For the love of cake

It ended as it had begun. With chocolate cake. Or, to be exact, a slice of chocolate cake.

By turns she stared at the plate, empty bar a few telltale crumbs, then back up at me, eyes burning with rage. I tensed, ready to duck or deflect should she decide to launch the plate at my head. I wouldn’t put it past her. But she surprised me. Her shoulders slumped, the fire went out in her eyes and she shook her head sadly. She put up her hands in a gesture of surrender.

“I give up” she said, resigned. “I can’t do this anymore.”

I looked at her quizzically.

“What are you saying?” I dreaded her response. A lump formed in my throat, my hands felt clammy.

“I’m saying,” she began, not a trace of anger in her voice now, “that we are over. I just can’t keep doing this. I need a fresh start”

“Hang on a sec”, my voice came out as a panicked croak, a couple of octaves higher pitched than usual, “you’re leaving me over a slice of cake?” I was incredulous. She couldn’t possibly be serious.

She sighed.

“It’s not about the fucking cake. The cake is just the proverbial straw that broke the camel's back. It’s more about what the cake represents, what it says about our relationship.”

My mind was in a whirl, and I was breathing very slowly and carefully, unsure if I might burst into either fits of giggles or else break down sobbing and begging her not to go.

“Um, I’m sorry. You’re going to have to explain that to me. A slice of cake says something about our relationship?”

She sighed audibly. She was becoming frustrated. She’d never been very patient.

“It’s your total lack of consideration. For me. For my needs, my wants. I know that you think you care for me, but you’re absolutely oblivious to anyone other than yourself. And it hurts. And I just can’t do it to myself anymore. I’m sorry.”

And with that, she retreated to our bedroom, leaving me standing bewildered in the kitchen, pondering a plain white ceramic plate with a smattering of chocolate cake crumbs, staring accusingly at me. Representing the demise of my one and only serious relationship. She re-emerged minutes later, suitcase in one hand, large tote bag overflowing with various household items she obviously felt belonged to her, breezed past me and threw over her shoulder as she reached the door “I’ll send Dad around for the rest of my stuff later”; then slammed the door behind her.

Her words continued to swirl around in my head hours later, as I lay in what was once “our” bed, trying unsuccessfully to sleep. I’d had a couple of shots of tequila to try and settle my frayed nerves. Then a couple of shots of vodka. Then a Valium. As a result I was now in bed with the room spinning, my thoughts in complete disarray, but no closer to blessed sleep. Our first meeting, the spark which ignited our great love affair, had seemed so innocent. It was at my local cafe. I was getting my morning coffee (almond milk latte, large, one sugar), and perusing the display case full of cakes and slices for my accompanying sweet treat. At the exact moment I spied the single remaining slice of chocolate mud cake and asked my barista, Karl, for it, a leggy brunette standing at the other end of the counter also requested it. Karl and his colleague, Brandi, both went for the slice at the same time, exclaiming and then laughing when they realised. They looked up at myself and my chocolate cake competition expectantly, no doubt hoping we’d sort it out ourselves. I’d set my heart on that chocolate cake. No way was I giving it up. The air was thick with expectation. Karl and Brandi were waiting. Leggy Brunette was looking at me, waiting. I knew she thought I’d do the “gentlemanly” thing, surrender the cake to her. But I wasn’t a gentleman. When I didn’t respond as she was clearly expecting, she raised an eyebrow at me and pouted slightly, clearly unsure how to proceed next. I figured stony silence was the way to go. Like a staring competition. Eventually, I’d win. “Um”, she began, “maybe we could share?” She giggled nervously, then flicked her long hair over her shoulder. She was flirting with me, perhaps thinking her charm would win me over. She was right. I could feel my resolve weakening as I found myself replying “Sure. Let’s share”.

And so it was that I found myself sharing a slice of chocolate cake with this gorgeous woman, who chatted easily, laughed readily, and touched my hand more than necessary. By the time we’d finished the cake a relationship was already blossoming. I’d been giddy with unexpected happiness. Love, even. It was a new and intoxicating feeling. It was a whirlwind of romance and love and firsts and I’d thrown myself in head first. Within days she’d moved in with me and it had been blissful, for a time.

But now, somehow, it seemed I’d managed to ruin it all. Three months of bliss and it was all over. My head was becoming fuzzy, my vision blurry, as the alcohol and Valium finally took over. Just before sleep descended, the realisation struck.

Apparently you can’t have your cake and eat it too.