I remove the orange juice from the door shelf and step beside her, grab a glass from the cupboard above. Pour my juice and then turn to face her. My gaze drops to Miri’s belly. By my judgement, there isn’t any baby belly to speak of. Not yet, anyway.
“Water, huh?” I say. “Not juice like me?” I raise my glass.
“Clearing my palette in preparation of the many sweet cakes we will be tasting within the hour,” she replies. I nod, glance at her belly once more. Her explanation makes sense. Maybe it’s the truth and there’s nothing more to her choice to drink water.
“Michael’s here,” Grandma calls from the other room.
“Great.” Miri sets her glass on the counter and rushes to meet our brother.
The moment Michael steps through the door, Bastian is all over him, nipping at his heels.
“Get off me, you stupid animal.” Michael shakes him off and nudges him away, but the cat refuses to be so easily thwarted, coming back for more. “What is up with this stupid flea bag?”
Miri and I stand at a distance, watching the crazy cat attack our brother.
“I honestly don’t know,” Miri says and turns to me. “Did I tell you he was in a funny mood?”
“This looks like more than a funny mood,” I reply.
“Well, whatever is wrong with this guy, I need to put some distance between us.” Michael pulls back his leg, as if preparing to spring forward and give Bastian a swift kick.
Miri rushes forward, grabs Michael’s arm, and spins him toward the door. “Then let’s not waste any more time.” They move onto the porch, and I hear her say under her breath that she had better never catch him causing any harm to Bastian. She then glances back at me. “Could you grab my purse?” I nod, grab her purse.
Within minutes, the three of us are in the car and on our way to the bakery. I ask about Phillip, figuring he would want to have a say in which cake we choose, and I’m informed he’ll meet us there.
The baker is expecting us, and a selection of cakes have been prepared, with samples set out for the tasting. There’s chocolate, vanilla, red velvet, ginger spice, lemon, key lime, pink champagne, and bananas foster, to name a few.
We are each handed a fork and told to take our time. Deciding on the perfect cake for a forever union is serious business. The baker’s assistant gives my brother an odd glance before disappearing into the back.
Every single day, Michael wears a constant reminder of the time Caleb attempted to do us in. A large facial scar received when the house collapsed. I have grown accustomed to the newer look, even find it gives him a bit of a badass appeal. But to others, I guess it can be a bit surprising.
“They all look so amazingly delicious. How will I ever decide?” Miri whispers, regarding the cakes and ignoring the assistant.
Michael digs his fork into the ginger spice, savors the sample in his mouth. “Good stuff,” he says with a nod and a smile. “But maybe you should choose the cake based on what it says about you.”
“What do you mean?” Miri tests the chocolate, and I start with the pink champagne.
“Well.” Michael stabs the air with his fork, clears his throat. “You could go with that chocolate because it is dark like your world.” Miri’s mouth drops open. “Or, decide on the vanilla because it is pure like Phillips complete lack of knowledge of what he is venturing into.” Miri’s chin lurches forward. “Red velvet to symbolize the blood that will be shed in the Quarter in honor of your union.”
“That’s enough.” Miri clenches a fist and steps forward. “Why are you being so mean?”
Michael laughs. Grabs her shoulder and gently shakes her. “Relax. I’m just having fun with you. If I don’t, who will?” Miri’s lips curve into a crooked frown.
The door of the shop swings open, and Michael’s gaze is drawn past her to the newcomer.
“Not too late, I hope,” Phillip says.
Michael leans forward and whispers. “Or, here’s a thought. Go with the cookies and cream to symbolize Phillip’s ability to soften your rough edges.” Miri gasps and Michael sets down his plate with cake sample, pushes past us, and greets Phillip with a shoulder slap and lightning speed man-hug. “Hey man, good to see you.”
I give Phillip a hug and Miri gives him a kiss.
“You’re right on time,” she says.
“We just got here,” I interject.
“Plenty of time to weigh in on the decision-making process.” Miri hands Phillip a plate with cake sample. “Did you have a flavor already in mind?”
“Maybe.” He takes a bite of the sample Miri provided. Its bananas foster. So very quintessentially French Quarter. He swallows, savors the flavors, and shakes his fork-held hand, as if the motion will quicken the clearing of his mouth and throat. “This is good,” he finally says. “But I was thinking of maybe going with a spiked red velvet cake.” He delivers the statement as if it is a question.
Michael shoots Miri a sideways, brow-raised peer.
Michael may have forever ruined my thoughts on red velvet cake, relating it to the shedding of blood. I will have to steer Phillip toward something else.
As the baker requested, we take our time, slowly narrowing down to five, then three, and finally two. The wedding is planned to be a small gathering and one tier would likely suffice, but Miri and Phillip decide on a two-tier cake so that they may have two flavors.
Chocolate dream on the base and spiked red velvet on top.
Phillip and Miri fill out the required forms and settle the down payment. He then kisses her on the cheek, tells her he’ll see her tonight, and dashes out the door… back to more fireman training exercises, or something. His career choice is another thing that has been molded by Caleb’s actions. I’m not so sure Phillip
