Dumped!

Dumped (8)

(PHOTO OF FRAN -------------------------------->>>>>>)

8

I had been working non-stop, I’d almost forgotten my birthday was coming up. I only remembered two days before, when my mom called to ask me what kind of cake I wanted.

“Um . . . chocolate’s always good”, I said into the phone.

“Hm. Are you sure? I mean, there’s different kind of chocolate cakes, you know”, she replied. I knew she’d already chosen a flavor.

“Mom, did you have something in mind?”

“We-ell, off the top of my head, I’d say the raspberry truffle. It’s a dark chocolate cake, spread with a thin layer of raspberry jam and filled with a rich, dark chocolate raspberry truffle.   And with a layer of champagne truffle, it is positively decadent! You’ll love it.”

“Off the top of your head, huh?”

“Of course”, she replied.

“Fine. Raspberry whatever”, I replied and hung up.

She’d been calling me non-stop to ask me about tablecloth color choices, napkin types – lace or cotton – tumblers or cups, chicken or beef, and a whole lot more. Somehow, I didn’t really think this party was going to be laid back at all. Knowing my mom, she’d probably gotten an orchestra or something.

I had this ritual where I always baked myself a cake before my birthday, that way, if everything else went wrong, I’d know there was one good thing left to look forward to. I’d have to work the day before, so I’d decided to make it two days before instead. I looked up at the clock. 8:17pm. Rosie was out again, probably with the guy from the party. I still hadn’t met this mystery man, but I wasn’t going to stick my nose in.

I went into my room and pulled on my black varsity sweatpants and a red Ed Hardy tank top. Gelson’s supermarket wasn’t too far off, so I didn’t really care about my disheveled hair and worn out sneakers. The weather was quite nice out, so I decided I’d walk.

I grabbed a shopping cart and began to make my way down the aisles picking up all the ingredients for a triple layered chocolate cake – deadly, but then again, I was turning thirty. I was heading down the wine aisle when I ran into none other than –

“Miss Carter”, Jeremy Harrington said.

“Um…It’s Deana. Hi. You live around here?”I asked.

“Something like that”, he replied.

I peered into his cart. My eyebrows went way up. Inside it, were countless bottles of vodka, whisky and wine, nearly filling the entire shopping cart – it was a shallow one, but still.

“Um . . . I’m . . . uh . . . party”, he mumbled. It was so obvious he was lying. I wondered why though. I mean, unless he was an alcoholic or something. He definitely didn’t look like one. But, what exactly do alcoholics look like?

I nodded. “What’s with all the chocolate?” he asked peering into mine. I’d been expecting him to just walk off, as was his wont, but he just stayed there.

“Um, I’m baking a cake”, I replied, “Triple layered.”

He raised his brows. “Bad break-up?”

I rolled my eyes. “No! It’s my birthday. Well, not today. Thursday.”

“And you’re baking your own cake?” he asked, with a frown.