Page 43 of Rise & Fall
“Oh, sweety. It’s not that bad.” My mom tries to ease my mind, sitting down next to me as I stare at the half-slaughtered cake, the product of a pothole we hit down the road and my footing slipping as I tried to carefully unload it, causing it to slip even more, smooshing against the side of the box.
“Mom, this cake was supposed to look like a princess. Now it looks like a rainbow version ofGloppyfromCandyland. No one is having fun, and Em still isn’t here.” I’m terrible at this. Who knew throwing a birthday party would be so hard.
“Dakota, you’re missing the point. There were plenty of times I threw you a birthday party and I didn’t have my shit together.” My mom turns my attention away from the drooping disaster of a cake and onto the story of my seventh birthday party.
“Remember the year we held your birthday in our backyard for the first time, instead of me paying a venue to host the party.”
“Yeah, we had just bought the house and I wanted to have the party in the big backyard.” Of course I remember, it was my childhood home.
It wasn’t anything big or fancy, but it was the home I spent most of my life growing up in. I don’t remember much about it, except the rusted-orange sun that was plastered up on the point of the roof, almost likeSimbabeing held over the cliff. My mom made fun of it the first time we pulled into the garage, swore my dad would take it down first thing. But he made a comment about quirks and personality, and the sun remained.
“We hired a clown to show up at your party that day. I don’t know what I was thinking.” She shakes her head as she chuckles under her breath.
“Oh, I remember. That thing was terrifying.” I chime in, remembering the sharp yellow teeth and ratted mess of curly, red hair sitting on top of a cracked white face with glowing blue eyes.
“Yeah, well the clown-cosplayer actually called an hour before and said he couldn’t make it—flat tire if you believe it. But you wanted a circus themed birthday and you can’t have a circus without a clown.” She inhales a breath, talking intricately so that the memory permeates nicely between us.
“So how did you get a clown to show up?”
“Well, when I got the phone call I went straight to the kitchen to find the list of other clowns that might be available. But instead, I was met with a puddle…and I mean PUDDLE of melted frosting.” She stops to chuckle at the thought. “I forgot to put the cupcakes that I had made the night before into the fridge, so all forty-eight frosting tops had melted.”
I obviously don’t remember these details. I was little and for all I know, I was running around playing pin-the-tail-on-the-giraffe outside with my friends.
“So twenty minutes before your party was actually supposed to start, your dad ran to the store and grabbed the only cupcakes they had available, which wereRugratsthemed, and clown makeup. Unfortunately for him, they don’t carry clown makeup in late March so he settled for what he could get in the makeup isle.”
“Dad was the clown at my birthday party?”
“Yeah, he was pretty good, wasn’t he?”
“No, mom. He was awful. That clown gave me nightmares.” I hold up my hands in front of me, as if to get away from the thought of my dad as that wretched creature tormenting my party.
We laugh at the memory. I know she remembers the solid week of me climbing out of my own bed and into theirs. To this day, I have a slight fear of clowns. Now I know it’s all because of the mask Dad chose for my birthday when I was seven and the thought makes me laugh inside.
God, I miss him.
“The point is the handmade cupcakes didn’t matter. Everyone just tore off theRugratscharacters and dug their teeth into them regardless. The amount of money I spent didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that you had your friends and family there to celebrate with you.”
“Less the clown,” I add.
“Less the clown,” she agrees. “When this is all over, the balloons will go into the trash anyways, and honestly, your kid sister hates cake.”
“She does?”
“Yeah. And I know it was supposed to look like a princess, but it isn’t supposed to taste like one. It’ll still taste like cake.” My mom places her cold hand over my shoulder. The look in her eyes is as motherly as I know her to be.
“Well, at least you got one thing right.” I say.
“And what was that?”
“You did more than give me a circus themed party, you gave me an actual circus.” My mom’s laughter breaks through in soft bellows. A laughter I haven’t heard from her in forever.
Another tear tempts to escape my eyes, and this time it’s not because I feel like a trash sister. It’s because I feel how little everything actually is compared to the love of family and the advice from your mom.
“Thank you, mom. I really needed that.” I reach over to extend a hug to her, squeezing her tight knowing that while I may be the one taking care of her, I still need her to take care of me sometimes.
“YAYYY! BIRTHDAY PARTY!!” A little voice comes running from behind us, barreling loud and excited. I look over, tears just clearing up from my clouded eyes and that’s when I seehim.
“Wow, cool birthday cake! Looks like a rainbow slob monster! Daddy, I want a cake like this for my birthday!” Aria jumps up and down.