How Sweet It Is - Alice J. Wisler [76]
Before our food comes, as we sip from glasses of iced tea, I ask her, “Did you tell them it’s my birthday?”
“Here? Oh, I should. They’ll bring some dessert and sing to you. Good idea, Shug.”
“No.” I don’t want anyone singing to me here. “I meant at The Center.”
“Tell them what?”
“That it’s my birthday.”
“Oh yes, I did.” She places her glass on the table and fingers her own eyeglasses. “They did ask me at the bake sale.
Bubba asked.”
I smile, still warmed by the thoughtfulness of the children’s gift to me. I placed the little box on top of the desk in my bedroom right when I returned home from teaching this afternoon. My own cake-order box. Chef B will have to hear about this.
“How has your day been?” asks my aunt, as I admire the crackling fire and note the restaurant’s decor. The plum-and-white linens add a warm touch. I wonder if I could create this shade of plum to use for icing. A lemon cake with bold swirls of plum would make a great centerpiece for some festive occasion.
Gradually, I turn my attention to my aunt. “My day’s been good,” I say. This morning Jeannie called to wish me a happy birthday. Then Mom and Dad took turns talking to me. Mom wanted to make sure that UPS had done its job and delivered her gift to me.
“A jar of pickled pig’s feet?” I said to Mom. “It arrived.”
Before my aunt came to pick me up for dinner, Sally called. She told me that she and Jeannie were coming to visit me in two weeks.
As the logs glow in the fireplace beside our table, I feel cozy and relaxed. “It’s nice to be here,” I tell my aunt, and she admits that this is one of her favorite places.
I feel a tug at my heart and am about to recall my birthday last year and what Lucas gave me. The memory is there, waiting; I push it aside. Instead I say, “Guess what. I got another cake order for Friday, so I’ll need to squeeze making it in before the camping trip.”
“Are you excited?”
“I love getting orders.”
“About camping?”
I wrinkle my nose.
“Shug.” She laughs. “You are just like me. I’m not a camper, but Ernest was. He saw the beauty in every experience.”
I imagine he did. Anyone who believes that a lemon holds deep significance and that the right disposition is what it’s all about must have been able to handle everything. And I suppose his ability to enjoy life came from knowing whose hand held his.
After we finish our salads, Cindy brings us our entrees. My aunt immediately asks her for a small doggie bag. “This way I will put Giovanni’s portion aside and won’t be tempted to eat it.”
Cindy just nods, and I smile.
“Shug,” Regena Lorraine says as she cuts her slice of ham in half and secures one half in the Styrofoam box for her dog, “I am so glad it’s your birthday.”
The wait staff sings to me at dessert. Accompanied by Cindy, they bring a piece of chocolate cake with a single yellow lit candle. Cindy places it in front of me.
“You told them,” I say to my aunt, a tone of scolding to my voice.
“No, I didn’t.”
“Charlotte told me,” whispers Cindy. “She told me all about today.”
“Make a wish,” my aunt says.
The candle flickers as though it is winking at me.
I make the same wish I did earlier today at The Center. Perhaps wishing it two times in one day will better the chances of it coming true.
————
I sit in my bed with two pillows behind me and flip open my journal. I’m almost at the end of the book; there are only six crisp pages left. I can’t believe it. As I read a few of the earlier entries, I wonder who would have ever thought I’d end up wanting to write in this book so often?
Smiling to myself, I list all of the children’s names on a clean page, one line per child. Then I come up with a few descriptive words about each kid. Interesting that although the kids can be hellions, I have found something positive to put down for every one of them. This