“Mhmm—a simple message for a simple man. That’s Pup for ya’.”
“Simple?”
“Oh yeah. My mama always said simple men were the best. They give you good lives…good babies…they make sure you don’t want for nothing, and if they could, they’d conquer the world too but they usually just settle for conquering everyday life shit.”
He laughs, then furrows his eyebrows as he draws out the letters with precision. He even grins at the little paw print he dots next to “Pup.”
I let out a quiet breath.
I think I finally poked a tiny hole in that dark air of mystery around Rich. It doesn’t feel satisfying, though. In fact, it feels really fucking frustrating because now I just want more.
“So, what’re you gonna give the person who ordered that cake?” I ask.
He tosses the pastry bag on the counter, then reaches underneath it, pulling a white box from a pile of other white boxes.
He pops it open. “Oh, I don’t know. I’ll give ‘em a call before I head out and explain what happened.”
“‘What happened?’” I repeat leaning forward to make sure I heard clearly.
“Yeah, I’ll just tell ‘em what today is.”
“That it’s… Pup’s birthday?” I frown, reaching inside my purse and peeling away two crisp twenty-dollar bills from the wad of money Rich gave me. “I don’t know…I think I’d be severely pissed off if you called and told me you gave away my cake to somebody else just because it was their birthday.”
He roars out a deep laugh. “‘Severely pissed off?’ I like that one too.”
My face heats as I sit the money on the counter. “If you tell them you gave away their cake to somebody else, it’ll be like admitting to giving some of your customers preferential treatment.”
“And then I’ll explain to them that there’s no preferential customers at Copeland’s—only good friends in need of a good cake.”
My lip twitches as it curves into a smile. “How much more do I owe you?”
“Pup’s money ain’t no good around here.” He closes the top of the box, turning it around and sliding it toward me.
“Right…butI’mpaying for it.”
“AndI’mtelling you I don’t take from Pup.”
“You’re not taking his money. You’re taking my money.”
He pulls the apron over his head and grabs his cellphone from beside the register.
“Listen…” he says, glancing down and letting his glasses slide down the bridge of his nose again. “Pup’s fists paid the lease around here for plenty of months. Take that man his cake.”
