This Cake is for the Party Read Free Page A

in a glass with her finger. They were talking about the ways people learn. Shona had just come from class. She said, There are three ways that we all learn: we’re either auditory, visual, or kinesthetic.
    I’m visual. I know I’m visual, Janine said.
    Shona said, We learn in all three ways, but we lean one way most of the time.
    I went over it in my head: It’s hot, Sanderson had said. He didn’t say to her, You’re hot. But that’s what I heard. I had just come off the pill at that point. My hormones were still stabilizing.
    I walked to the back window. There was a good view of the Gardiner Expressway. A string of red tail lights curved away from me, and the cars made small movements as they braked and accelerated. From this distance they looked like I imagined blood cells would look, moving through a capillary.
    Flip came up behind me and said in my ear: Hello, I’m kinesthetic. What are you?
    Sanderson was at the bar looking for a shot glass. Janine had filled the martini shaker with ice cubes. The bottom half of the shaker was already cold grey, frosting from the inside out. Her sequined cape, the martini shaker, the bar stools, Sanderson’s hair: I turned around and saw everything in silver.
    Janine said, You’re visual too, Sandy. She flickered her fingers on his chest to illustrate her point. He wore a white T-shirt with a silk-screened drawing of a swing set on it.
    I think I’m all three of them, I said. I can’t just pick one.
    Now Flip, he’s auditory, Sanderson said.
    And how would you know? Flip asked from across the room.
    Because you talk so much.
    Fuck you, said Flip.
    Then, in a soft voice, Flip said to me, How are you doing.
    I leaned into him. Ooh, I said. Is that velour?
    Touch it, he said. I petted his sleeve like it was a puppy. His arm felt warm through the plush. I stopped at his wrist and held it with both of my hands.
    Don’t be mad at Sanderson, I said. He’s just wired that way.
    With the girls, you mean.
    It’s not serious with Brianna.
    Well, good. As long as it’s not serious.
    I looked at him. We’re human beings, I said. It’s normal to flirt. We can’t help being attracted.
    Flip took his arm out of my hands. You don’t have to explain it to me, he said.
    I just love Weimaraners, I know, Janine was saying. She had brought a dog book out to the bar. She pressed the spine open with the palm of her hand. But my space is so small, she said. What do you guys think about this one? Is he too cute? Would you laugh at me if I got a terrier?
    We’ll always laugh at you, darling, said Shona.
    What kind of terrier? Flip asked.
    It’s called a Cairn terrier. And it’s oh-my-god cute. But then I would be one of those women, wouldn’t I? Janine made a face. She held a fresh Tanqueray martini. The glass caught the light from the halogens overhead. It glimmered in her hand. There were three olives speared on a silver pick.
    Shona said, Janine, you’re already one of those women. Don’t fight it.
    If you see me with a Burberry dog coat, okay? You have permission to smack me.
    Can you make me one of those, I asked Sanderson. With onions if she’s got them.
    On the fridge door, middle shelf, Janine said. She smiled at me. Virgin.
    You want one too, Flip? Sanderson said. I’m pouring.
    Flip looked at him. I’m kinesthetic, he said. Read my body language.
    That night in the cottage I dream about a blizzard. Janine and her dog Winnie are trying to dig something out of a snowdrift. When I wake up, it’s still dark out, and Sanderson has stolen all of the covers. I’m freezing. I lean over, grab the pile of comforters and blankets on the floor beside him, and pull them over the bed evenly again. He’s wearing the blue boxers I gave him for his birthday last year. He sleeps on his side, one arm under the pillow, the other stretched out in a straight line away from me, his hand almost