Chương 3
The burn on her fingers had begun to sting.
She ran cool water over her hand, watching the stream turn pink against her skin. From the hallway came the quiet click of Emiliano’s bedroom door closing.
Her phone vibrated again.
Thirty-four messages waited in the family group.
Her mother had written first.
What happened? Lorena says security treated Diego like a criminal.
An aunt had responded with three question marks. A cousin had asked whether anyone was hurt. Lorena had sent a photograph of Diego’s frosting-covered shoes beside the caption, His aunt threw him out over a cake.
Mariana read the messages twice. Her anger changed shape as she read. At the party, it had been hot and immediate. Now it became precise.
She typed, Diego jumped into Emiliano’s cake before he blew out the candles because Lorena told him I would laugh and buy him a phone.
She erased it.
She typed, There is a video.
She erased that too.
Her mother called.
Mariana let the phone ring while she dried her hand. Then she answered.
“What did you do?” Camila asked.
There was no greeting.
Mariana leaned against the counter. “Hello, Mamá.”
“Lorena is crying.”
“Is Diego all right?”
“He is humiliated.”
“So is Emiliano.”
“He is eight. He will forget a cake.”
Mariana closed her eyes.
From the apartment above came the scrape of furniture across tile. Someone’s dog barked twice.
“He was standing there with his candles lit.”
“I know it was foolish. Lorena knows. But security? In front of everyone?”
“I asked them to leave.”
“You could have taken her aside.”
“She was clapping.”
A pause.
Camila lowered her voice. “She says she was nervous.”
“Lorena claps when she is nervous now?”
“People react strangely.”
“She planned it.”
“You don’t know that.”
“The photographer does.”
Silence settled on the line. Mariana could hear a television in the background at her mother’s house and the soft clink of a spoon inside a cup.
“What photographer?”
“She asked him to keep a camera on Diego.”
Camila exhaled. “Maybe she wanted a family video.”
“Then why didn’t she ask me?”
“Because you say no to everything.”
Mariana looked at her burned fingers.
There it was, the old argument dressed in a new shirt.
“I paid for the party.”
“That is not the same as letting people enjoy it.”
“Do you hear yourself?”
“I am trying to keep this family from turning one stupid moment into a war.”
“No, Mamá. You are trying to make me absorb it so Lorena does not have to.”
“Must you always use business language?”
“What language would you prefer?”
“Human language.”
Mariana laughed once. It was not a pleasant sound.
In the hallway, Emiliano’s door opened.
She straightened.
“I have to go.”
“Call your sister.”
“No.”
“Mariana.”
“No.”
She ended the call as Emiliano entered the kitchen.
He had changed into an old soccer jersey, but the frosting remained on his cheek. In his hands was the plastic container holding the broken goalpost.
“Can we fix it?”
Mariana looked at the snapped chocolate pieces.
“Chocolate melts.”
“I know.”
“We could try.”
He placed the container on the counter.
They melted dark chocolate in a glass bowl over simmering water. Mariana had no idea how to repair a decorative goalpost, and Emiliano rejected her first three designs. The fourth leaned to one side. They held it upright with toothpicks and put it in the refrigerator.
While they worked, she did not mention Lorena. Emiliano did not mention Diego. He talked about whether professional stadiums replaced the grass after every game and whether a goalkeeper could legally wear gloves with small spikes. Mariana admitted she did not know.
At seven, the doorbell rang.
Her ex-husband stood in the hallway holding a bakery box.
Andrés had dressed too quickly. One side of his shirt collar was tucked beneath his jacket, and his hair was still damp. He looked first at Mariana, then at the redness on her hand.
“Where is he?”
“In the kitchen.”
Emiliano heard his father and ran into the hall. Andrés crouched and hugged him hard enough to lift his sneakers from the floor.
“I brought emergency cake,” he said.
Emiliano looked at the box.
“Does it have candles?”
“Eight. The bakery charged me for twelve because apparently they cannot count.”
“They gave you a package.”
“Then they should call it a package of candles and stop pretending arithmetic was involved.”
Emiliano looked at Mariana. “Dad thinks he’s funny.”
“I’m aware.”
Andrés carried the box to the dining room. It contained a small round chocolate cake with uneven white frosting and strawberries arranged in a circle. Nothing about it matched the blue-silver party theme. The name on the lid was written as Emilio.
“This is not my name,” Emiliano said.
“I corrected the man twice,” Andrés replied. “At some point, dignity requires surrender.”
They placed the cake between the unopened presents. Andrés lit the candles. Mariana turned off the overhead lights, leaving only the pendant above the table and the city’s evening glow through the windows.
Emiliano sat without leaning forward.
“You don’t have to make a wish,” Mariana said.
“I already had one.”
Andrés pulled out the chair beside him. “Does a wish expire?”
Emiliano considered this.
“Maybe.”
“Then make a backup wish.”
“What if they cancel each other?”
“That sounds like a risk.”
Mariana watched her son’s face. The brown mark on his cheek had faded but not disappeared. He stared at the flames until wax began collecting along one candle.
Then he inhaled and blew them out.
Andrés clapped once before catching himself. He lowered his hands.
Emiliano said, “You can clap.”
So they did.
The three of them ate cake with the wrong name on the lid. Emiliano opened two presents, a goalkeeper jersey from Andrés and a set of architecture markers from Mariana. He left the others untouched.
When he went to brush his teeth, Andrés carried the plates into the kitchen.
May you like
“What happened?” he asked.
Mariana told him.
