Eleanor, Elise, and the Chocolate Cake

There once was a mother who gave birth to a beautiful girl. For years she held the child, only cooing and staring deeply into her eyes; worry from their harsh slants melted with her smile, that of a truly happy, and healthy baby. Her child grew, and she could not see the sideways stares, soft whispers, wandering eyes trying not to stare. She only saw the sun, the birds, her happy baby’s laugh sprinkling the air with glittering diamonds, or maybe that was the rain showering the duo on walks. Her daughter grew healthy and strong, and so talented. Elise had an affinity for mixing color on canvas. Their home was filled with paper and paint from age 2, completed before a nice long walk to allow the paint to dry.

One day, Elise drew a picture of herself next to her mother, Eleanor. A school project. Her color matching even at this age was remarkably accurate. A label stood without a figure above, and Elise’s crayon and colored pencil sketch outstretched a hand towards it: Dad. Life continued with fewer questions about the absent patriarch, especially as school grew more difficult. When she was 18, Elise asked to meet her father, and Eleanor agreed to find him. However, Eleanor already knew who the man was and, as her only lie to her daughter, she said she needed time to find him. Rather, time was needed to prepare.

Eleanor had sent him a card when Elise was born. His name was Ethan— a boring, overpaid CEO who had sold his sperm in college as a prank. Little did he know that he had opted to show his name to donors. A young man’s pride is karmic. He was mortified to get the card, shredded it without reading the mother’s story, but Eleanor didn’t know. She only knew the joy owed to him because of his donated fluid. For two days she visited his building, before building up the courage to go inside. A week before Elise’s birthday, she got the call to schedule the appointment. Eleanor went without Elise, just this once, to meet the man.

“He will see you now,” a slender secretary showed her in. She walked into his office to find a gorgeous leather chair back, a fat finger stuck out from it beckoning for more time. “Yes, yes, yea ok. Call me when they close.” A grunt emitted from the proverbial “Jabba” as he struggled to turn his chair around. His finger protrusion disgusted Eleanor – though she knew not the feeling prior – and she nearly vomited when she saw the pink slime of a man.

“Now how can I help you, beautiful?” men who ooze confidence and lack manners cannot charm.

“Uhm, uh,” Eleanor coughed, “I, um…” She exhaled and said quickly “You have a daughter. She’s an amazing artist and she wanted to meet you for her 18th birthday.”

The lump stared skeptically: “Now, look, if it’s money you’re after, that’s going to require some verification, or, another type of…compensation. Otherwise, I have no interest or time to meet this girl, and I’ll ask you to leave, as I’m very busy today.”

“Oh, no,” Eleanor jutted in, “I don’t need money,” missing the crude ploy for sex. “She just wants to meet her birth father.”

Hmmm, maybe announcing my new heir, especially if she’s as pretty as her mom, will bring some good publicity, Ethan mused silently.

“You know what, bring her by this time next week,” he said, “I’ll have enough time to get her a proper gift. You said she likes to draw?”

“Oh, yes! She’s phenomenal.”

“Well I have just the gift for her. I'll get her some chocolate cake, too. Do come back next week.”

“Thank you so much! This means the world to her!” Eleanor rushed home to share the good news.

Ethan remained at his desk, hands tented as he thought. Several minutes passed in silence before he jerked out of his reverie.

“Nancy?”

“Yes, Mr. Puck,” his secretary’s voice was honey on marble.

“Book the best photographer in town for this time next week in the board room, get the cheapest art set you can find, and get a slice of the most expensive chocolate cake.”

“Yes, sir,” she said dutifully, knowingly.

Elise was thrilled to finally meet her father. She wore her best dress - a tea-length floral halter look - her mother helped with light makeup, and she had the piece of art framed for the day.

“What color was his desk? His chair? The carpet? What was the view?” Elise peppered her mother with questions, using them to gauge what to paint. After hours of deliberation she finally settled on an ivory peony in her famous hyper realistic style, freshly watered, against a black canvas. Eleanor was so proud, this should have been an audition piece for school, but family was more important to Elise.

The daughter revelled at her father’s building, a looming light grey skyscraper with solar panels on all sides. A plaque inside talked about saving the environment, with a thank you to the government's tax credits. Nancy walked the duo to the board room. “I’m happy to meet you Elise, what do you have there?”

“It’s a painting for my father’s office, mom said this would look great in there!”

“I would imagine whatever you drew would look wonderful,” Nancy mused dispassionately. The trio silently finished the ascent to Ethan’s board room, Nancy was the only one not shocked by the modeling shoot set up. A single slice of chocolate cake on the massive oak table and shining silver fork awaited Elise. Gerome, the photographer, spun around, elated, to see his model.

“Hellooooo gorgeous! You must be Elise!” he said to Eleanor.

“No, this is Elise,” she mentioned unfazed.

“Oh,” he gasped, “you’re more beautiful than I imagined!” Gerome walked up to Elise and hugged her.

Then it hit her: this was the first time someone had called her baby with Down Syndrome beautiful. Now, Eleanor had always made a point to emphasize her other abilities, but there were tears welling from Elise due to this adjective. “Thank you, I feel very pretty in this dress,” words Eleanor had never heard her daughter say. Rather than berate herself, she knew today was for her daughter, that Elise would never forget this moment. Eleanor would not mar this situation with doubt. The photo shoot setup was confusing enough.

Finally, the lump of a man walked in. His daughter and the photographer abruptly ended their conversation about art. He stumbled through the door into a chair and melted out the sides, the bearings in the lower mechanisms singing for reinforcements before he let out a sigh of victory, and started digging in to Elise's birthday cake.

“So where is my girl?” he said through the chocolate ganache, his priorities set.

“Hi dad!” Elise bounded over to give him a hug.

“What is this?!" Ethan shouted, spitting cake across the floor. "You didn’t tell me she was deformed, retarded. Get out of my building!”

That was it, the beginning.

“Elise, everyone, give me a moment with Ethan,” Eleanor ordered. Feeling the horror, Gerome escaped, Nancy slunk, and Elise stared, absolutely baffled.

“Elise, go outside. I’ll only be a moment,” Eleanor said gently, lovingly. She walked out, defeated. The door echoed as it swung shut on its perfect hinges.

“I will not allow that-“

“How dare you,” Eleanor retorted.

“What?!”

“How dare you reject your own blood.”

“She is not my daughter.’

“I have the test here,” Eleanor slid a pristine packet of medical notes over to him, the top page confirming her claim.

Ethan looked it over quickly, then slammed his fork down in disgust. “This isn’t possible, I couldn’t produce such a disgusting creature.”

“No, you could. The real question is how you spawned a gorgeous, brilliant, and talented young woman.” And from her weary shoulders burst two, eight feet long, perfect black wings with shimmering feathers.

“I will not stand for this!”

“Because you’re too fat to.” As her wings unfurled they shattered the glass walls.

“You will not insult me in my own office!” Ethan shouted, trying to get out of his chair.

“I will do what is necessary.” Her transformation completed with black claws, pitch colored eyes, and long brown hair slicked back into a mane of four feet.

“Now,” her raspy-low voice shrill with several layered octaves, bursting the rest of the glass, “you die.”

Elise spun around as the glass shattered, still recognizing her mother, and gazed as the lump was ripped to shreds. Viscerae landed at her feet, splattering her floral dress. Ethan squealed like a pig as his feet were swallowed, Eleanor ripping flesh and bone with her alligator maw. Once his legs were gone she consumed each hand, then arm, leaving only his torso.

“I knew you were a crazy bitch,” he mumbled, coughing up blood.

“I knew you were worthless,” letting him have the last word was not in the books. With one gulp, her jaw expanded and ate what was left. With a pleased growl, she floated back from his chair and licked her lips clean. Her head transformed back to what it was, but the wings and claws remained.

“Mommy?” Elise whispered, unafraid.

Eleanor swiveled slowly, paced to kiss her daughter’s forehead, embracing her daughter and flying out the shattered windows with the painting.

“I love you, mommy.”

“I love you, too.”

Elise would go to art school, create a studio for differently abled folks, and the duo would never speak of family.