Recognition

I always wondered if there was something wrong with me when I heard the way other people talked about chocolate cake. Some spoke with an awed, eager reverence, as though chocolate cake was the food of divine beings, a delicacy so wondrous you might be justified in forgetting everything else to obtain it. Others treated it as a given that everyone would choose chocolate cake if presented with the option.

The mere idea that chocolate cake could be an unpalatable choice, a confection of cloying richness that served only to sicken, not delight, seemed to never occur to anyone. One thing I learned as I grew older, however, is that no one is ever the only person in the world to have thought something. Someone, somewhere, will have been the first, but they will not be the only.

I first heard her voice in a cafe. She was seated a little behind me, so it was only her voice I heard, the North Atlantic hard r blending with the idiosyncrasies of the Canadian diphthong in a warm tone that I could hear the smile in.

“God, no, why would I want chocolate cake?” she laughed, and my attention was caught away from my automatic scrolling through news items on my phone.

“Everyone likes chocolate cake, don’t they?” her companion replied, and I recognized the disbelief in the voice from my own encounters with those who default chocolate for everything.

“Not me! I’ll take the cherry cheesecake, please,” she had said to the waitress, and their conversation had continued.

I tried not to eavesdrop, but her voice was so attractive, and her decided opinion about chocolate cake drove my curiosity on. I turned a little, casually, and cast an unseen glance her way. She was older than me, I thought, but not hugely. Maybe ten years. Her hair was a pale red, falling in a straight bob around her face, her eyes blue and her expression animated as she talked to her friend. She wore a black roll neck, and at her wrist was an elegant charm bracelet. I couldn’t quite see the detail on the charms that hung from it.

I turned back and scrolled sightlessly through my phone, unable to stop listening to her talk. She had opinions about everything, and she offered them with no bashful softening. It was compelling to hear her. The way she had talked about chocolate cake, as though the very idea of choosing it was ridiculous, was the way she talked about everything, from the new proposals from HR to the best boutique in London. She brooked no argument, though she wasn’t rude. It was assertiveness from a woman that I had never encountered, and I was rooted in my chair by it.

There was a lull, and a second later I noticed her companion pass me on the way to the toilet. I took a deep breath. Perhaps I was inspired by her boldness, perhaps it had filtered into the air around her like pheromones and I had absorbed it. I turned, and smiled as our eyes met. There was a beat, a moment where I saw her blue eyes dance with curiosity.

“Sorry,” I said, “couldn’t help overhearing, but can I just say, I so agree about chocolate cake.”

It was the least impressive opening salvo I had ever made when interacting with another human, and I could feel the blush burning my face. I expected an awkward nod, maybe a cough, but she smiled widely and I felt the heat burn more fiercely on my cheeks and forehead.

“Everyone thinks it’s the automatic choice, don’t they?” she nodded, leaning forward. “It’s like no one ever seems to accept you could think it’s just an oversweet sticky clump of brown goo!”

I laughed, and nodded too.

“And they think you are so very odd for not going for it, like there must be something wrong with you!” I enthused.

“God, yes. They frame it as though you must either love it, or just not like sweet things at all. But I do like sweet things. I’m just completely indifferent to chocolate cake!” she said, with the same assured confidence she had displayed all through her conversation.

“Oh, but you’re not allowed to be indifferent, and it doesn’t make sense to like sweet things but not chocolate!” I laughed, and she clearly enjoyed my playful sarcasm.

She brought her hand up to smooth her hair behind her ear, the charm bracelet jangling. I noticed a couple of the charms now, a small key, a bulbous heart, and a two headed axe. She picked up her coffee with her other hand and sipped it, still smiling, and her blue eyes locked on mine for a moment before shifting behind me.

“My new friend agrees with me about chocolate cake!” she said to the space behind me, which was quickly filled with her returning companion. The other woman was tall and dark haired, and looked down at me briefly, before sitting back in her seat.

“As if anyone can disagree with you for long, Kerry!” she laughed as she plucked her handbag from the back of the chair. “Look, I’m going to have to get off, Sam’s got that appointment. Text me, ok?”

The dark haired woman looked briefly back to me and pressed her lips together in the cursory smile you throw a stranger you never expect to see again.

“Will do,” replied my fellow chocolate cake refusenik. “Give him my love.”

They kissed convivially on the cheek and I turned away, discomfited by the sudden intimacy. I tried to refocus on my scrolling.

“So what kinda cake do you like?” she said.

We talked about cake for a while, and I knew within minutes that even if I had been a fan of chocolate cake, more time with Kerry would have changed my mind. She shared her passion for cheesecake, for a light victoria sponge, for fruit flans where the peaches were delicately glazed and honeyed. Each word was a morsel of sweetness from her, and I couldn’t disagree that a distaste for chocolate cake was no bar to enjoying a sweet tooth. I was ravenous.

Of course, I had tried chocolate cake. I had eaten mouthfuls of it in the vague understanding that I might change my mind. Maybe this particular triple layered sponge with ganache would be different. But mostly I had eaten out of politeness. Kerry convinced me never to touch it again. She made her case that I should revel in the sweet things I enjoy, and not feel embarrassed by not liking chocolate cake. She went further, though. She insisted that no one should be defined by their opinion on chocolate cake.

“I don’t even think about chocolate cake,” she said, “I just eat what I like with no thought for what I don’t.”

She put the last of her cherry cheesecake between her quick lips, and licked the creamy residue off the inner curve of the spoon. I wasn’t sure who had the thought first, her or me. But when we left the cafe together, I knew for sure I wasn’t the only one.