Page 14 of Fated

It hits with a whoomph, a squelch, and then settles into a pile of frosted, cakey goop.

“Oh no,” Mila whispers, her lips covered in cake crumbs.

“You might clean that up,” Daniel says to Max. “Show Buttercup your hoovering abilities.”

“Sorry, Mummy.” Mila stares at the cake. Her lips wobble. The lemony chiffon looks for all the world like a crushed sandcastle.

I tug her to me and hug her close. “Don’t worry. There’s still the Victoria sponge. It’s orange and almond.”

Mila looks at me with hopeful eyes. “Two cakes! Do you think even though it isn’t your birthday that you’ll still get presents? I’ll sing you ‘Happy Birthday’ if you do.”

I smile and ruffle her hair. “Knowing your Grandma Buttercup, I’m certain I’ll get presents.”

At least, I’ll get a few Kinder Eggs.

Or maybe, judging by the look on my mum’s face, something more.

6

Max and Daniel are gone,Annemarie has left for the night, and Mila’s in bed. I lean back into the lumpy green-and-orange couch and twirl my glass of wine. watching the ruby-red color catch sparks of light.

My mum sits cross-legged on the couch next to me, her yellow dress flowing around her.

The ruined lemon chiffon was cleaned away, and the coffee table holds the remains of the Victoria sponge and our empty mugs of hot chocolate. Orange-and-white foil Kinder wrappers are crumpled and littered around the table. Plastic Kinder toys, as misshapen as ever, clump around the near empty cake platter.

I swipe my finger across my plate and gather up the rich double cream, the almond sponge crumbs, and a bit of raspberry jam. Then I pop my finger in my mouth. The sweetness and the tartness blend perfectly.

I sigh and smile at my mum.

“I’ll leave tomorrow morning,” she says, reaching for her cup of tea.

I nod. I didn’t expect her to even stay the night.

I curl my legs under me. My dress stretches over my knees, the light summer wool scratching my skin. It feels a bit like the emotions dragging over me. My mum always brings up a stewpot of emotions. Happiness, the desire of a little girl wanting her to stay, annoyance, discomfort at her unpredictability, fear that she’ll leave again, and then relief when she does.

“Where will you go?” I ask.

“Mmm. Chamonix, for a minute. I love the Alps in summer. Then I think I’ll drive down to Greece for a bit. I’ve been meaning to visit the Temple of Delphi.”

I think about her driving her old car through multiple countries and my stomach dips. “Do you need money for a new car?”

My mum sets down her teacup with a hard snick. Then she turns her censorious gaze on me. “You know how I feel about money. About material possessions. When old Henriette finally passes on to the great car afterlife, the universe will provide me another mode of transportation.”

“Yes, but the universe could provide you a new car right now. Through me.”

My mum ignores my suggestion. She’s always been this way. It’s why she refused alimony when she divorced my dad. Why she didn’t accept any child support. It’s why out of all of Dad’s ex-wives she was the only one who didn’t contest the miserly sum handed out to the exes in his will.

“You’ve done well with Mila. She’s a good girl. Very bright.”

I let my mum change the topic. “Thank you. I think so too.”

She catches the love in my tone and the smile on my face. “My spiritual advisor in Laos said you’re still angry with me for leaving you.”

My lungs pinch, and for a moment I’m robbed of breath. I sit still. Take a breath. Then, carefully, I set my wineglass on the table.

I turn to my mum. She is who she is—I accepted that a long time ago.

“Perhaps,” I say.

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