Your Daughter's Favorite Birthday Cake

(CONTENT WARNING: DEATH OF A CHILD)

For the cake:

1 1/3 cups unbleached flour

1 ¼ cups sugar

1 ½ teaspoons baking powder

1 teaspoon baking soda

½ cup dutch-processed cocoa powder

½ teaspoon salt

½ cup buttermilk

½ cup vegetable oil

2 teaspoons vanilla extract

2 eggs

1 cup decaf coffee, hot

For the frosting:

2 sticks unsalted butter, softened

8 ounces cream cheese

6 cups confectioners sugar

½ cup dutch-processed cocoa powder

½ cup decaf coffee, cold

Pinch of salt

When your daughter asks for “the best cake ever” again, and even when she doesn’t ask for it—when she can’t ask for it— preheat the oven to three hundred and fifty degrees Fahrenheit. Prep two circular baking pans with a smear of vegetable oil. Try to remember your wife’s explanation on why oil worked better than butter for this part, but even if you can’t recall, trust her— she’s tasted your baking many times before and noticed the difference.

Sift the cocoa powder into a mixing bowl. The year she turns one, the chocolate cake will end up all over both her face and yours. The year she turns two, it’ll all go in her mouth. From year three onward, she will always ask you to make it again. And, when she asks you to say it again, always retell the story of how making this cake got mommy to fall for you back when your daughter was just a wish. She will love the story even more than she loves the cake, but not more than she loves you. When you tell yourself that she still loves you, say it in present tense.

Mix together the sifted cocoa powder, flour, sugar, baking powder, baking soda, and salt. When your daughter turns four, spread flour across the kitchen floor and let her make “snow angels.” When she turns five, let her sprinkle sugar as fairy dust while she runs around the kitchen in her pink glittery wings. You can clean the mess up later. Now is all that matters. Make sure to burn the sound of her laughter into your memory.

Mix in the buttermilk, oil, vanilla extract, and eggs. Don’t let her try buttermilk when she turns six, she won’t like it near as much as she does when it’s in the cake batter. Always let her taste the batter before you add the eggs. Take pictures when she’s seven and she gets spots of batter on her nose and chin. Always keep the photographs.

Pour in the coffee. Mix until the batter is smooth. Let her mix it when she’s becoming eight. Don’t let her try a sip of coffee when she’s nine, she won’t like it yet. Laugh when she spews it across the room. Apologize and explain how it makes the chocolate taste better, she’ll believe you.

Pour the cake batter into the two baking bans and bake for half an hour. She’ll eagerly watch it rise in the oven when she’s about to be ten, but she’ll be happy with smelling it bake from the living room when she’s turning eleven. Don’t let her try to take the pans out of the oven when she’s twelve, she’ll burn her arm. But you’ll take care of her injury well, and even with the bandages, she’ll still enjoy her birthday.

While it’s baking, make the frosting. Mix the softened butter and cream cheese together. Do not attempt something different and make a traditional buttercream, you will screw it up. Thankfully, your daughter is very patient and forgiving for a thirteen-year-old, though she’ll still make jokes about it when she’s fourteen.

Slowly mix in the cold coffee, sifted cocoa powder, confectioner’s sugar, and pinch of salt. Keep mixing until it’s smooth. Always let her have a little spoonful of it, too. Don’t worry when she’s fifteen and trying to diet, she will still want the cake and her sample of frosting.

Take the cakes out of the oven and brush them with a little more coffee. When your daughter turns sixteen, she will like drinking coffee. When you wake her up early with a fresh cup of it, don’t tell her you’ve fixed up that old car. Don’t even let her know it’s there. When she sees it and squeals and thanks you, tell her that you still need to check it over one more time. Apologize and say it’ll be just a little longer until it’s ready to go, excuse the delay by saying it’s for your own peace of mind. Don’t let her take it for a spin, no matter how many times she says please. If you have to, drive it yourself first. For her, it’s not a little test run, it’s not a short ride, it’s not harmless. Whatever you do, don’t let her drive the car.

Wait until the cakes are completely cool before assembling and frosting, or the frosting will melt. When you can’t tell if your wife is enraged or devastated that you’re making the cake on what would’ve been your daughter’s seventeenth birthday, let her scream and cry, but don’t be silent. Tell her that it would’ve felt wrong if you hadn’t made it. Tell her you can’t pretend it’s just another day. Don’t try to hide your own tears. When your wife apologizes, say something. Say anything. Admit that you blame yourself. You should’ve known it wasn’t ready. Don’t argue when she tells you you’re wrong. Believe her when she says you always did your best for your daughter. Forgive yourself for not being the one driving when the brakes failed.

Apply frosting liberally. When your wife offers to help, let her. Try not to notice how quiet the house is while you’re making cake together. Try not to let your eyes water. Do dab frosting on your wife’s cheek. Don’t be shocked when she gets you back, splattering it through your beard. Laugh together, even though it still hurts. Laugh together even though you both know that the guest of honor won’t be there. Try to imagine she’d be happy to see you both like this, still together despite how hard it’s been. She always loved the story of how you stole her mom’s heart with your baking. It was a large part of why she loved that cake so much, you’re sure. Even on the years when you made mistakes, she always understood that you put your entire heart into baking her favorite cake. You must always, always put your entire heart into baking it. Love has always been the most important ingredient.

The final step is to cut the cake, serve it, and enjoy it, even though it’s hard when she should be celebrating turning eighteen. But, don’t try to stop wondering how it would be if she were still here. Don’t stop asking yourself if she would’ve wanted this same cake for every birthday beyond the ones she had, if she’d have wanted it for her graduation party, or even as an extra dessert at her wedding. You cannot be expected to stop wondering these things. You cannot stop your grief any more than you can stop loving her, and this day will never stop being her birthday. When you and your wife eat it together, savor the flavors in every bite, just as she always did, and remember. Remember the date when you were nervous and clumsy, but you managed to bake the cake, and your girlfriend loved it so much you were somehow sure she’d become your wife. Remember every time you ever made the cake for your daughter, at first because it was the recipe you were most confident with, then because she always wanted this specific one. Remember her joy every time she got to help you bake it, every time you and your wife ever sang happy birthday to her, every time she ever blew out the candles. Remember her, miss her, love her the same as you always have, and celebrate that she was here.

And above all, remember she always loved this cake, but she never loved it more than she loved you.