This Cake is for the Party Read Free Page B

touching the night table. His hand is curled as though it could be holding something very small, like a pinch of salt.
    I flatten myself against him, wrap my body around his lower half. I lift up my T-shirt and press my breasts into his skin. Tease my hand over the front of his boxers. The skin on Sanderson’s neck is damp and bristly against my lips. I promise God, the Universe, the baby itself: Please let me have you. I will love you like nothing else has been loved before. Sanderson exhales a sour cloud of undigested wine.
    There’s a sound downstairs. Outside, on the deck: soft thumps, like falling potatoes. I stop the prayer and hold myself perfectly still. A rustling against the glass, a bump against the kitchen doors. It sounds like someone is trying to break in.
    I whisper Sanderson’s name, grip his hip and shake it so that his whole body rocks the mattress. He makes a noise like he’s slurping something through his mouth.
    I wrap a fleece blanket around my shoulders and shuffle across the hallway and peek into Flip and Shona’s doorway. Flip is sleeping on his stomach, face pushed into the pillow, facing Shona. Shona is splayed on her side like a pressed flower, arms and legs draped over Flip’s body in the effortlessness of sleep. Now that I am fully awake, I can hear the thumping sound for what it is: paws, jumping on the wood of the deck.
    I go down the stairs slowly, starting on tiptoe and rolling to my heels so I won’t scare them away. A family of raccoons. Three small ones rolling like bear cubs on top of one another. Close to the glass doors, a large raccoon— the mother, naturally I think it’s the mother— sorts through the remains of the plastic Dominion bag that we used for garbage. The leftover spaghetti noodles seem to emit moonlight, making an elaborate pattern of loops and curls. I fold myself into the armchair and watch the little family make a huge mess. I look for letters in the patterns of noodles, try to spell out the letters in my name.
    When Flip comes down, he sees me bent over in the chair with my face in my hands staring out the window.
    Anne, he says. What’s wrong? What’s happening?
    I look up at him. He has a T-shirt on, boxer shorts. His hair like a pile of twigs.
    The raccoons got into our garbage.
    He follows my gaze to the window. Shit, he says.
    It’s our own fault. We should have thought.
    Flip rubs his head. You couldn’t sleep either?
    I just saw you. You were sound asleep.
    I need a snack, he says, and goes into the kitchen.
    The mother raccoon stops what she’s doing for a moment and stands on her hind legs, her paws held in front of her. It looks like she’s watching me. But I haven’t turned any lights on. It’s perfectly dark, we’re concealed in here.
    Flip comes out with a plastic honey bear and a spoon. Scootch over, he says, and sits next to me, half on the seat cushion, half on the arm of the chair. He squeezes the honey bear over the spoon. There is a shine in the dark when the honey flows out. He slips the spoon into his mouth and closes his eyes.
    Flip.
    Mm?
    Do you know something.
    What.
    No, I mean, do you know something that I don’t know.
    Have some, he says.
    He fills the spoon again and brings it to my lips. He doesn’t let go, even as I work my tongue over the spoon, licking all of the sweetness off it. Then he slides it out of my mouth.
    There, he says. Is that better?
    His bare leg touching mine on the chair. It could happen so easily.
    You can tell me, I say. Janine and Sanderson. Am I right?
    Oh, Anne, Flip says.
    I won’t tell him you said anything. I figured it out on my own. I just want to know for sure.
    There’s nothing between Janine and Sanderson.
    If there’s nothing, then why isn’t she here this weekend?
    Anne. She wanted to be here. It really was a family thing.
    I stop talking. Flip is resting the honey bear on his knee. He plays with the pointy