Her spatula finished the final spread of pink frosting along the edge of the cake before stepping back to examine her work. Satisfaction filled her at the sight of the perfectly frosted two tiered cake.
"Absolutely perfect," she complemented herself as she began lining the tiers with fresh tulips, pink to be specific per the bride's request. Her mind pulled to the memory of the brides voice carrying into the kitchen - pink, pink, pink! I want everything pink!
A soft chuckle left her lips as she brought herself back to reality and placed another flower in the cake. Her attention was pulled to the door as it opened with the sound of a knock.
"We leave in five for the Dero wedding."
"Just finishing up," she placed another flower before stepping to the side to show her work, "How is it?"
"No wonder she was so adamant about you making her cake. You really do the best work in town," she complemented with a light laugh, "perfectly pink, just as requested. Let's get it in the van, shall we?"
They slowly drove past the front of the venue taking in the drapes of pink chiffon hung across the front of the building, confirming they had found the correct location.
She unloaded the cake and made her way to the kitchen as the van drove away. Placing the cake on the table, she turned it, checking for any shifts or imperfections.
She felt her heart stop at the sound of his voice behind her.
"I miss you."
A multitude of emotions swarmed the pit of her stomach before coursing through her - pain, anger, hope - all clawed viscously at her heart. She hadn't seen him since that day. She remembered every detail - his hair, his clothes, even how he smelt the day he walked in with his fiancé.
She straightened her shoulders as she pushed down her feelings and turned towards him with polite professionalism, "Mr. Dero, are you here to inspect your wedding cake?"
"Did you hear me? I said I miss you!" He repeated.
Her perfectly polished smile remained fixed as she responded, her voice professionally polite, "impossible Mr. Dero. You and I are strangers. We do not know each other. I most certainly do not know you and being as such, it would be insane for you to miss me. Perhaps you have mistaken me for your bride."
"I didn't know how to tell you." He attempted to explain.
"You didn't know how to tell me? Tell me what? That you had a fiancé? That our entire life was a lie? We lived together for three years..." Her voice began to take on heat, "and the entire time I was the other woman. Everything I thought I knew was a lie."
"I know. I'm sorry. I made a mistake. Please forgive me. I love you, I have always loved you. Can't that be enough?"
"Enough? Enough for what?" She took a deep breath and re-centered herself as her voice took on a politeness, "I apologize Mr. Dero, but the kitchen is for staff only. If you need help finding your way back to your wife, I would be happy to find an attendant to assist you."
"That won't be necessary."
"Perfect..." she turned her back as he began to leave, "congratulation on your wedding Mr. Dero."
She stood for hours, watching the events unfold exactly as scheduled. The crowd erupted in laughter as the bride and groom playfully smashed a piece of cake into each others mouth. Her eyes tracked each slice being cut and distributed until each person had their slice and were happily eating without complaint.
Her eyes met his, a smirk spreading across her face as he finished his last bite of cake. All laughter died out as it began to be replaced with the clinks of dropped forks and thuds of bodies.
The echoed sound of her foot steps bounded through the room as she made her way towards him, watching the fear in his eyes as his body fought to get air.
She cupped his face as she brought his watery, bulging eyes level to hers and spoke, "I didn't know how to tell you..." an exaggerated pout pursed her lips, "but I poisoned the cake. But don't worry, I have missed you and I love you, so that should be enough yes?"
She gently began setting his head on the table as his eyes began to close. "Just remember, you wanted your cake and to eat it too and now you have. I just hope the cost was worth the best chocolate cake in town. Goodbye Mr. Dero."
About the Creator
So You Decided To Become a Nurse Practitioner:
So you decided to become an "Advanced Practice" nurse. Congratulations!... is what I would say if this was a good idea. Grad school? In this economy? What were you thinking? Likely it was something along the lines of either 1) “I've seen these other chucklefucks do it— Why can't I?” or even 2) “I've got a nice career, I should shake it up. I miss feeling like I have no clue what I'm doing.”
By Sandor Szabo4 days ago in Fiction
Until You Understand
You wake somewhere new. No memory of the night before. Light arrives from no visible source and refuses to cast shadows. The walls are pale, unmarked, faintly warm. The room has edges but no corners. Sound travels too cleanly. There is a door behind you. You know this without turning. You turn. The door is sealed. No handle. No seam. Only a rectangle slightly darker than the wall around it. A clock without hands is mounted at eye level. It ticks anyway. In the center of the room is a board set into the floor. Black and white squares. Perfectly even. A chessboard large enough to stand on. There is a desk made of glass along the far wall. On it rests a single sheet of paper. It wants a signature. You do not touch it. A tone sounds. It is calm. The board hums. Pieces rise from the floor. They do not slide into place. They emerge as if the room exhales them. Pawns first. Then rooks. Knights. Bishops. The King. The Queen. They arrange themselves. The tone sounds again. You understand without being told: it is your turn. You hesitate. The clock ticks louder. A sign fades into the wall beside the board. Stand here. Wait your turn. You step onto a white square. The room stills. A pawn moves on its own. The tone sounds. You are expected to respond. You choose a pawn. It is close. It seems harmless. You move it forward one square. The tone stops. The board hums. Nothing else happens. You wait. Another pawn advances. The tone sounds. You move again. The rhythm establishes itself. Tone. Move. Silence. You begin to anticipate. You think one move ahead. Then two. The board allows this. It does not resist. It simply answers. A bishop disappears. Not taken. Gone. You do not notice. Two turns later, a square darkens. The light narrows. The room feels smaller by a margin you cannot measure. You do not connect this to the bishop. The clock ticks. You keep playing. A knight vanishes. The hum deepens. The air grows denser. You adjust. You protect your King. You sacrifice a pawn. You gain space. The Queen is gone. You do not miss it yet. You will later. The board continues. You begin to understand the tones. One is for urgency. One is for error. One is for delay. You learn when to breathe. You learn when to wait. A rook disappears. The wall behind you warms. You turn. The door remains sealed. You play faster. You try to win. The board does not reward this. Three moves later, a row of squares becomes inert. You step onto one by habit. Your foot does not lift. The board holds you in place until the tone releases you. You stop rushing. You begin to watch. You notice that when a piece vanishes, the room changes later. Never immediately. Always delayed. Always proportional. You begin to count. One piece lost: light shifts. Two pieces lost: sound tightens. Three pieces lost: space contracts. The board is not punishing you. It is teaching you scale. You test it. You sacrifice a pawn. Nothing happens. You sacrifice another. The clock ticks louder. You sacrifice a third. The ceiling lowers by a breath. You recover a piece. The ceiling halts. You stop thinking about winning. You start thinking about cost. The board does not care about victory. It cares about consequence. A piece you save now will matter later. A move you make now will close a door you cannot yet see. You play more slowly. You let a knight fall because you understand what it will buy you. The room warms. The ticking softens. You learn that every square is a future. You learn that speed is not control. You learn that reaction is not choice. The tone sounds. You wait. Not because you are told. Because you see the board. You see the path your hand almost took. You see what it would have cost. You choose differently. The room exhales. The clock grows quiet. The door does not open. You are not finished. You make a move you have already lost. You see it this time. You do not take it. The board waits. The room waits. The tone does not sound. You move anyway. Not to escape. Not to win. To accept that every square you touch becomes the world that follows. The door unlocks without a sound.
By Tifani Power a day ago in Fiction
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