Prompt: chocolate
"Chocolate," Gail says, trying to keep the phone held tight between her shoulder and her head, "it's gotta be chocolate, Hols."
She wrangles the squirming baby out of the grocery cart and onto her hip as she stands before the cooler full of cakes in the bakery aisle of their local supermarket.
"Shhh, Katie-did," the cop whispers, gently swaying as she bounces their cranky daughter and tries to prevent a full-on meltdown in the middle of the store, "it's okay. We're just getting a cake for your birthday party tomorrow. Mama was supposed to go after work but her asshole boss made her—"
"Gail," Holly says sharply on the other end of the line.
"Relax, doc, she has no idea what I'm saying. And even if she did understand, she's too busy being a crankypants to be paying attention to me anyway."
As if she knows she's being talked about, Katie lets out a loud, piercing screech and grabs at her mother's baggy hoodie, pulling a clump of the soft, cotton fabric into her mouth to chew on.
"She still not feeling well," Holly asks, and Gail smiles, hearing the note of worry in her wife's voice. Holly is an amazing mother, and Gail is certain that she'll never tire of watching her partner parent their baby girl.
"Cranky, like I said," the blonde answers, "and clingy. And tears. So many tears."
There was a rustle of papers in background. "Poor kid, she's probably got another tooth coming in. I think she's due for her molars soon."
Gail gives Katie another bounce. "I love it when you go all 'Doctor Mama' on us, babe."
She hears Holly chuckle as she pulls open the door to the cakes again.
"Okay, so. First birthday cake. I know you said vanilla, Hol, but I gotta say, vanilla is boring. I think it has to be chocolate. Chocolate frosting with purple writing. And green. Purple and green."
"Gail—" Holly says, but the police officer doesn't let her finish.
"What cake do you want, Kate? This boring vanilla one?" She lifts Katie up to her chest and points at one of the boxes inside, pleased when a little arm and hand shoot out to mimic her own. "Or this super-awesome chocolate one," Gail continues, her voice rich and teasing.
Katie's little hand smacks down on the box with the chocolate-frosted cake, and Gail laughs. "A winner, Hols, we have a winner. One chocolate-frosted chocolate cake. The birthday girl has made her decision."
She can picture exactly the expression on Holly's face right now. Amusement and annoyance, arms crossed and eyes lifted to the sky as if praying for patience. She's seen that look many times over the past several years.
"Gail, we talked about this," Holly says, "a chocolate cake will just end up in mess everywhere. If the party were at our house it'd be no big deal, but we're having the party at your parents' house. Just get the vanilla cake and we can—"
But Gail cuts her off.
"What was that? Holly? Holly? I can't hear you—I must be going through a tunnel. Or stepping into an elevator. Or maybe there's a solar flare …" She makes crackling noises, and has to swallow a laugh when Katie attempts to join in.
"Fine, Gail," Holly says back, resigned to the fact that Gail will end up doing whatever she wants to anyway, "but you're in charge of clean-up. I mean it, Peck."
She ends the call and Gail somehow manages to maneuver the large chocolate cake over to the bakery staff to have it decorated. When Sergio hands it back to her over the counter, Gail struggles not too gasp against the sudden flood of emotion in her throat.
There, written in a bright purple that stands out against the dark chocolate frosting, is her desired message:
Happy 1st Birthday
Katherine Peck!
Brightly colored balloons in greens and yellows and soft blues circle the words.
It's beautiful.
It's terrifying.
Her baby girl is one!
By the time she makes it to the cashier, she's blinking back tears. Thankfully, the kind older woman at the register takes one look at the cake and seems to understand.
"It goes so fast, doesn't it," she says to Gail with a smile.
Gail looks around the room, horrified.
There's chocolate everywhere. On Katie, on her wife. There's chocolate on the floor and walls, and somehow on the ceiling.
Little globs of brown and purple, little bits of frosted balloon and pits of moist chocolate cake everywhere the eye can see.
"Next time, honey," Holly says as she leans over and hands her wife a washcloth, "trust me on the frosting."