Make Me Bad - R.S. Grey Page 0,2
With a pop of her gum, she adds, “Is it cool if I take some cake for my boyfriend? He has a total sweet tooth.”
That’s cool. Her boyfriend likes sweets and my boyfriend doesn’t exist. I grumble at her to take as much as she wants and then get to work slicing it. It feels good to stab something.
“What flavor is this, Mrs. Allen?” Eli asks, inspecting the strange, murky brown color of the cake sitting on his paper plate.
“Pumpernickel.”
Makes sense. Why wouldn’t you make someone’s birthday cake out of rye bread? Vanilla? Pah. Too generic and delicious.
“But,” she continues, “I didn’t have any baking soda, so I just added an extra cup of flour.”
Oh dear. I force down exactly one forkful, plaster on a large, appreciative smile, and am eternally grateful when Mrs. Allen flakes out soon after Katy with an excuse that her bunions are killing her. The second she turns, I spit the cake into a napkin and shudder from the taste.
“Oh my god, make it stop,” I groan, dropping my head to Eli’s bicep.
He pats my arm as if to say, There, there. “Wish I could, but birthdays are birthdays. We all have to endure them. Besides, this one isn’t so bad. Remember when Jared left me on my 23rd and I got so drunk I cried on his front porch and then puked on his doormat? When he asked me about it the next day, I lied and told him some high school kids were going around town doing that as a prank.”
“Yeah, that wasn’t your best moment, but now you have Kevin and he’s great.”
His features immediately glaze over as he adopts a lovesick swoon. “True. He was worth the heartache. Which reminds me…”
He turns to me, his thick black-framed glasses barely hiding the guilt lurking behind them as his frown turns into a blatant please-don’t-kill-me smile.
He’s about to ditch me on my birthday.
“Don’t hate me, but Kevin called after work. Apparently, he’s had a terrible day and—” I must look pitiful because he cuts off his sentence, shakes his head, and reaches for his phone in the pocket of his jeans. “No. You know what? I’m just going to tell him I’ll be home later. It’s your birthday! We have movie plans!”
I reach out and rest my hand on his forearm. “No, you should go. Kevin needs you, and I’m sure it’s important.”
His brows scrunch together. “You sure? I really don’t want to leave you—”
His phone rings and I know it’s his fiancé because his face drops. I urge him to take the call and the second it connects, I can hear Kevin upset on the other end. He’s a fireman. He does important work. I feel terrible, and I won’t let Eli stay to help clean up the party. Besides, there’s not much to do—most of the streamers have already been ground to dust. I gesture for him to go. Get. I’d kick his butt if I was flexible enough to reach it.
He shakes his head and mouths, “It’s your birthday!” but I scoot around him and plant my hands against his shoulder blades so I can shove him toward the door. He turns back and covers the phone with his hand. “I’m sorry, Madison. I’ll make it up to you. I promise!”
I stand at the door, watching him leave, thinking to myself how adorable he and Kevin are. They’re both good-looking and in shape. They have a dog they dote on, and they frequent farmers markets and brunch spots. Their life is worthy of a magazine spread, and my life is maybe worthy of a footnote near the back, after the Sudoku puzzles and spot the difference pictures. My gaze catches on my reflection in the glass door.
Oh my god.
Surely that’s not me.
This woman standing before me has a mustard stain on her blouse from her lunch. Her jeans are loose around her hips and a little too long. Her dark brown hair is a wild mess, going in every direction as if each strand is trying to jump ship.
I hold my hand up and my reflection does the same.
NO. Ugh. I whip around, turning my back on the terrifying image.
If you’d told me half an hour ago that my birthday party could get even sadder, I wouldn’t have believed you.
It’s already close to eight o’clock, but I don’t rush with cleanup. There’s no point. I tear down the streamers one at a time and toss them into the trash. The