Where she left me

She paused longer than usual, frosting bag in hand and lip tucked between her teeth. It was the same look since the beginning. I hated it when she paused. Everything she did added more. The air warmed when she got closer. Waiting even longer made me want to slide off this plate and use the bag myself.

Finally, her hand moved closer. The light pink paste seeped out, smooth and even. I held still and waited. The tip of the bag was just inches away when that piercing sound came for the third time today.

With an annoyed groan, she dropped the bag and picked up the phone. Something on it made her jaw grind, like when the mixer jammed and she had to stir me by hand. I didn’t mind it then. Her touch was more gentle– and quieter– than that scary machine.

She inhaled deeply, pressed a button, and held the screen to her ear. “Charity Bakery,” she chimed. There was a flicker of a curved lip when she said the name. Charity Bakery. Was that what I called her? Was that what I was called? I didn’t know. But she smiled when she said it, and I liked when she smiled.

Noise came from the phone. She looked at me and rolled her eyes. If I could move, I would have done the same. “I am putting on the final touches,” she said. “I will be there in an hour, and I promise you will love it.”

That’s what she always said. Did they not believe her? Did they not see the time and care she took to create me?

When she set the phone on the table, her hand hovered over the notebook next to it. Powdered sugar still coated it from when the bag tipped yesterday. The sound she made when she knocked into it—beautiful and full. She stood taller for just a moment as her hand pressed into her middle. But most of all, her grin shone the brightest– the widest I’ve ever seen it.

Her gloved fingers flipped the notebook open to a page with her handwriting and a sketch. Then her eyes drifted back to me. She looked at the decorated flowers at my top, then the draping fondant around me, and finally the bag in her hand. “Maybe if I…” she muttered low to herself.

That was always the start of the changes, and I never liked the changes. She paused. The bag hovered. Then she looked back at the notebook. Thankfully, she shook her head and continued with the frosting anyway.

I held still. It was the only way I could help her accomplish what she wanted. “There,” she whispered as she lifted the bag away.

When she finally stepped back, her face brightened as she scanned me from top to bottom. Her shoulders loosened, the same way they had when she ran into the powdered sugar. And I made that happen. I would do it again.

A sound came from the screen again, but different. “Oh shit,” she muttered and jumped to turn it off.

She wiped her hands on the stained apron and looked at me one last time. “Well,” she said, though now her mouth wasn’t the same. “Hopefully they like it.”

She no longer saw the flowers at my top, the careful lines, the soft dusting she added when she came back after dark. She needed to stay. To look a little longer. To breathe like she used to.

But she grabbed the cold platter beneath me and carried me out the door. She placed me in the back of a car as she sat herself in the front. “Now don’t fall on me,” she said with half of a smirk and a light voice. Maybe this was going to be ok.

She turned on the car, and we began moving. The world shifted around us. New things passed through the windows—colors I only knew from inside. Greens, yellows, even purples. People moved too. Some looked like her, but not quite. Different on top. Different in color. I wanted to see more.

Wherever we were going, it had made her beam.

The car stopped moving, and she opened the door to carry me out. We entered into another place that was bigger than where we were from and looked very different. There weren’t any of her tools here, and there were more of her. They were moving objects around and looking at us.

Music vibrated through the air, but no one danced or sang like she did when it was just us. They all wore black clothes that matched the shadows despite the twinkling lights that hung on the walls. With no proper lighting, there was a small chance anyone would see the detailed lace around my layers.

One of them in all black came toward us, but I wish it hadn’t. Its face was red, and its smile was upside down. It wore something in its ear and held a notebook like hers, but it wasn’t covered in sugar or stained with food coloring.

It pointed to different parts of me and began making noises at her. “This isn’t what the bride asked for.” Its notebook opened to a page with writing, but it wasn’t pretty like hers.

Her grip around my plate tightened as the other one continued. “Everything about this…” Its hands moved through the air around me. “Is wrong.”

Wrong? How could I be wrong when I made her smile? I waited for her to say something. To point out the details—the things that made me beautiful. But nothing came.

The other one pinched the space between its eyes and waved toward a table on the other side. “Just put it over there,” it said. “I’ll figure something out.” Then it walked away, and it was just me and her again.

She took a deep breath and carried me to the table, setting me down and turning me toward her. Her face wasn’t like normal. Her eyes were red, and beneath them was wet. She wiped it away and scanned me one last time, but this time she didn’t linger. Her hand reached to adjust a petal, then fell away.

She sniffed and inhaled again, but now her chest shook. “I should have done what they wanted,” she said.

I was supposed to make her happy. What changed? I didn’t fall in the box. I held still while she worked. I should have done more.

With one last wipe of her face, she turned and walked to the door. She was leaving. But that was fine. She always left and came back.

Next time, I would do better.

She would smile again.

I sat there patiently, waiting– one petal crooked, but she will fix it. The others moved around me. Still, she didn’t come back. I’ll wait some more.

Then the space emptied for a while. Others came in, though they looked even more different. More beautiful than the ones I’ve been seeing. They sat still for some reason as music began around us.

No one’s seen me yet. I can’t wait for them to see her beautiful work. I just wish she would hurry back to see their faces and hear how much they love me.

Suddenly, my plate was being moved. “Move this to the back and put the other one there,” a voice whispered behind me. They set me behind the stack of plates and moved something else to where I was sitting.

It looked like me, but flatter. Simpler. The colors sat still. The lines didn’t curl or drape. It hadn’t taken days. I watched as they adjusted it where I had been, turning it just so.

That was where she had set me. Would she even know where to look when she came back for me?

The noise from the far end of the space quieted, and the others began moving closer to us. Now was the time. I was going to make them happy like I made her. But no one looked at me. They gathered closer to the flat one that sat in my place.

They gawked and pointed to the dull colors. Two of them stepped forward– one in black and the other in white. They talked while the others listened. I didn’t know what they said, and I didn’t care. I remained focused on the door. She had to come in at any moment. This was our time. She was going to move the flat one and put me back in my spot.

The door never opened. Everyone cheered as the ones in black and white sliced through what was supposed to be me. They made the same full sound she did with the powdered sugar.

Still no one looked at me. Maybe it was because of my crooked petal. That was ok. She would fix it.

So I held still. I stayed where she left me.

She would come back.

Next time, I would be better.