Tiramisu

Chloe watched the tiramisu cake glide through the air. Time expanded, as if her life had been captured in a slow-motion video. The feeling reminded Chloe of all those nature documentaries she and Brad used to watch about birds of prey, with their silent wings and sharp eyes, hunting for food. When the creamy layers of tiramisu landed on Brad’s face, decorating the stubble around his frown with bits of mascarpone cheese and cocoa powder, Chloe was half hoping for the camera crew to erupt from a closet.

“We’re filming women’s wild emotions,” some filmmaker with a Crocodile Dundee hat would explain. “It’s the only wilderness mankind hasn’t explored yet.”

“Chloe!” Brad said her name in a firm tone. Too firm, if Chloe was being honest, for a middle-aged man covered in layers of cake.

Chloe blinked. She was still waiting for the camera crew to appear and explain what, exactly, had happened.

When Chloe was a young girl, she had developed a problem — her family had once referred to it as an addiction, but what did they know — ripping her older sister’s doll heads off their bodies. Chloe had no recollection of committing this crime, but she’d always remember the shrieks from her sister’s bedroom whenever another victim was discovered.

It sounded more sociopathic than it was. After years of digging deep and even talking with a therapist, Chloe concluded that she’d simply been a child investigating her surroundings. Her younger self hadn’t been trying to inflict pain on those dolls. She had simply wanted to take them apart to discover what lurked inside.

Now Chloe stared at her boyfriend’s messy face and felt like she was experiencing one of those black outs. She had no recollection of throwing her birthday cake, let alone unpacking it. Yet the empty cardboard box was clutched in her hand, and the remnants of tiramisu were splattered across the dining room floor.

What Chloe did remember was offering to pick up her birthday cake from the bakery. Brad had claimed he was stressed with work, and Chloe had wanted to lighten his load. Besides, picking up her own birthday cake had practically become a ritual for Chloe. Year after year, she’d select the tiramisu flavor, light a candle, and make the same birthday wish: Please let me find a relationship that lasts. Of course, her belief in birthday wishes had begun to dwindle somewhere between her thirtieth and thirty-fifth birthday, but for as long as she had the cake, she allowed herself to indulge in the nostalgic feeling.

This year, Chloe had practically skipped across the city to her favorite bakery. It was the same one she returned to every year. She appreciated the neon lights of its retro-looking sign that read “Baked Fresh Daily”. Those words reminded Chloe of all the people gathering across the city, day after day, to pick up their freshly baked treat and feel more hopeful with every bite. Now, for her thirty-sixth birthday, that wish felt closer than ever to becoming true. Chloe had finally met a man, Brad, who knew exactly what he wanted, and it was her. They had been dating for mere months, and already they’d been giggling over sparkly engagement rings and imagining how they’d redecorate all the open houses they attended. Within the past few weeks, they had even begun to share baby names.

Hours earlier, at the birthday brunch Brad had arranged, Chloe’s friends had been ecstatic about the possibilities of her relationship.

“After the last guy you dated, you deserve a man who’s assured like this. You two are definitely getting married!”

“Maybe he’ll propose tonight!”

When Chloe had turned the key to Brad’s apartment and opened the door to a walkway of rose petals, she wondered if her friends were right. With a loud, beating heart, Chloe had followed those fallen petals right to Brad’s dining table.

Yes, Chloe remembered all of this. Most of all, she remembered seeing Brad sitting at the dining table and smiling at the woman across from him. The woman had smooth blonde hair and an expensive white smile. She reminded Chloe of all those doll heads lying in her older sister’s bedroom.

“Chloe…” Brad said again, bringing her back to the present catastrophe. His voice was softer this time, as if he was talking to someone delicate. Or maybe deranged.

Chloe opened her mouth, but it was too dry to speak. She looked toward the blonde woman as if she would help Chloe find the right words.

The woman stood up and smoothed invisible crumbs from her pink dress. “I’ll see myself out.”

Chloe listened to the unhurried click of the woman’s kitten heels across the hardwood floor. The sound filled the space that now lingered between Chloe and Brad.

Chloe braced herself for the inevitable apology. Brad wiped his face with the linen napkins Chloe had gifted him weeks prior. As Chloe watched Brad attempt to clean his expression, her mind began racing for ways to respond - forgive and forget? Move to a new city? Chase after the woman and exchange information?

Was he sharing baby names with you too? she’d ask.

Instead, Brad gathered his cake-stained eyebrows and asked, “Why aren’t you at the spa? I booked you a massage at five.”

Chloe’s jaw nearly joined the tiramisu on the floor. Before her mind could waste any more time, Chloe found herself racing across the apartment, through the door, and down the hallway until she reached the elevator doors.

“Excuse me!” she called as the elevator opened with its familiar chime.

The woman turned her head.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Chloe tried to make the question sound like a demand, but she was hunched over to catch her breath.

The woman eyed Chloe as if she were trying to remember the name of a familiar face.

Chloe scanned her mind for memories. Had they met before? Was this woman one of Brad’s friends? Had Brad showed this woman a picture of Chloe? Had Chloe misread the whole situation, and this woman was a distant family member?

The woman raised an eyebrow. “Why are you worrying about where I’m going? I’m leaving. Your boyfriend’s in there.”

“You didn’t seem at all surprised about me,” Chloe’s voice started to tremble. “How long have you two been seeing each other?”

“You’re asking the wrong—"

“I know, I know. You think I should confront my boyfriend, but it takes two to tango, you know!”

The woman re-pressed the elevator button.

“Will you at least help me confront him? You and I both know he’ll lie.”

“So, you’re trusting a stranger instead of your boyfriend. Doesn’t that tell you everything you need to know?”

“It’s my birthday,” Chloe blurted. “Please. I’ve been through so many relationships. I thought this guy would finally be the one!”

When the woman didn’t respond, Chloe continued. “Do you know how many bridal showers I’ve been to?” she said through squinted eyes. “Baby showers? Do you know how many candles I’ve blown out, wishing for a relationship that lasts? I’m thirty-six years old now. When is it going to be my turn!”

With a forlorn expression that could only be described as pity, the woman sighed. “All right then, lead the way.”

When the women re-entered Brad’s apartment, the remnants of tiramisu cake were still splattered across the floor. Brad emerged from his bedroom, dabbing his freshly washed face with a towel.

“You came back!” he exclaimed.

Chloe tried following Brad’s gaze to determine who his excitement was for, but it seemed to linger somewhere between her and the other woman.

“We’re both back,” Chloe said through inflamed cheeks.

Brad and the woman looked at Chloe as if waiting for further instruction.

“Speak!” Chloe barked.

“Well, what do you want us to…”

“How long have you two been seeing each other?”

Brad eyed the woman, who reciprocated with an equally vague stare.

“Well, what do you even think is going on?” Brad asked.

Chloe felt her body tense. Had she misread the situation? Her mouth parted open, but the woman rolled her eyes.

Brad looked from the woman to Chloe. “Look, we just met—"

“Over a month ago,” the woman interjected.

Brad groaned. “Yes, Maeve, that still means we just met.”

Chloe flinched upon hearing the woman’s name. She would have much rather known this woman as “the other woman in the tacky pink dress” for the rest of her days. Now she had to confront the fact that “the other woman” was a whole other human, with a whole other stunning name. She started to fan the sweat — or maybe it was tears — from her face.

“The jig is up, Brad,” said the other woman. Maeve. “You were sloppy enough to get caught, so fess up!”

“I wasn’t sloppy. She’s supposed to be at the spa right now!”

“Oh yeah?” Chloe heard her voice rise, “Well, you got the date wrong, Brad! You booked the appointment for Sunday, not Saturday. Sounds pretty sloppy to me.”

Fear began to settle into the sharp wrinkles around Brad’s eyes.

“Why’d you two have an affair? Huh?” Chloe pleaded. “You wanted to have your cake and eat it too?”

When neither of them responded, Chloe tried to steady her breath, but it was no use. Her voice wavered with every word. “Well now try eating the cake!” she yelled, barreling past Brad, toward the tiramisu on the ground. She began scooping pieces of tiramisu and flinging them at Brad and Maeve. “Eat your stone-cold hearts out!”

Maeve shrieked. Something about the sound stopped Chloe in her tracks. She scanned her surroundings. The fearful expression on Brad’s cake-stained face. The look of horror on Maeve’s as she flicked a piece of icing off her pink dress. Chloe saw the scene before her and couldn’t help but rock her head back in a snarled, maniacal laugh that startled even herself.

Maybe I am a sociopath, she wondered through the deep, haunting sound.

“Oh, what?” she continued to laugh. “You’re all scared of me now? All it takes is a few pieces of cake, huh? Suddenly lost your appetites, did ya?” As her laughter faded into the stunned silence, Chloe’s world grew blurry. “At least I didn’t break your hearts!”

In a quick rush, tears began to fall down her cheeks. Chloe sobbed into her hands, noticing the remains of cake stubbornly clinging to her fingers. She took a bite of these remains, trying to feel their sugar-coated hope, before she remembered they had been on the ground. The realization only made her sob harder.

“Look, I feel bad. I really do. But I don’t have time for a whole performance,” Maeve said. “I’m on call tonight, for crying out loud.”

“On call?” Brad’s frozen expression twisted into confusion. “For what? You told me you were a receptionist.”

Maeve brought her fingertips to the bridge of her nose. “Right. Well, the truth is, I’m a cardiothoracic surgeon.”

Chloe threw her arms in the air. “Of course you are!”

“Why lie?” asked Brad.

“Good question, Brad!” Chloe cried.

Brad’s eyes widened at the sight of Chloe, before he returned his attention to Maeve. “I’m not one of those men intimidated by strong women, you know.”

Maeve raised her hand in a “stop” position. “When I tell people what I do for a living, they suddenly want to discuss their every ache and pain.”

With a heavy sigh, she looked at Chloe, who was now wiping her cocoa powdered hands across Brad’s beige walls. “You should be checking on your girlfriend, you know.”

“Chloe, what are you doing!” Brad yelled.

“You know what this spells, Brad?” Chloe forced herself to breathe as she stepped back to admire her work. “Over. Because after today, we are over.”

She blew her nose into a linen napkin. “I really thought you’d be the one.”

“And I can be!” Brad said. He softened his voice and stepped toward her as if she were an animal who had escaped from the zoo. “Look, I can forgive the artwork on the wall. I can! Chlo-coa bean, I made a mistake. It was a moment of weakness. Can you forgive me?”

Chloe looked at Brad through red, puffy eyes. Pieces of tiramisu were trapped in his hair and stuck to his face, but beneath those pieces, he was still Brad, right? Chloe tried to conjure memories of this man in her mind. Their inside jokes, their late night conversations. Wasn’t this the same man who had promised her a future, a relationship that would last?

Could a month be considered a moment? Chloe wondered. After all, didn’t everyone have moments of weakness through life? Wasn’t true love the emotion that survived such moments?

Chloe took one last look at her birthday cake written on the walls and smeared across the hardwood floors. Was it too late to clean up the mess they had made? The click of Maeve’s kitten heels walking across the same floors that Chloe had once believed she’d call home snapped her out of her trance.

“Wait!” Chloe said, following the sound with her gaze. “I’m coming with you.”

“Well, come on, then,” Maeve said beneath her breath.

“Chloe, don’t go! It meant nothing. I promise you.”

Brad’s pleas followed Chloe out the door, but they could no longer be heard once the women were inside the elevator.

“Well, that was… something,” Maeve said into the silence.

“Why did you do it?” Chloe blurted. “Why did you help him have an affair?”

“Do you know how hard it is to date with my schedule? Most of the men available are in situations like this. Of course, they tell me they’re single, or in your case, nothing serious…”

“We were picking out baby names!”

“Well, I didn’t see a baby, Chloe. Better yet, I didn’t see a shred of another woman in that apartment. I’ve been going there for a month, and I didn’t see so much as an extra toothbrush laying around,” Maeve said, shaking her head. “Of course, I always have my suspicions, but you can’t blame me for believing what I saw.”

“We were planning to move in together. He didn’t like the idea of a gradual move in…” Chloe let the sentence hang in the air. There was nowhere for the excuse to land in the cramped elevator.

The elevator chimed and the doors opened to the black and white tiled lobby. When they stepped out, Chloe didn’t know if she should hug the woman good-bye or run away from her.

“Why do you think he did it?” Chloe heard herself wondering.

Maeve raised her eyebrows. “Honestly?”

Chloe held her breath, waiting for the doctor’s diagnosis of her heartbreak.

“I have no idea. I don’t try to figure out what’s lurking in other people’s minds. I observe what’s right in front of me, and I determine what’s happening in mine.

Maeve put a gentle hand on Chloe’s shoulder. “Good luck to you.”

When Chloe released herself into the harsh sunlight, she let her chest rise and collapse in a deep breath. Her feet carried her across the littered city sidewalks until a familiar neon sign caught her eye.

“Baked Fresh Daily,” it read. With another breath, Chloe entered the bakery. She joined the long line of people ready to buy their special treat that would mark their life milestones. Chloe almost felt hopeful as she waited in line. Smells of cream and sugar wafted through her nose, helping her believe that she could get lost in her own senses and leave this day, and the past few months, behind.

One glance from the baker, however, and his untamed eyebrows gathered into a look of concern.

“Was there something wrong with the cake?” he asked, his voice carrying over the long line of people.

Chloe felt more than a few customers’ eyes glancing her way. She became conscious of how she must have appeared. Her red, swollen eyelids. The streaks of mascara leaving dark trails down her cheeks.

“Something was definitely wrong,” she said through a sniffle. Flashbacks of her flinging the pieces of tiramisu at her boyfriend and Dr. Maeve flooded her mind.

Maybe everyone did have moments of weakness in life, she considered. And true love was the emotion that survived such moments. Maybe that’s exactly why she was here, alone with a mascara-streaked face, still waiting in line at her favorite bakery to buy herself a birthday cake.

“Something was wrong,” she repeated. “But not with the cake.”

Before she could burst into bittersweet tears, the baker called her to the front of the line. As he packaged a fresh tiramisu cake into a blank white box, Chloe imagined taking the birthday cake back to her apartment and lighting herself a candle to make the same wish she had been making year after year. A relationship that would last.

When she left the bakery with her hands clutching the box, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the glass window and observed what was right in front of her: her wish had been granted all along.