I make cakes, grand, perfect, amazing cakes. I am one of the best in the world. It is why they hired me. Though he should have said no. Because she doesn’t know. She doesn’t know that the cake design she choose was the one I designed for what should have been my wedding cake. But he knew. He knew because it should be me walking down that isle today, to become his wife.
Yet, I stand here staring out of the skylight in this kitchen watching the rain clear away into a perfect Iowan June day. The cooks behind me chopping, yelling, crashing, as they make the wedding meal. I stand staring out the skylight that I begged my father to put into the kitchen, on this date, which should have been my wedding day was now hers, just as he was now hers.
I remember that day, just six weeks ago, I had come home, so happy, I was pregnant, to find him sitting with her, my cousin, who was more my sister, holding her hand.
“Jamie! I want you to meet my fiancé! He proposed today! And I am pregnant! You will do the wedding cake right?!” Beth jumped up and down.
My world tilted at that moment. It made sense now why he had wanted to wait to meet my family. “Jamie.” I stated and held out my hand.
“William.” He took my hand and shook it as if we didn’t know each other. That we hadn’t been talking marriage and moving in together, if we hadn’t been talking children.
I played the hostess while they were in my apartment, my sister having a key. I was in the kitchen alone when he walked in. “Don’t. Just don’t. Leave the keys to my place by the door.” I told him.
“No. You are marrying my cousin. My cousin. Out of the all the people I could have been the other woman for, you had to make it her? We are done.” I stormed out of the kitchen to find Beth looking at my computer. Where my design for what was going to be my wedding cake was displayed. It was a seven tier, white and black, classic, 1920’s inspired outlined in gold.
“O.M.G!” Beth yelled. “A 20’s themed wedding! That is brilliant! I want this! Can this be my cake?”
I wanted to scream. Say no. But he walked in and smiled. “Money is no object.” He told Beth.
And I couldn’t say no to my cousin. So I just nodded. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I didn’t do anything. But I made the cake.
So six weeks later I am standing with my head tilted back and looking at the skylight. My flowing maid of honor dress hiding my eleven week pregnant stomach, thankfully I hadn’t popped yet. I turned when a throat cleared. I turned and it was my father. “Daddy.”
“Poppet, Beth is asking for you.”
I nodded and turned to look out the skylight one more time. The Iowa summer storm gone, and in its place, was a perfect June day. I turned from the view and walked out of the kitchen; turning my back on the cake and wedding that should have been mine, and put the fake smile on my face as I walked down the aisle to stand by my cousin’s side to marry the father of my child.
She got my life. Was all I could think as the minister asked if there were any objections. But I stayed silent, for she had my wedding, my husband, my cake, my life…
And now I could only watch, like looking through the skylight, as her storm turned into the perfect summer day, as my storm raged on…