Click to Subscribe - By L. M. Augustine Page 0,52
will fall off this cliff of happiness, at least for a while. And yes, it will feel like my heart is being ripped apart over again, but it won’t even matter, because I will have been with her.”
I close my eyes and look away, my whole body a mess of energy and mixed emotions. Then, without thinking, I turn off the camera, sync the recording to my computer, take a deep breath, and upload it.
***
“West!” Dad calls from downstairs a few minutes later. “Dinner! Now!” I sigh and stand up. Time to make him dinner. Again. I stumble down the stairs, my head throbbing, and turn into the kitchen.
But this time, Dad isn’t sitting on the table with his beer, waiting for me to do all his work for him. In fact, all of the beers are tucked in the corner of the room, near the recycling, and Dad is standing in the kitchen, wearing Mom’s old apron and holding up a spatula. I stare at him, and he forces a small smile as he holds out a piece of chicken.
“I made dinner,” is all he says.
Chapter 17
It hits me the second I swing open the front door on my way back from school the next day. Cat’s birthday. It’s tomorrow.
Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. It’s really her birthday tomorrow, isn’t it? And I forgot. I’ve been so focused on everything else that I completely forgot my best friend’s birthday. I haven’t even gotten her anything.
Yep. I’m officially the worst friend ever.
But after everything else I’ve screwed up, there is no way I’m ruining her birthday of all things.
In a flash, I throw my backpack inside, mumble to my dad that I’m going to get Cat a gift even though I know he can’t hear me, turn, and run back out the door. I’m many things, but “poor present giver” is not one of them. I’m basically the king of presents, and I plan to stay that way.
I climb into Dad’s old pickup truck, slam the door, turn on the ignition, and start driving. I almost hit our mailbox as I back out, but I don’t care. I press my foot on the accelerator and speed down the road to the supermarket, because that’s where all the true present-giving badasses go. One red light, one downed stop sign, and two near-dead old ladies later (I’m still not entirely sure how I passed the driver’s test…) I skid into the grocery store parking lot.
“This’ll be the best damn birthday present you’ve ever seen, Cat Davenport,” I mutter to myself as I push open the door, step out of the car, and walk inside the store. The supermarket itself is less “super” than it is a market, with its mere four cramped aisles of food. At the very least, however, it has what I need. The lights flicker above me as I walk, and I appear to be the only customer in here aside from the creepy old man standing in the corner. I go for the cake supplies immediately. Cat loves cake almost as much as I love ice cream. But even more than that, she loves cake when someone bakes it for her. I remember how her face lit up last year, when I made her the most kickass Dora the Explorer cake known to man, how she shrieked and danced and grinned at me. Just the thought of her looking so happy brings a smile to my lips.
On top of the standard cake supplies I grab Oreos, chocolate icing, and a packet of sour gummy worms, her favorite toppings. I also slip in a bag of cookie dough for myself because hey, a guy’s got to eat.
When I’m back home, I head to the kitchen, dump out the eggs and sugar and the rest of the groceries into a large white bowl, and begin my cake cooking expedition. Dad isn’t in the kitchen for once, and that I am thankful for. He’s probably passed out on the sofa in the family room, though, which is not exactly something I want to get myself into now. So I distract myself with cooking. Next I get out the butter, the Oreos, and start preparing the cake.
There is no way I’m screwing up Cat’s birthday, too, I tell myself as I work. There. Is. No. Way.
It takes a few hours of cooking mastery before the cake is finally ready, but when it’s done, the cake is, let’s be honest here, fan-fucking-tastic.