Vera Patterson

Twelve Fifteen

I leave the kitchen at 12:00 with the cake. The lit candles dance off the walls to the tune which I am not carrying. My steps are measured. I don’t want to catch a heel on the rug. I keep an eye out for Jazz and Juniper who have been known to dart between my legs at the worst possible moments. I should have locked them in the bathroom but then they wouldn’t be there for the cake. They should be there for cake.