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Fiction Short Story

Susan Borgstad

I'm 65 years old, currently a student at WVU. I live in Vancouver, Canada and I'm finally taking a serious stab at this writing thing. I love it. I find it one of the most enjoyable things I have ever done. This was written as an exercise in F2k.

The Carrot Cake

I introduced them to each other at a party.

I said to her "Please meet Derek."

I got as far as "Derek meet..." when she interrupted.

"Daisy is my name, and I'll thank you kindly not to make any smart remarks. I've heard them all."

My buddy Derek laughed. Perhaps not the most circumspect thing to do considering the circumstances but he couldn't help it. Out it came, "Haw, Haw, Haw." A real belly-bouncer if there ever was one.

She kicked him in the knee and that is how they met and fell in love.

That's what happened. Really.

They ended up being a mutual admiration society. She "loved" his darling dimples. He 'adored' her shining, waist-length, naturally blonde hair. She "admired" his strength and agility, and his rugged, dark-haired looks. She nestled into his arms to demonstrate how he was soooooo tall, and destiny had made her five-foot-seven in high heels in order for her to fit exactly right, just under his chin. His eyes were "azure blue", and hers were "deep brown pools into which he could throw himself and drown." Of course her eyes had the most beautiful thick, black lashes ever. Her figure should adorn Chatelaine, at the very least. On, and on they went, ad nauseam. Trust me, I know, I was there and I introduced them and it was more than a person could take even on a good day with a six-pack in hand.

The trouble all started when she baked a cake. Now, what I'm going to tell you is the truth. Trust me. Cross my heart ... Would I lie to you? Oh, before I start, could you buy me another beer? This one's almost gone, and I'm kinda broke 'til Wednesday. You know I'm good for it.

Ahhh, thanks. That hit the spot. It's so icy cold, just the right thing on a scorcher like today. Look at the water run down the sides, lucky they have these terrycloth covers on the tables.

Where was I? Oh, yeah. They got married and moved into a one-bedroom apartment, and as far as I know they still live there. Well, I guess the first four years of wedded bliss was pretty good. But then, a couple of weeks after their fourth anniversary she baked a cake. Not just one of those package deals. Oh, no, she made it from scratch. You know, with sieves and eggbeaters and measuring cups and all that cooking jazz. She made a carrot cake, and that ended up being the problem.

Anyway, she was home on a short five-day vacation and she wanted to do something special, so not only did she make the cake, and the icing, she made a really nice Caesar salad and grilled salmon steaks and sliced lemons to squeeze on them, and baked some of those new potatoes with sour cream and crispy bacon bits. Just the smells alone would have driven you crazy. I know, because I just happened to pop over that night.

Ah, come on. No, I didn't know they were having a special dinner, I just happened to go over to their place. Okay? I've got more couth than that, gimme a break.

I'll go on with the story now, if it's okay with you? Well, thank you. Uh, another beer wouldn't be bad either right about now would it? Don't be a spoilsport. I've already told you, I'll pay you Wednesday. Yes, I will, definitely, for sure. What do you want? I said I'll pay you.

As I was trying to say, dinner was great, and they were getting along just famously. You know what I mean, a little kissy kissy here, and a little kissy kissy there, a lot of secret smiles, and quick little hugs. I tell you, they were getting along tickeyboo. Moneywise they had almost enough for a down payment on a house, and jobwise he was pretty sure of a promotion in the not-too-distant future. Yeah, things couldn't have been rosier.

When dinner was finished she cleared the dishes then she brought out the piece de resistance. Voila! The carrot cake. He said, and I heard him, "I hate carrots."

Wow, did she get mad in a hurry. Her face got that mottled purple look? "Well, isn't somebody a killjoy. I worked hard on this dinner I'll have you know. Besides that, it's a cake, not a vegetable. But then some people might not know that."

She snatched up the plate with the cake on it from the table and screeched, "I bet the garbage can will enjoy it."

He grabbed at the plate and tried to pull it out of her hands. "Don't be stupid. You're overreacting again."

She yanked at the plate and the cake landed on the floor. There it was, that delicious carrot cake on the gleaming hardwood floor. Icing down. We just stood around and stared at it.

"It's your fault. You can clean that mess up. I'm not touching it," she said, finally.

"My fault? You know I hate carrots. Why would you make a cake with carrots, and then act so hissy when I won't eat it? Why couldn't you make an apple pie? Or blueberry cupcakes or something? Like any normal person would. Or is it too much to ask you to think?"

That did it. She took a giant step over the cake, marched through the kitchen, down the hall and into the bedroom. The whole apartment block probably heard the door slam. I distinctly heard her lock the door.

He ignored the cake and walked nonchalantly into the living room, sat on the couch, flicked on the TV and we watched basketball for the rest of the night.

The waiter took a long enough to bring the beer this time, eh? I guess it's getting pretty busy.

I didn't go back to their place for oh, maybe three or four months until one day he invited me back for dinner again, and maybe watch a game after. I forget which game, but that doesn't matter. When I got there I almost fell over. The cake was still on the dining room floor. As sure as I'm sitting here talking to you it's the truth. It looked all wizened and dried up, and even the icing looked hard and brittle. I swear it had grown into the wood. Yuck.

Talk about weird. We had a couple of drinks, then dinner and then watched the game. We chit chatted about this and that and the whole time that cake was in plain view, right on that floor. They acted like it wasn't there. But there it was, in front of our noses. It was too much for me, I only stayed for a couple more drinks then I went home. I heard they're talking divorce. All because of a cake. Can you believe it? You know, I really should phone and see how they're doing.

You're leaving so soon? Why don't you stick around for a while? Wednesday? Well of course I'll be here. I'm a man of my word. You know that. I'll see you Wednesday for sure.