September 3rd, 2007
Writings: Stale Carrot Cake - by Tamara Palmer
At the third red light Hope re-reads her shopping list. She doesn’t need a list, but she’s a list kind of person – she sometimes writes a reminder to herself that she has to write a list. There are times when her lists contain only one item. Today it’s a real list; there are three: laxatives, pregnancy tests, nail files.Hope knows that, deep in his heart, Ethan is ready. They have talked about children for awhile now. He knows all about her ticking biological clock, and she knows that he just needs a little push to make the decision. She will have to devise a way for him to want to have sex more often, though. Once that’s underway, the jumbo pack of pregnancy tests will be in the closet, ready to be peed upon.
As she drives past the university, she envisions what their child will look like. Her fair hair and complexion will blend nicely with Ethan’s Scandinavian ruggedness. Their child will surely be blond with blue eyes, an angelic beauty. Like generations of women before her, she can practically feel the baby swinging in her arms, perched upon her hip.
***
It has to be tonight. He has to tell her tonight. He can’t put it off like he did last week. He pulls the Lexus out of the airport parking garage, and decides to take the long route west. Heading home. To her. It has to be tonight. He practices what he’ll say in his mind over and over. He fears everything. “Hope, we have to talk.” His stomach clenches, just thinking her name. “Hope, I’m in love…” God, there has to be another way. “Hope, I’m in love with someone else.”
Happy memories from their early years begin to creep uninvited into Ethan’s head. He remembers how exciting she’d been to him: how they’d sneak behind the gas station after work, and make out in the small grassy patch, on the north side of the bank. He pushes those thoughts away. He can’t go there. That’s the past. He doesn’t want to remember anymore.
He lets his mind think of Daphne, asleep in the bed he has just left a thousand miles from Colorado. The cool ocean breeze is probably playing off the gauze curtains and gliding across her face, letting her long brown hair tickle her neck. He has every part of her body burned into his memory - her voluptuous breasts - her soft amber eyes. He loves the way her Mediterranean coloring makes her glow with life when she smiles wide and throws her head back in carefree laughter. She is sensual and alluring – ethnic. She doesn’t have baggage. He imagines the blending of their features in the baby they are creating - the baby that is forming deep inside of her.
He finds it hard to breathe in this dry high desert. His body is craving the cool humidity of Puget Sound. The exits fly by, bringing him closer to Hope. Ethan forces his head back against the headrest and slams the steering wheel hard with his fists.
***
Hope is acutely aware of the Walgreen’s bag resting on the edge of the counter as she smoothes the final swirls of cream cheese icing on the carrot cake. She loves grating the carrots and pouring her love for Ethan into the batter. She wonders if he can taste her love in the sweetness of the cake.
A sex schedule. That’s what they will have to do. They will create a sex schedule. She licks the excess cream cheese from her finger as she pulls down the Mary Engelbreit kitchen calendar. In tiny pencil dots, she marks the days that he will be home, making a mental note to check them against her basal thermometer journal.
Ever since his company purchased this subsidiary in Seattle, he’s only been home on weekends. Maybe it was time for him to find a new job. The commuting was supposed to have ended in August, but it was now nearly Thanksgiving. Hope felt wise to the ways of the working world when she suggested that he use a video-conference for meetings like her friend Jackie did at her company. Ethan always insisted that he needed to be there in person.
She washes the bowls and spatulas and sets them in the drying rack. Next, it’s time for her secret trick - Windex the counter and faucet to make everything appear shiny and new. She loves to show him how she takes care of their home. Once a week, she even Windexes the glass over their wedding photo. She likes when it shines, as if the picture were taken just yesterday and not eight years ago. She looks closer at the photo, gingerly taking the frame in her hands. They look so young, standing at the altar in their hometown church in Kansas. It’s time to start planting seeds about moving home after the baby’s born. It’s important to be near family when you’re raising a child. Besides, what good is it to be in Colorado for Ethan’s job if he spends his weeks in Seattle?
***
Ethan’s phone vibrates in his pants pocket. He waits until he reaches a red light to look at the text message. “Hi sweetie pie. Carrot cake & I can’t wait to C U! ♥.” Ethan groans, thinking of another carrot cake sitting on the shiny counter. He can’t bear any more of them. He loves that Daphne hates to cook. She never has anything in her fridge, and she gets so lost in her studio - with her paints - that, when he comes home late at night, she has often forgotten to eat dinner. Chinese delivery is her answer to cooking.
His flight back to Seattle leaves at noon tomorrow. He can still fly standby for the red-eye tonight.
***
Hope changes out of her sweats and puts on a white lacy bra and matching panties. She slips into her favorite pair of jeans and the pink “Seattle” T-shirt that Ethan brought back recently. She spritzs her lily-of-the-valley perfume on her wrists, neck, and - just for fun - she opens her shirt and spritzs some on her bra.
***
Ethan pulls his handkerchief from his pocket and smells Daphne’s musky clove and cinnamon perfume. The scent gives him the beginnings of an erection, and he veers off on a side street into an empty parking lot. The glimmer in her eye when he told her he was moving to Seattle fills him. He thinks back to the way a hint of her breast was visible through the openness of the v-neck tank top that she wore the night they had the conversation.
***
Hope worries that something has happened. Ethan’s never late. She texts him again. Nothing. Three minutes later she picks up the cordless, ready to call the hospital. He’s an hour late, yet she has confirmed on-line that his flight has landed. She pictures him lying in the emergency room, calling out for her.
***
Ethan cleans himself up with his handkerchief and stashes it under the seat. He zips up his jeans, leans back, and texts Daphne. After waiting five minutes for a reply, he shakes his head and turns the ignition on – it’s time to go home. To Hope’s house. Daphne won’t talk to him again until it’s done. He knows that. She didn’t even have to say it. He winds his way to the house on Oak street as if he were navigating a labyrinth. After tonight, it will all be over. This part of his life will soon just be a memory.
***
Hope sees Ethan pull into the driveway just as she’s dialing the Hospital. She throws the phone down and runs into the garage.
***
Ethan steps out of the car, smells the carrot cake, and gives Hope a half-hearted smile.
***
Hope knows something is wrong. She lunges at Ethan for an embrace, refusing to make eye contact.
***
Ethan pushes her back and with his hands on her shoulders, stands her straight up – looking forcefully into her eyes he says, “We need to talk.”
“I have your carrot cake ready,” Hope sings, avoiding Ethan.
“Hope, listen to me. I have some things that I need to share with you.”
“Come inside, it’s freezing.” Hope reaches for Ethan’s hand and pulls him through the garage door that leads into their kitchen.
Ethan sees the carrot cake sitting atop the shiny counter and cringes.
“Please,” Ethan begs as Hope flits around the kitchen, pulling small plates out of the plate cabinet and dessert forks from the silverware drawer. Next she reaches for their wedding cake knife, displayed in a plexiglass case above the stove. She never uses another knife to cut carrot cake for Ethan.
“I’ve met someone else,” Ethan blurts out. Hope won’t look at him. She begins humming a song to herself, and immersing all of her energy into cutting straight lines in the cake. “I’ve met a woman. We’ve been living together in Seattle.”
Still Hope won’t acknowledge him. She begins to hum louder and cut faster.
“Hope, she’s pregnant. She’s having my child.”
Hope drops the knife. She lets her mind fall into the piece of cake. The memories of their relationship flood her. She remembers when they entered this house for the first time after signing the closing paperwork. They walked through the bedrooms imagining which future child would live in which room. They stepped onto the porch and mapped out where the swingset would go. The memory of that wonderful accidental pregnancy gave Hope a brief thrill of joy, only to be followed by the crushing memory of the miscarriage that changed everything. She thought of the pregnancy tests in the closet. Could she return them? They were on sale? Did she still have the receipt? More than anything she focused on the cake – the cake which held all of her love for Ethan.
She can hear him talking, but she can’t distinguish the words. She only thinks of the cake – both of them aching with love - never consumed.
Hope makes eye contact with Ethan. He appears like a stranger to her now. She looks back at the piece of cake, down at the knife, and then back at him. Tears stream down her face and tumble onto the icing leaving oily pools, tarnishing everything. The knife’s blade shines under the florescent light. She takes one last deep breath before the nervous, hiccupping panic sets in. She sees Ethan’s eyes grow wider and anger enters her. Her body shakes with rage, betrayal, embarrassment. Sex schedule. What a fool! She lifts the perfectly cut slice of cake from the plate.
“You need to eat it one last time,” she says as she smashes the carrot cake into Ethan’s face.