Chapter 2 - The Birthday Girl With a Dish Towel
Six hours earlier, Emily Carter had believed the worst part of turning fifteen would be having forty relatives sing to her.
She had been wrong before lunch.
The rented community hall smelled like vanilla frosting, floor cleaner, and the trays of baked pasta Vanessa Morgan had delivered before noon.
Blue and yellow balloons floated near the windows.
A banner hung above the gift table.
Emily had helped choose the colors two weeks earlier.
She had also helped make the guest list.
That was why it felt strange when she arrived at eleven thirty and found Vanessa directing workers as though it were a corporate banquet.
"Put your bag in the kitchen," Vanessa told her.
Emily stopped.
"My bag?"
"You're helping."
Emily glanced at the tables.
"I thought Mom said everything was already set up."
"Your mother isn't here yet."
Claire had texted that morning saying she had to stop by work for less than an hour.
She promised she would be at the hall before the first guests.
Emily looked at her phone.
No new message.
Vanessa pushed a white apron toward her.
"Put this on."
Emily laughed because she thought it was a joke.
Vanessa did not.
"Aunt Vanessa, it's my birthday."
"Exactly."
Emily waited.
"Exactly what?"
"You're fifteen now. Old enough to stop expecting people to serve you."
Emily stared at the apron.
"I didn't ask anybody to serve me."
"You asked for a party."
"Mom planned the party."
"And who do you think has been doing the work?"
Emily looked around.
Two catering employees were arranging trays.
One man was unfolding chairs.
Vanessa was holding a clipboard.
"I've been here since nine," Vanessa said. "You can survive carrying plates."
Emily did not want to fight.
That was one of the things Vanessa understood about her.
Emily hated scenes.
She hated raising her voice.
She especially hated arguing in front of adults who would later tell Claire that Emily had been disrespectful.
So she put on the apron.
At first, the tasks were small.
Set napkins.
Fill cups with ice.
Carry two trays of rolls.
Move wrapped gifts from one table to another because Vanessa decided the arrangement looked childish.
Then Vanessa gave Emily a wet cloth.
"Wipe every table again."
"They're already clean."
"Do it."
Emily cleaned them.
Her friend Maya arrived shortly after one.
Maya stood in the entrance carrying a silver gift bag.
"Why are you wearing an apron?"
Emily smiled weakly.
"Long story."
Vanessa appeared behind her.
"Emily, kitchen."
Maya raised an eyebrow.
"Isn't she supposed to be at her own party?"
Vanessa smiled sweetly.
"Family tradition."
It was not a family tradition.
Emily knew it.
Maya knew it.
Vanessa knew both girls knew it.
But Maya's mother was standing three feet away, so Emily simply said, "I'll be back."
She wasn't.
Every time Emily tried to leave the kitchen, Vanessa had another task.
Stack plates.
Bring cups.
Refill lemonade.
Move chairs.
Carry trash.
At one thirty, guests began arriving.
At one forty, Emily still had not sat down.
At one fifty, she finally removed the apron.
Vanessa immediately noticed.
"Put it back on."
"My friends are here."
"They can survive ten minutes without you."
"You said that forty minutes ago."
Vanessa's expression sharpened.
"Don't embarrass your mother."
Emily almost laughed.
She was standing in a catering apron while her classmates sat beneath birthday balloons with her gifts.
But somehow she was the person at risk of causing embarrassment.
She put the apron back on.
At two fifteen, Michael Reed arrived with the cake.
Emily was in the kitchen rinsing serving utensils and did not see him enter.
Michael carried the cake himself.
It was large enough to feed sixty people, even though Vanessa had insisted only forty would attend.
He placed it carefully on the serving table.
Vanessa approached.
Michael smiled.
"Where's the birthday girl?"
"Busy."
"I need her to check something."
"I'll do it."
Michael pulled the bakery order sheet from his folder.
"This inscription was prepaid, so I just need confirmation that the wording is correct."
Vanessa looked down.
Her expression changed.
Michael noticed.
The message was piped beautifully across the top.
Happy Fifteenth Birthday, Emily.
Beneath it, in smaller script:
Never let anyone make you small.
Vanessa stared for several seconds.
"Remove that."
Michael thought she meant the second sentence.
"The message?"
"All of it."
He looked at her.
"The name too?"
"Especially the name."
Michael's smile disappeared.
"The order was prepaid with instructions not to alter the inscription without written authorization."
"I'm family."
"That isn't written authorization."
Vanessa leaned closer.
"She's my niece."
"And?"
"And this party is being run by my company."
Michael calmly folded the order sheet.
"The cake was commissioned before today. I'm delivering what was ordered."
Vanessa's voice became colder.
"I'll handle it."
Michael looked at the cake.
Then at Vanessa.
"Don't damage my work."
She smiled.
"Wouldn't dream of it."
Michael left for his van to retrieve a box of spare serving knives and candles.
When he returned four minutes later, Vanessa was standing in front of the cake.
A metal icing spatula rested beside her hand.
The message was gone.
Not entirely.
A few faint blue marks remained beneath the scraped frosting.
Michael stopped walking.
Vanessa saw him.
"It was too sentimental."
"You did that?"
"I adjusted it."
Michael looked at the rough center.
"You destroyed the inscription."
"It's frosting."
"It wasn't yours."
Vanessa stepped between him and the cake.
"Send me your invoice."
"It was prepaid."
"Then you have nothing to complain about."
Michael did not argue.
Instead, he took out his phone.
Not to photograph Vanessa.
To photograph the cake.
Vanessa noticed.
"What are you doing?"
"Documenting a modification made after delivery."
Her eyes narrowed.
"Delete that."
"No."
Michael walked toward the kitchen.
That was when he first saw Emily.
She was balancing a heavy stack of plates.
One finger was wrapped in a fresh white bandage.
"What happened?"
Emily looked at the finger.
"Plate chipped."
Michael frowned.
"You're Emily?"
She smiled.
"Last time I checked."
He glanced toward the hall.
Then at her apron.
Then back toward the cake.
Something in his expression made Emily nervous.
"What?"
Michael hesitated.
He almost told her.
Then Vanessa entered.
"Emily, table seven needs clearing."
Michael looked at Vanessa.
Emily took a breath and walked past him.
At table seven, three distant relatives handed her plates without making eye contact.
One woman laughed and said, "Vanessa has you working hard."
Emily forced a smile.
"Apparently."
Across the room, Maya was watching.
So was a woman Emily did not recognize.
The woman sat alone at a back table.
Blonde-gray hair.
Dark blazer.
No gift.
No plate.
She looked less like a guest than someone waiting for a meeting to begin.
Emily carried the dishes toward the kitchen.
As she passed, the woman looked at the bandage around Emily's finger.
Then at Vanessa.
A minute later, she stood and walked toward Michael.
Emily could not hear what they said.
But she saw Michael take the bakery order sheet from his folder.
The woman studied it.
Then she asked him something.
Michael nodded.
Vanessa noticed them talking.
Her entire body went rigid.
For the first time that day, Emily saw fear on her aunt's face.
Then Vanessa looked at Emily and snapped, "Stop staring and clear the next table."
Emily lowered her eyes.
She did not know it yet, but the woman had just asked Michael one question.
"Did Vanessa Morgan personally remove Emily Carter's name from that cake?"
Michael's answer was simple.
May you like
"Yes."
And with that single word, a secret Vanessa had spent almost a year protecting began to fall apart.
