Birthday Surprise!

The last thing Mr. Jones expected from his assistant was a home baked chocolate cake for his birthday. It was beyond kind. It was so much more than he could have ever hoped for. He had, as of late, begun to feel badly for taking so much of his frustrations out on Erika. After all, she was a capable, hardworking, and intelligent assistant. Probably his best assistant that he had ever had. He would apologize, and perhaps he would get her a pair of tickets to her favorite opera. Yes, that would do perfectly. She loved the opera. Erika had left the cake on his desk, a complete surprise, and there was a card propped up next to it.

“I hope you enjoy every bite of your birthday surprise! I have to run some errands, so help yourself and I will be back later.” The card said, with an elegant E at the bottom. How truly thoughtful. He really didn’t deserve this. There were changes to be made around here. Maybe he would finally go to therapy as his wife Cecilia had always suggested. "Misplaced rage” she had always called it. Taking things out on the people that were too dependent on you or loved you too much to not just…. Put up with it.

Mr. Jones also had a bad habit of forgetting to reward the people that worked so hard for him, and he vowed to remedy that. There was a whole list of ideas that he had just failed to implement: camping trips, boat rides, office parties, pizza days.. so many ideas. Sometimes he had lost his temper, and for that he had meant to apologize, but he was unsure if he ever actually had. Verbalizing those things had always seemed pointless to him. Surely everyone knew he didn’t mean it, or that he was sorry. Yet he also knew no one should be forced to clean up the broken glass from his tantrums. It gnawed at him a bit as he reached into his little fridge that he kept in his office. There was always a fresh bottle of milk inside, as he had made it quite clear to Erika how important that was. He wasn’t sure if he had apologized for the last time he had found spoiled milk in the refrigerator - he had splattered her with it when he hurled the glass container full of the spoiled stuff across the room to shatter against the wall near where she stood. He made a mental note to be sure to say something about that. Well, he paid for the stitches Erika required, but he did not send a card or apologize. Yes… Mental note. Apologize for milk splash and broken glass.

He snapped open the travel cake holder and carefully lifted the lid so as to not damage the icing, or the beautiful flowers and designs on the cake that he saw emerging as he removed the cover.

“Oh, beautiful.” He breathed softly as he set the lid down and tears pricked at his eyes. It was stunning. He knew Erika was a good cook, but this looked almost too beautiful to eat. He had no idea that she was this talented at baking and decorating cakes. He made another mental note: Talk to Erika about her true passions and see if she would like funding to open her own bakery. That would make up for everything, wouldn’t it? And he could get back into therapy so that he can start doing a better job at controlling his outbursts.

Opening the small cabinet above the little fridge, he pulled out a china saucer, then opened the drawer next to the fridge to extract a butter knife and a fork. Very carefully, he cut himself a huge piece of cake. It was his birthday after all. Mr. Jones sat back down to his desk, his large glass of milk, and his giant slice of cake that looked absolutely to die for, and began to eat slowly, savoring every bite.

Certain he had never tasted a more delicious cake, he cuts one more piece, smaller than the first, and pours another glass of fresh, cold milk. Finishing both, and returning the lid carefully to the cake plate, he leans back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. He is filled with a sense of contentment he had not experienced in a long while. The resolution to begin controlling his anger and get serious about his psychotherapy, coupled with the delicious birthday cake had truly calmed his spirit. With his eyes closed, he made another mental note to give Erika an extra week of vacation, as a small twinge in his chest caused him to furrow his brow slightly.

Hearing the door open to the outer office he realized that Erika must have returned from her errands. Attempting to call out for her, he found he was unable to make a sound. His chest was constricting so tightly it felt as if an elastic band were wrapped around him and getting tighter. Clutching his chest, he looked up as Erika entered his office. A beautiful smile crossed her face as she saw him sweating, panting, and squeezing his chest. Calmly, and still smiling, Erika picked up the cake and walked it out of the room without a word. Glancing back at him, she saw the animal like fear in his eyes, and she turned and vanished from sight.

His vision was becoming blurred and darkness seemed to be encroaching upon him. The crushing pain in his chest was increasing, the pounding of his heart so fierce he felt it would explode at any moment, when Erika reentered the office. That same, patient, beatific smile. As she strode toward his desk, she said,

“It is tough to cover the bitter flavor of the oleander, but I found the perfect recipe. Plus a little goes a long way, don’t you think? Your heart should stop soon, don’t worry.”

“How…could..you? ….why?” Mr. Jones asked haltingly, then slumped over sideways in his oversized leather chair, exhaling for the last time.

Erika walked over to Mr. Jones, checked his pulse and confirmed the bastard was dead. With giddiness in her heart, she picked up the fork, saucer, and empty milk glass from the desk, she quietly left his office. Flinging her purse over her shoulder, she packed the cake carrier, the saucer and the milk glass into a paper bag, exited the reception area and locked the door, just as she would on any given night.

Walking 6 blocks in the opposite direction of her home, she tossed the paper bag in the alley dumpster. With a skip in her step and the broadest smile she’d had in years, she headed home, knowing she would never suffer abuse at his hands again.