There's Cake on a Corner in Brooklyn

I think that surely there are half a dozen bakeries if I were to leave my apartment and head out in any given direction. New York is like that. The moment you have an inkling or an inkling of an inkling of a craving, it is almost certain that you can remedy it with a brisk walk, or at worst a puttering little train ride into Manhattan. However, that morning as my eyes parted to streaming rays of sun blasting through my apartment, the only inkling or craving that consumed my body was to disappear.

My body ached all over, my eyes still burned from tears that had subsided only a few hours prior to being ripped back to this hellscape called reality. My head pounded and I was without a doubt one hundred percent still drunk. Blood crusted on my pillowcase and I swore under my breath. I had just lugged them to and from the laundromat the day before. My mind reeled with the memory I hoped to god was just a bad dream. Given my luck and unfortunate track record with men, especially ones I’m friends with, I doubted that there was much hope of it not being at least somewhat true.

I peeled myself from the sheets and I winced as pains trembled across my body. It was hot and sticky in my room even with the whir of fans everywhere. I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and shuddered. My lip was busted, my cheek was scuffed, and the left side of my body was bruised and purple. “Shit,” I whispered and ran a hand through my hair as I wrinkled my nose. It made my busted lip twinge. I pulled on clean clothes from the hamper even though my body was very much not so. I swung open the doors that gave way to the small room outside of my bedroom. Willa was asleep on the sofa. Her heels were on the coffee table and she was face down on my throw pillows sound asleep. Her mouth was open, and she had lipstick on her forearm.

The glittering city of insomnia was certainly able to cure any craving one could imagine; unfortunately for me this extended far beyond the realm of baked goods. You didn’t have to search hard for a reason or for a spot to drink in this city, and we had celebrated Willa’s cousin’s birthday far harder than was necessary. I had only met him a few times, the cousin, but he liked wild parties and fortunately Willa and I did as well. These dark bars, and me testing the limits of what kind and how much different booze you can mix up and still survive were not a good combo. As I padded out into my living spaces, I was Exhibit A of the depravity that New York handed out just as freely as bagels and corner store sandwiches.

Willa was excited that her cousin was in town, and he was fortunate enough to be popular in the right circles in the city. His parties didn’t necessarily have to be intimate. He was comfortable with not knowing all of the guests and Willa took that as some sort of challenge or invitation to litter the guest list with names of her choosing. This was the beginning of the end for me. Had she not flourished her own sprinkling of acquaintances in the mix, I could have quite possibly had a normal, wonderful night. In fact, I was having the time of my life—drinking casually, chatting, dancing along in good faith. I was on the dance floor when Beckett arrived, and my stomach felt like it had fallen all the way through my body onto the large tiled floor.

Beckett was a good friend of Willa’s. He fell somewhere on the sexual spectrum between bisexual and asexual—finding everyone attractive yet at the same time wanting nothing sexual with anyone but himself. He was handsome, and it was an attractiveness that provided him a great deal of privilege. He had a decent job, lived in Brooklyn like the rest of us, and was hot enough that everyone was kind of in love with him, so when he did decide to dip a toe into whatever pond he wanted, it wasn’t hard for him to find someone to oblige it. I, however, was infatuated with him in a way that I couldn’t quite discern if I actually had feelings for him or just wanted to consider myself lucky enough for him to choose me at least once.

Willa was off in some corner making out with her girlfriend, and I was just feeling the music and dancing with people I kind of knew. Once I saw Beckett, I began to look for her with a bit more urgency. He had made eye contact with me and reared his head in greeting. I waved back awkwardly with a sigh and swore under my breath and turned back a large gulp of gin and tonic. “Anytime now, Willa,” I said, checking my watch, dancing much more awkwardly now than the carefree style previously.

“Taking Saturday Night Fever to a whole new level out here all by yourself, huh?” He put a hand between my shoulder blades as he skirted around me with his beer. His fingers flexed there in a friendly way, yet it sent ripples down my arms. His eyes swam over the crowd in analysis.

“Willa ran off,” I said, raising my voice over the music. He nodded his head without giving me any sort of glance, and I sighed and nodded along with him, turning back more gin. Solid start.

We danced together for a little bit longer and he watched me humoredly as he sipped the beer. Beckett knew that I was into him. Everyone kind of knew I was into him, and that only fueled my drinking. At some point, after several more gin and tonics, shots between us, and beers for him, we found ourselves on the roof of the club, talking low and looking out over the bustling city. Something he said warranted me to lean closer to him. “I want to make out with you,” I said low and determined. I saw the thought of it rush over him and then, to my astonishment, he leaned into me and his lips met mine for several eternal seconds. He pulled back and blinked at me slowly and with something that looked unfortunately like regret.

“Hmm,” he said, running his hand down his shirt. “Better get back inside before they think we’ve run off together,” he said, with a thick chuckle and patted me on the back before he grabbed his beer and made his way back to the party.

I then only remember I was talking excitedly and mostly out of embarrassment and my feet pounded the pavement loudly and clumsily. I don’t even remember what I was saying, all I remember is Beckett reached out for me and my heart lit with excitement before suddenly I flipped backwards over a bicycle tied to a tree and was halfway on the sidewalk. My face crushed against the pavement and my body followed suit. My chocolate cake slice from Martha’s went soaring through the air like a football to thump to a halt some five feet away.

Willa was getting ice and Beckett sat me at the foot of my bed and dabbed at my mouth with a wet cloth and I slumped over to try to kiss him again. He closed his eyes and leaned back and shook his head with a little laugh. “Rhett, we can’t. We shouldn’t have at the club, and we definitely shouldn’t now. Come on. Willa would kill us both. It’s messy. It’s not because I don’t want to.” I think my soul just turned the lights off after that and I cried myself to sleep.

I made a cup of coffee and threw open the window and crawled out onto the fire escape to sit on a little cane stool I had found on the street and brought up. I Facetimed my mom and she answered the phone jovially—curls and pearls still fresh from church. Sundays used to be such an occasion when I was younger. I always felt like it was a fashion show, for me anyways, to get dressed up and look fresh while I nodded to sleep on my Dad’s shoulder during the sermons. Then we would all gather at my Granny’s house. She made a chocolate cake in a long rectangle baking pan. It was delicious and decadent and all of the things that you wanted from a southern dessert. As a lingering tear dripped from my lashes, I thought about that chocolate cake, and the one I lost on the street, and how I missed those Sundays.

“Hi baby!” she said as she answered my call in the church parking lot before looking down at the phone and gasped. “Oh my lord! What on earth have you done to your face?”

“I tripped over a bicycle,” I said lamely, looking out over the Brooklyn rooftops.

“For Heaven’s sake, Rhett. You were probably drunk as a three-legged skunk. You’re going to get yourself killed up there if you keep acting like a fool. You should be in church.” I sighed and nodded my head in agreement as I took a long sip of coffee.

“I doubt very much that Jesus wants me propped up in a pew looking like this,” I responded.

“Don’t be sacrilegious, Rhett,” Mom sighed. “You look like you’ve been crying. What’s the matter?”

“I kissed a friend and I shouldn’t have and I…I’m just in a state about it.”

“Oh Rhett, you have to stop kissing your friends. Don’t shit where you sleep, honey, it’s not good for your mental health. Get some ugly friends. Not only will it humble you, but maybe you’ll avoid so much heartache.” I nodded again and she pitied me. “Honey I wish so much you would come home. I’m headed out to your Granny’s now. Everyone misses you.”

“I miss them too,” I said, and for the first time in a while, I actually meant it. “Hey Mom?” I asked. “Do you think you can send me that recipe for the chocolate cake she used to make?”

———

She sent it to me from her cookbook that was scratched and muddied with spills of vanilla and egg yolks after years of use. It did my heart good to bustle about the kitchen. It naturally woke Willa, who made a horrible face when she saw mine and shook her head greatly. She turned on jazz and listened as I told her what had really happened the night before. Once it was done, it looked like my granny’s cake. All glistening and fudgy in the basin of the pan. I cut a slice and let the breeze from the window wash over me as I took a great bite. It wasn’t as good as hers, but it wasn’t far off. I felt it flow through my veins, absorbing and transforming the grief of the night before. I sighed with delight, and for a moment I was on that porch in North Carolina, far away from my misfortune.

“Want some?” I asked, offering up the plate to her. She blinked heavily at me and nodded her head.

“Why not.” She stretched her arm over the back of the sofa and took the plate, folding her legs under her and with her other hand she pushed back her hair from her face. She took a thoughtful bite and licked the chocolate from the fork. “I think this one makes up for the one down on the corner. Your mom is right, you can’t fall in love with everyone, we’re going to run out of friends.” She smiled with a sigh and patted the cushion beside her.