Good Cake

The day was special, unlike any other. Of course, there had been birthdays before, and seventy-two wasn’t exactly a special number, but it was the present that made the day so special. A warming, heartfelt thing that was not easily acquired. Robert had spent months putting all the pieces in place, but it was worth it in the end. His father was going to love it and, in turn, love him. At least, more than his stupid brother Mitch, who surely got their old man another useless set of tools. Robert had never been an adept liar, nor a good secret keeper, so the fact no one had discovered him made the situation all the sweeter.

Vernon Hurst, the paterfamilias of the Hurst clan was and had always been a hard man. Born an immigrant in a nation that hated immigration. Vernon was suckered into the draft when he was eighteen. The war did what wars do and coming home to enjoy the rigors of hard labor did not help any. Vernon was a man who suffered harsh realities so that his children could grow up knowing nothing of hunger or strife.

He resented them for it. Resented their childhood. There was no war or work to be done. He resented that they got to be children when so many others did not. He resented their softness and the fact they had spread it to his grandchildren. Robert had long suspected his father of being incapable of love, but this time he was sure his efforts would soften him, if only for a moment. He was so certain of his success, in fact, he offered up his own home for the party.

Everyone was doing their part for the big day. The wife, Peggy, handled the catering. They made sure to have all his father’s favorites, even the stuff he wasn’t allowed to have anymore. The children, lazy good-for-nothings, had been bribed into helping clean and decorate. They were well on their way to the best birthday ever.

Robert, feeling overly clever, had a few of his cousins spend the morning with Vernon to keep him away from the house and anyone that may have been tasked with helping. The usual relations and family friends had been invited and were beginning to show. Robert, a smile wide across his face, greeted them at the door.

From there he was hailed with Oh, my! and Wow! and You went all out! Of course, their praise meant nothing. Less than nothing in some cases. Especially when compared to his father’s. Robert had made Vernon happy on few occasions, proud even fewer. Today was going to be a good day, even if someone had to die to make it happen.

Eventually, his brother showed up. He was late, of course, which was no doubt intentional. Son-of-a-bitch Mitch as Robert had always called him. The son of bitch in question was not nearly as impressed with his efforts as the other guests had been, though, even if he was, he would never have admitted it. Robert chalked it up to jealousy and moved on. Mitch had always been a jackass, his wife and kids were no better, but nothing was going to dampen his spirits, not before Vernon received his gift at least.

The evening was all set and things were going to plan perfectly. When Robert got the call, he knew things were finally ready to go. He had tasked a friend from work to make sure the gift arrived on time. It cost him extra and Peggy was going to be extremely upset, but her happiness and the expense meant nothing, not on that day. If all went well, he’d happily ride the couch as long as he needed to.

With both his father and the gift on the way, Robert began to get the partygoers into position. When the big moment came the old man was not the least bit surprised, the cousins likely told him ahead of time, but Robert could tell the old man appreciated the effort he went to. Vernon did his rounds, shaking hands and kissing grandchildren.

Robert had the caterers set the tables. He had all of Vernon’s favorites from around town and a special cake made just for him.

After a while, the party seemed to be going well, better than Robert had hoped. It was as good a time as any to unveil his gift, so, once there was a lull in the festivities, Robert decided to go ahead and pull the trigger on the big surprise, but not before making a big speech.

“Thank you all for coming, I’ll make this quick, I promise,” Robert began. “At the age of seventy-two you have lived a good life.” Robert addressed his father directly. “You had a wonderful wife, who, sadly, could not be here today, a few good children, and many wonderful grandchildren. Even so, I’ve heard you say that one of your few regrets was never making it back to the old country. So, I decided to bring the old country to you.” With a showman’s wave, Robert drew the crowd’s attention to the back door.

From there appeared a man as if on cue. He was similar in build and age to Vernon, though the similarities did not stop there. It was obvious to all that the two men were closely related.

Vernon, speechless for the first time in his life, stared in wonder as the man entered the room. Slowly, he rose from his prominent seat at the dinner table and crossed the room to see the gift his son had gone through so much trouble to bring to them. Robert wasn’t certain, but for a moment he would have sworn he saw a tear forming in his father’s eye.

The two old men met in the middle of the room with Robert standing between them. The smile on his face was enough for the three of them. Robert never heard the full story, but he knew that Vernon hadn’t seen his family in over fifty years. Sadly, the only remaining relative he could find was a single brother. The rest had died many years before. He spent weeks looking for the man, another few weeks communicating with him, and more planning the trip down to the very minute they were standing in. All morning he had been wondering what the first thing they’d say to each other would be. He imagined a hug at the very least, but figured a tearful embrace would secure his position of favorite son rather well.

Vernon took a moment to look the man over. Seemingly to make sure his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him in his old age. Robert had only seen his father’s happy face a handful of times in his life and for a moment it seemed he was going to see it again.

The moment passed quickly, and Robert saw something he was intimately familiar with. Suddenly, as if an unexpected storm rolled in, his father became enraged.

“You son of bitch!” Vernon screamed at the man. Fuming, he did something Robert could not have possibly foreseen.

From his pocket, Vernon produced a small pistol. Caliber wasn’t large but it was more than enough to do the job. Robert didn’t have time to wonder why his father was packing heat at his own party before the barrel was in his estranged uncle’s face. For some reason, he’d never be able to answer why, Robert reached out and grabbed the gun at the last moment. It cost him two fingers, but it saved his uncle’s face.

His Uncle, like his father, had a similar idea. While Robert was screaming and desperately trying to find his fingers, his Uncle tagged Vernon low in the gut with a knife he had pocketed from the kitchen. Unbeknownst to Robert, or anyone else for that matter, this was not the first time a blade tasted Vernon’s blood, especially at the hands of a relative.

Like any normal, sane people, the guests had all lit out as soon as the shooting started. Mitch had left him to handle the mess he had made, likely with a smile on his face. Peggy took the children and ran, calling the cops as she went. None of this came as a surprise. Robert was in shock and many of the details would be missing from the story when he’d retell it later. The only thing he knew for sure was that he’d been shot, and his father and uncle made a helluva mess.

According to the official report, his uncle was stabbed four times—twice with the knife, once with a serving fork, and once with a chicken bone that Vernon had somehow weaponized. Vernon had forty-three pieces of glass removed from his back and hind parts, a thing he insisted Robert leave out of the story during retellings. They had broken not one, but two thick glass coffee tables that Peggy had special ordered. Aside from Vernon’s, now permanent, hip damage he had to endure Peggy’s ire same as his son. His uncle was damn near blinded by mashed potatoes; Robert learned from the report that his father did not fight fair and would need a new knee by the time it was all over.

If he was being honest, which was one thing he could not be, he was upset to have missed it. It wasn’t every day he got to see his father and uncle fight to the death. Robert often imagined his and Mitch’s relationship ending in much the same way.

In the end, Robert came too just in time to see his father roll off his uncle's prone form and climb into his chair at the table. It was a slow, wheezing ascent, but the old man made it. Vernon was obviously hurt, bleeding from multiple wounds, but he'd clearly won whatever war had been decades in the making.

Robert's uncle lay motionless on the destroyed floor, though his chest still rose and fell.

The old man sat there for a moment, collecting himself and surveying the wreckage. Robert could hardly believe what happened next. With his unbroken hand, Vernon calmly picked up a fork and dug into the tower of German chocolate cake, which had somehow survived the carnage.

Blood from his split lip mixed with the frosting, turning it a sickish pink. "Good cake," Vernon said between labored breaths, nodding approvingly at his son. "Worth every penny."

It wasn't quite the "I love you" that Robert had been hoping for, but under the circumstances, he'd take it.