Black and red.
She thought those were his favorite colors. They were, weren't they? He wore them all the time after all, so it only made sense.
But when the baker showed her a digitalized sample of what the birthday cake would look like—just a simple circular cake, white on the inside, the "Build-Your-Own" kind, as she was feeling particularly creative that afternoon—decorated in blackboard black and raw-steak red frosting, she decided to choose from her inner palette instead. Of course he would understand.
She'd go with pink and pastel yellow, please. Oh! How much were candles?
"Not much," the old man said, a large cake crumb resting higgledy-piggledy in his hairnet like a fly sucked dry in a spider's web. She marveled at how such a great piece of cake had made its way up there. How absurd! She felt like reaching out to touch it, perhaps to pop it into her mouth so she could taste this phantom Build-Your-Own cake before it was assembled. She imagined it would be rich, creamy, melting on her tongue like cotton candy fresh from the vats at the amusement park. Oh, and the glow of Ferris wheel lights reflecting in her sunglasses, the hollowy pied piper calliope music calling to the children, the pink and violet bruises on the insides of her knees from too many carousel rides, the shrills of terror and delight as serpentine roller coasters spiraled past—
What?
She'd become so intent on that crumb that she twice failed to hear the cashier announce the total amount for the cake, the Build-Your-Own kind, with twenty-three exactly shaped, thin, magenta candles to match, plus a pretty striped purple bow to make it more festive. She liked festive.
The cashier, a lanky, round-faced girl who smacked her bubblegum too loudly—ooh she wanted some bubblegum now too!—glared at her through wire-rim glasses and multi-colored bangs cut in zigzags.
"Miss? Did you hear me?"
Oh. 3,000 yen? Yes, that would be correct, 3,000 yen exactly, was there anything else she would like with her purchase today? Gift card? No, no, gift card would seem like she was trying too hard or something. But 3,000 yen? That was more than she'd budgeted for such a cake, but oh how glorious the cake would be, and it was certainly worth it, for the man she would give it to was worth it. He had been her friend for years after all, and she loved him for all those years, but he was too busy running an empire to pay any real attention to her.
But she remembered one particular day when he spoke to her only, in that soft, low voice she so liked, his dark eyes like black stars gazing into hers. It was utterly romantic:
"I'm sorry, I have a meeting at noon so I'll be late for our lunch appointment."
He'd called their date an "appointment," but whatever it was to him didn't matter, as he had agreed to join her for sashimi even though his schedule was hectic. Right? Even though his schedule was hectic, he still somehow found time for her.
So she would spend 3,000 yen on this pink and yellow—not black and red—cake, the Build-Your-Own kind, with twenty-three exactly shaped, thin, magenta candles to match, plus a pretty striped purple bow to make it more festive.
Wait a minute. Did she want sprinkles with that? She thought he would love sprinkles. Who didn't like sprinkles?
She'd like to have sprinkles, please! she shrieked, so great was her excitement.
Startled, the cashier recoiled from her customer, but then adjusted her glasses on her nose with a finger. Smacking her gum again, the girl reached beneath the counter and produced two packets of pink sprinkles. She thought this cashier woman resembled a great white sheep in pasture, chewing grass to a science in a meadow filled with weeds and dirt and lots and lots of grass. She wondered how the shepherd would look like, in jeans overalls and a nice, wide-brimmed hat to keep out the sun, and of course an adorable, longhaired dog to keep those darn sheep in line. Those darn sheep. Did they taste good in soups? Or were they better kept as grass-chewers?
"Miss? Did you hear me?"
Are these the kinds of sprinkles she liked, oh of course these were the kinds she liked, they matched the cake perfectly, yes she would take them for extra, now a little more than 3,000 yen. Who gave a care, everything was perfect now, things were so simple, yes! He would love his cake.
Giddy, she all but skipped through the bakery door, ignoring the rainbow-haired, gum-smacking girl as she called after her to come get her change, Miss.
When she arrived at her dormitory, she was disappointed to find her room mate's boyfriend there, some schmuck from South Korea who liked to put his smelly feet up on her jade inlaid coffee table and spread his leather biker stink on her futon. He didn't spare her a glance, his eyes glued to the television, as he was probably waiting for her roommate to finish dressing so they could go out and eat and have sex or whatever they did.
She wondered about sex sometimes, but giggled at the thought of it. Being naked with a man and rubbing things together? Now that was even more absurd than black and red cake!
"What you got there?"
Her roommate, a foreign exchange student from some southern place in America, peered over her shoulder with a toothbrush in her mouth. Get away! What if she got toothpaste on the cake? No she would not "chill", 'cause the cake had to be untouched, flawless, and please go tell that boyfriend to stop eating her rice and spicy noodle soup. It was so rude.
"What kind of cake is it?" her roommate prodded.
Build-Your-Own, she replied proudly, with pink and yellow frosting, twenty-three exactly shaped, thin, magenta candles to match, plus a pretty striped purple bow to make it more festive. She liked festive.
"More like Build-Your-Own life and quit schmoozin'," her roommate's boyfriend said with a cackle, and that her hurt her real bad for some reason, but she barked back at him to stay out of her business, while her roommate half-heartedly reprimanded him with a secret smile on her face.
They didn't understand at all. This cake was a token of her gratitude, of her everlasting loyalty to her friend. Had they no idea how deep and beautiful friendship could be?
"Hey, how old are you again?"
Twenty, thank you very much, you can stop with that stupid smirk and that condescent—condescendededing—condescending tone! He laughed, and this time her roommate didn't even try to yell at him as she failed to hide a smile behind her foamy toothbrush. How did she come to associate herself with such inconsiderate, unintelligent people? She wished she could just take all her money and go back to the amusement park he'd helped build for her, and then ride the roller coasters and carousels until she got dizzy and vomited pink cotton candy and sticky stuffed donuts, like syrupy cherries in a pie.
Cherries in a pie. Would he have wanted a pie instead? Oh darn, now she was caught in another dilemma. Should she return that cake? Life was so hard sometimes.
"Cake is good."
Oh yes, she remembered him saying that once when she had asked him about his absolute favorite dessert in the whole world, and that had been his answer. See? She knew him best after all. He'd been wearing his sparring gi at the gym, and she'd liked watching the sweat run down his hard chest like raindrops on a window. Raindrops on a window. She liked that imagery. Giddily, she'd even thought of collecting that sweat to mix into her cookie batter to see if she could capture his delectable essence. Such a lovely man he was. His sweat could only be ambrosia.
But she didn't want to freak him out, so she'd asked him about desserts instead, and then promptly baked him three of his favorites and left them with his cousin in Osaka when she found out he'd gone out of town for another business conference. Maybe one day they would get married and have five children. Not three, or two, or one—four was unlucky—but five lovely, black-haired children, hopefully without the bad blood that he carried. But she didn't mind that either. It made him more exotic. Exciting! She would surely balance that out, the white to his black. Then she could buy and bake him cakes everyday!
Oh but the party would be starting soon, any minute now, and he had agreed to meet her downtown in that little tree park next to that restaurant with all the rainbow-flashing twinkly lights—she adored rainbow-flashing twinkly lights!—next to the seafood joint next to her lucky water fountain. There she would wait with her cake, the Build-Your-Own kind, with twenty-three exactly shaped, thin, magenta candles to match, plus a pretty striped purple bow to make it more festive.
She arrived early, very early, so she could spread the table cloth and tie a nice pink ribbon and yellow balloon to his chair to make it more festive—she liked festive—so when he came he would be surprised and would smile at her efforts. He might see that she was in love with him. But, if he ate the cake and liked it, that was enough too.
After every decoration was in place, every bow tied perfectly, balloon floating above, and cake aglow like an American jack-o-lantern with twenty-three magenta candles, she waited for her friend like the good loyal person she was. She practiced her smile many times. She made sure her long black hair was tied up into two pigtails, and then looked in the mirror four times to make sure they were even.
An hour passed. Maybe two? Or maybe it was her imagination. She checked her white cell phone, the Chinese knots and tinkling bells of the charms tangling about her hasty fingers. He was definitely late. Did he forget?
He couldn't have. Even though his schedule was hectic, he still somehow found time for her. But surely he would have called her by now to let her know, right?
She practiced her smile again. No matter. Her friend cared about her deeply, and he would show eventually. She imagined his spiky dark hair would be disheveled from running so fast to get to her, and that he would apologize like mad and give her an elegant excuse for his tardiness, but of course she would forgive him.
And then they would eat cake, that perfect Build-Your-Own cake, under the trees and next to those rainbow-flashing twinkly lights. It was all so simple. So beautiful. Of course it would work.
Making sure her posture was perfect she sat and waited.
She practiced her smile again and checked her hair another four times, even as it began to rain and every single twenty-three magenta candle blew out in wispy mouse tails of smoke.