Let Them Have Cake

Whoever designed my local grocery store was a complete moron.

Fresh produce on one side, milk and eggs on the other, and an ocean of unhealthy but oh-so-delicious treats in between. What I wouldn’t give to be one of those skinny girls who can eat spaghetti and chase it with a milkshake and mysteriously lose two pounds the next morning. Hell, I would settle for being a size 10 who doesn’t get dirty looks when she grabs the extra stuffed cookies instead of the regular ones.

It’s not that I’m fat. I’m just not “not fat”. Too small for a ridiculous reality TV show, too big for low rise jeans, just the right size for strangers to offer unprompted “helpful” advice. I swear that the next person who tries to tell me how cauliflower crust is going to change my life, will be eating their low carb pizza through a straw.

Did I mention that whoever organized this store is a total idiot? Right in front of the healthy bananas is a big display of baked goods. Normally, I'm really good at ignoring this display - just keep my eyes focused on the fruit and pretend that the brown is actually something rotten. Today it featured chocolate cake – the most glorious chocolate cake I have ever seen. No amount of pretending could keep me from admiring the immaculate icing and that tantalizing cherry right in the center. Oh. My. God. The rounded shaved bits of chocolate scattered everywhere!

“That looks amazing doesn’t it?”

I hadn’t noticed that a fellow shopper had pushed their cart alongside mine. I looked up and immediately noticed long shiny blonde hair - a perfect counterpoint to my short curly brown undercut. And of course, this particular shopper was thin as a tooth pick. I would put money down that her next words would be “but you can get the same experience with almond flour and Greek yogurt.” Ugh, someone must be playing a trick on me. Forcing me to make good on my threat to fight the next person who dared tell me the secret to losing fifteen pounds in ten days.

“It looks alright. I should get my bananas before the good ones are gone.” And with that I started to walk away.

“Bananas? That’s no fun.”

Was I supposed to respond? I did not know this person who suddenly started walking alongside me. 'Please,' I thought to myself, 'do not let this person be a crazy serial killer' and I continued walking. If I was being honest though, I would have probably preferred a serial killer to a stranger insisting on making small talk with me. #Millenial

“I suppose you could make banana bread. That would be kind of fun.”

I stayed silent.

“I’m Julie, by the way. I just moved to town.”

I’m not a rude person, but I also don’t think it’s appropriate to just start talking to strangers. 'But maybe this is how adults make friends? I have friends, do I really need more? Clearly, she needs more friends. Why else would she talk to a complete stranger? Maybe because she's insane and is trying to find some dumb girl to lure back to her house of horrors. She could be a normal person. Yes, because normal people always approach complete strangers and force them into conversations. Well, how else do you get know someone? We aren’t kids on the playground, this isn’t how it’s done. How what’s done? I’ve been thinking too long…'

“You’re thinking I’m some sort of crazy person, aren’t you?” She laughed. “I’m only a little crazy – but it’s the good kind. What’s your name?”

“Ashley.” Why did I say my real name? My mom would be so disappointed.

“So, Ashley, would you be interested in having cake together sometime?”

Oh. My. God. This is it. She is going to kidnap me and wear my skin like some insane person who wears other people’s skin. I wish I listened to true crime podcasts, maybe then I would know what to do right now. There are tons of people around. I should be safe as long as we stay in plain sight.

“I had no idea eyes could get that wide.” She laughed again. “Look, I’m not crazy – I’m just new to town and want to make friends. If you have enough friends I understand.”

“I’m getting married in six months and I’m on a really strict diet. It would be really bad if I ate cake.” I blurted out.

“Oh. I have diabetes, it would be really bad if I ate a piece of cake too.”

My relief was palpable.

“I guess there’s only one thing to do,” she said raising a finger to her temple and smirking at me. “We will split a piece!”

“What?” I almost screamed the question. Still very much in disbelief of what was happening.

“Well, if it’s really bad for each of us to have a piece of cake, then it would only be bad if we split a piece. Bad things happen all the time and so far we’ve recovered from all of them. What do you say? Want to split a piece of chocolate cake with me?”

My jaw dropped. Who was this person? The audacity. The arrogance. The … the … sadness? Loneliness? Hope? Would it be so bad to have a half piece of cake? We would be surrounded by people. I would have my car, so I could leave whenever I want. Damn my soft heart.

“Um, sure.”

“Great!” She said and then immediately poked her head into my shopping cart. “Doesn’t look like any of this needs to be refrigerated. Want to check out and then head to the bakery around the block? I passed it on my way here and their cakes look scrumptious!”

We checked out while discussing whether tea or water goes best with dessert. Julie’s argument was that tea affects the taste too much – sometimes for better sometimes for worse. Regardless it was “just not worth the risk” so Julie sticks to hot water.

We agreed to meet at the bakery in ten minutes – plenty of time to think it over one or twenty times.

I entered the bakery and spotted Julie sitting a small round table for two. She had her phone and was texting at light speed. There was still time to end this crazy adventure. I could just walk away right now. She has no way of contacting me or finding me. ‘And then you would be just like every other douche bag who is too afraid of confrontation and thinks ghosting is the best thing for everyone.’ I swallowed hard and walked up to the table.

“Hey.” I practically whispered as I approached the table.

“Hey Ash! Can I call you that? I know some people are funny about nicknames. I’ve never had one before – Julie is already so short I guess. Sorry for the phone, I’m texting your description to my mom. You know, just in case you turn out to be a crazy murder.” Right. In case I turn out to be crazy.

“Not a bad idea. You won’t mind if I do the same?”

“I would be more concerned if you didn’t! We don’t even know each other.”

Was this real life? Did I black out and imagine her inviting me here?

“I hope you don’t mind but I took the liberty of ordering already. Hot water for me and hot tea for you – they didn’t have a large selection so I hope Black Raspberry is ok.”

“That sounds fine.” I said as I began texting Julie’s description and our location to my fiancé.

“I also ordered one slice of their Magnolia Triple Chocolate Dream cake. And two forks.”

The name alone made my mouth water.

“Now that sounds divine.”

As we waited, Julie told me how she moved here for her job – apparently, it’s difficult for History teachers to find work. Moving meant breaking up with her boyfriend – but they weren’t “endgame” anyway so Julie wasn’t too upset about it. Breaking up meant dividing the things they had collected together, including two cats and a parakeet. Julie was very against splitting up the cat, so she took both and left the parakeet – which was never her style to begin with.

I know what you’re thinking: How long does it take it take to heat water and cut a single piece of cake. Not long at all. Julie is just a very fast talker. She’s like Lauren Graham on speed.

Finally, our cake arrived. And it looked even better than I imagined.

Julie picked up one of the forks and carefully carved a line down the middle of the slice.

“We must agree to stay on our own sides.” She said giving me a very stern look.

“Agreed.”

And for the first time since I had met Julie, she was completely silent. She didn’t even make any of those happy eating noises. She held each bite in her mouth savoring it as long as possible before swallowing. I found myself doing the same. Maybe taking your time makes things taste better. Maybe this little bakery really does make the world’s best chocolate cake. Or maybe I was just having a really good time.

After we finished eating, we agreed to meet up again next week for more cake and tea. One bad thing a week is hardly cause for alarm, as Julie put it.

As I was leaving the bakery, I looked at my phone to find that my fiancé had sent me several messages.

“You’re doing what?”

“With who?”

“Text me back now!”

“I can’t believe you’re trying to get kidnapped.”

“I promise we can paint the living room whatever color you want, just text me back.”

“I’m calling the police.”

That last message was from ten minutes ago. Before I could pick up my phone to call him back, I heard a siren go off behind me.

“Excuse me ma’am,” a police officer said as they pulled their car up alongside the sidewalk. “You match the description of a missing person. May I have your name?”

“Uh, Ashley Valence.”

“Hm, you don’t seem to be in any danger. Do you need any help?”

“No officer, I’m okay. Thank you.”

“Yeah, well, please call that fiancé of yours back. He’s driving everyone at the station crazy.”

“Yes sir. Thank you.”

And as I watched the officer drive away, I texted my new friend Julie to tell her all about it.