Story 11: Birthday Cakes

My niece came over one afternoon on Christmas break of her junior year in college, a warm day for January. Sometimes when Natalie’s back in Kansas City for the summer or Christmas, she just shows up. I figured she wanted to talk about the party for her twenty-first birthday in February. She was having two: one with her family and one the next night with her friends, both in Boulder. I had promised to drive to Boulder a few days beforehand and make her the best cake a girl ever had for a party. I hadn’t told her that I planned to make special individual cakes for her friends, based on what she’d said about them over the years and what they’d said to me whenever I saw them. They were all turning twenty-one this year. But she didn’t say anything about cakes or birthdays, just dithered around for a while, then turned to me and raised her chin to me, the way she does sometimes—she got that from her mother. Whenever my sister has finally reached her limit with a person, which takes her about twice as long as it does anyone else, she raises her chin just that way and tells that person to stop. It always works. I try to get her to do this more often, but she never takes my advice. So up came that chin, my sister’s bones imprinted on a twenty-year-old, and she said plaintively, “Aunt Jennie? There’s something I need to tell you.”

Anyone could tell from that tone that something big and hairy was coming down the road. I got us both a coke and sat down at the round table in my kitchen, where walls, ceiling, furniture, and appliances are shades of light blue or cream. A room so open and airy that every morning when I come down here to have breakfast, drink coffee, and read the paper, I swear that I could just fly out like the birds in the trees beyond the windows. I made her sit down with me. It’s good to be close when you say important things.

“What is it, honey?”

She twisted her fingers around each other for a while. “Two years ago about this time, I had an abortion.” She didn’t look at me.

The room didn’t seem so airy anymore. It had imploded and filled with all sorts of dangerous edges. And I felt immediately guilty, as if my life had somehow moved the two of us toward this moment. Was it because everyone thinks I’m the wild one? Was that why Natalie told me, instead of her mother?

“Michael got you pregnant?” I asked and then berated myself. I didn’t know why I phrased it that way. Despite how fast I’d kept moving all my life, my old-fashioned upbringing could still catch up to me.

But she was nodding. “Yes.” She didn’t say anything for a minute, then took a deep breath.

“Did you tell him?”

“I told Debbie first.”

I was getting the picture here, and it wasn’t pretty. I had always prided myself on being honest with men, but Natalie obviously had different standards. I got up and paced around the room. I found myself at the refrigerator, took out the potato salad, and ate from the bowl.

She straightened up and caught my stare. “I did eventually tell Michael,” she said.

“That’s good,” I told her. I tried to think of the correct thing to say at this juncture, but then Natalie started looking at me expectantly, and I thought to myself, Oh, no. She wants me to tell Ashley.

“I want to get this out in the open, Aunt Jennie,” she said. “I want to tell Mom and Dad; I just don’t know how.”

I stared at her. “The same way you’ve told me, I guess.”

“No.” She turned pale. “I can’t tell Mom all by myself.”

She had a point. My big sister Ashley had been bounded all her life by desires for what she couldn’t have, the principal desire being for a large family, wild and loud. The complete opposite of our family and something I decided against when I was in my twenties—when I was young enough to think that relationships might last long enough to raise a child but old enough to understand the difficulty women in my family had in conceiving.

All my knowledge of Ashley warned me against telling her myself. She’d be terribly wounded that Natalie, her only child, had told me first. But another part of me felt flattered that Natalie had come to me first, and that part of me wanted to make this situation a success.

“Let me think about it,” I told Natalie. “Then I’ll give you a call.”

She sat there for a while afterward, drinking her coke, but I felt desperate to be alone. Finally I sent her on her way. She walked out to her car in a daze. I hoped the traffic was light for her drive home. Why did she want to tell us this? I would never have dreamed of telling my parents, but that was another time, when abortion was illegal. After I sat in the kitchen and ate all the potato salad, I got up and checked the orders I’d brought home from my bakery last night. I began to bake some cupcakes. Then I made three braids of bread from the dough that had been rising since that morning. It felt good to mix things and twist them and pound them down until they were a manageable size. In the middle of all this, Mom called with a question about the party. All Natalie’s grandparents were going to be there; Mom had forgotten where we were all staying, and a friend of hers in Boulder wanted to know. I told her we were staying at Gold Hill Inn and having the party there, since in February it might be troublesome to drive from Boulder to the party and back on account of snow. Talking to her gave me an idea.

I thought it best that Natalie air this issue before the party, so that she could use that occasion to smooth over any hurt feelings. I called Ashley and told her that Natalie and I needed to discuss something with her, something important. She said two days from now would be best. Then I called Natalie and told her that I had talked to Ashley and that the three of us would meet in two days. She agreed, not that she had any choice.

**

I’ve always loved triangles. My favorite cakes have been shaped that way, and I always like my relationships triangular too. Especially with men. If I have someone waiting in the wings, it helps to keep my main man on his toes until he makes his inevitable exit. So when Natalie and Ashley and I were sitting in my living room two days later—each of us in one chair, each by herself—I knew I could make this explanation go smoothly. It was just a matter of playing my sister off my niece.

Natalie eyed me as if she wanted to protest. Or bolt.

Ashley said, “You two have a very mysterious air about you. What did you want to tell me?”

“It’s about Natalie,” I told her. She glanced at her daughter.

“About your party?”

“No, Mom,” Natalie said.

“Natalie has something to tell you that’s really hard to say,” I said. “She asked for my help.” I tried to keep too much pride out of my voice.

“Two years ago…” Natalie began. Then her voice caught.

“Yes?” Ashley said.

Natalie coughed a little. “I had an abortion.”

There, the words were out. And so was my sister. She leapt up and advanced toward Natalie, saying, “You were pregnant and you didn’t tell me?”

At first Natalie shrank back into her chair. Then she stared up at her mother, tears in her eyes. “I was afraid to.”

That comment stopped Ashley. She began to cry too. Soon there was a regular tearfest drowning my living room—three women with cutesy names crying their eyes out. I knew I would feel disgusted with myself later, but I could never resist crying when everyone else was doing it.

Finally I got up and fetched Kleenex and some mint cookies. Ashley sat on the floor by Natalie’s chair, eating cookies and asking her questions. I returned to my chair, maintaining the triangle, but congratulating myself that I had brought them closer.

“Was it Michael’s?” Ashley asked. I already knew the answer, but I had no intention of volunteering any more information. It was Natalie’s show now. I would stay in the background.

“Yes,” Natalie said.

“He would have helped you,” Ashley said. “He would have been a good father. Why didn’t you keep it?”

Natalie shifted impatiently. “I didn’t want to marry him,” she said softly. Then more firmly: “I won’t have a child with a man I don’t want to marry.” From the tone in her voice, I knew she wasn’t just talking about Michael. In saying those words, Natalie had just exorcised the family demon of infertility. She had just as much as said to her mother, “Unlike you, I can get pregnant whenever I want to.” She knew she had more choices than her mother, and she intended to use them any way she saw fit. For a moment, I felt jealous.

Ashley persisted. “One of us could have taken care of the baby.”

I couldn’t see the point of this discussion, since we were talking about events two years in the past, so I tried to steer my sister in another direction. “Natalie always talks about having children,” I told Ashley. “She wasn’t ready. And how could it work anyway, for one of us to take the baby? A child can’t just be passed around.”

Ashley glared at me, even while she was nibbling at one of my mint cookies. I wanted to shove it right down her throat, make her swallow something whole, gorge herself for once. But she wasn’t willing to move on from this subject. She turned back to Natalie. “Just for a few years. Until you were settled enough to make a home for a child.”

“No,” Natalie said. I silently cheered her on. “Nobody but me will raise my children.”

My living room fell silent for a moment, and I noticed most of the cookies were gone. Had I eaten that many? I was mentally searching my refrigerator for another snack, when Ashley changed the subject, asking Natalie, “When you found out you were pregnant, why didn’t you tell us then?”

Natalie stared ahead blindly, searching for an answer to that question but finding none. I’d never been able to explain my own silences; why should a college girl do any better? Finally, she said, “I knew how much you wanted a big family, Mom. I was afraid of that.”

“I did,” Ashley said. “I wanted to have four children, maybe more. But then I got cervical cancer and had to have a hysterectomy.”

I could tell, watching Natalie’s face, that my sister’s grief had become my niece’s guilt. Myself, I thought it was time for Ashley to leave that grief behind. But then, I had chosen not to have children—her choice had been made for her.

Ashley continued, “What you mean by ‘afraid’ is, you were afraid we’d make the decision for you.”

Natalie nodded, a look of relief on her face. “Growing up,” she said, “I heard so often how women in my family had a difficult time getting pregnant. Being pregnant in college was hard enough—I didn’t want to take on family history too.”

Ashley combed her auburn hair back with her fingers, something she did when she couldn’t immediately think of an answer. Unconsciously, Natalie did the same thing. Again, I felt envious, but I wasn’t sure of what: of having a daughter that might as well be your mirror image, except that she had her father’s hair color? Or of the inability to escape family when they’re your children?

“Just one more thing,” Ashley said, glancing at me and then back at her daughter. “You went to Jennie in this case. Not to me or your father. Why?”

All of a sudden, my triangle fell apart. I had been excluded, by my own sister. I wanted Ashley to pay for that remark about telling me first; I wanted Natalie to come down hard on her. But of course she didn’t. Natalie tried to put everything back together. “I wanted to ask her advice,” she told her mother. “She’s known you longer than I have, after all.” She smiled at me.

“Promise me,” Ashley said, putting her hand on Natalie’s, “that you’ll come to us for help in the future.”

“Of course,” Natalie said. I was secretly pleased that she had avoided the word “promise.”

**

Picture two sets of grandparents, two parents, and an aunt, all surrounding Natalie, standing in front of the fire. She was saying that this would be the cold spell for the year, and she was having a hard time getting through it. Outside, it was snowing again. I hoped that next time I went outside I wouldn’t see mysterious tracks in the snow. They were smaller than my hand, so they couldn’t have been left by a mountain lion, right? Or so I assured myself. My sister and our parents gave one toast, and then Teddy and his parents stood up to perform theirs. Ceremonies like this always made me sad. My parents never threw us parties, but Ashley and Teddy were insistent to a fault about them. I think Natalie was enjoying the occasion.

Teddy mentioned that Natalie had never had a sweet sixteen party because they had had to go to his uncle Theo’s funeral, but “she never complained.” I stood there, drink hoisted, thinking of those, like me, who didn’t get more than one present on any birthday and who had complained, vociferously. My parents told me they held back to build our characters. I’d always thought they were cheap. Only later in life had I met people whose families couldn’t afford any presents at all. I should have gained more perspective from them, but I still had regrets. Oh well. I could always throw a humdinger of a birthday party for myself when I turned fifty.

My mother spoke of how Natalie reminded her of her mother. I could see that. My grandma was a character, always saying the silliest, funniest things. I could listen to her for hours. She loved to make fun of human foibles. Sometimes people in our family seem to alternate through the generations: Grandma, sweet and tolerant, Mom and Dad, restrictive and quick to judge.

Then Dad took his turn. Not much of a talker, he simply held up his large wine glass and said to Natalie, “You’re an adult in the family now. Here’s to family far and near, close and scattered, the family that was, the family that is, and the family you’ll have.” He said it with such resonance that we all cheered.

But later, after I had served everyone a piece of Natalie’s cake, I wondered if Ashley had told him. I caught her eye across the room, and she picked up her empty plate and came over to the cake table, where I was standing, debating whether to have seconds then or wait until someone else did first. Ashley closed her hand over mine, the one holding the cake knife.

“Feeling a little sentimental?” I asked her.

“No, grateful,” she said. “To you.”

I frowned at her.

“I was so angry at first,” she confessed. “It felt like things kept getting taken away.” She took some Kleenex out of her pocket and wiped her face. “First I had a hysterectomy. Then I had to leave my family because of my husband’s job. Then my daughter didn’t even tell me when she got pregnant.”

“If you had gotten pregnant in college, would you have told our parents?” I asked her.

She considered that. “Mom told me she had friends who had abortions. I might have.”

“But friends having abortions—that’s different from your own daughter,” I said. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Ashley said, lifting my hand, cake knife and all, and cutting a piece of cake. Then she lifted the plate and popped a piece of cake in her mouth, eyeing me.

“I didn’t tell Mom or Dad,” she said. “I didn’t see why they needed to know.”

“I didn’t think you would,” I told her.

She raised her eyebrows. “Why say something that might cause trouble?”

I laughed at her. “You’re asking me? You know I like to cause trouble.”

“I didn’t get that impression last month,” she said.

Just then I realized how much I wanted her to apologize for thinking me unfit to be her daughter’s confidante. I turned away and helped myself to seconds too. I figured if I cried into the cake, she might not notice.

“Thank you,” Ashley said.

“For the cake?” I asked her.

“For being there when Natalie told me. It stopped me from saying things I’d be regretting now.”

It wasn’t really an apology. But then, Ashley was seldom direct.

“I’m your sister,” I said simply. “I know what you need.”

She nodded and rejoined the group by the fire.

I put down my plate and tidied up the table, admiring the small cakes that I had made for Debbie, Deirdre, Josh, Jodi, and Becky. All Natalie’s friends with whom I’d spent many an afternoon when I visited Boulder. Sometimes I showed up without calling first, just to give Natalie a dose of her own medicine. She never minded. I had put all my heart into making those cakes. I’d mixed Debbie’s cake extra rich because I’ve had friends like her, but then they’ve moved away and we’ve let the distance matter. Deirdre’s cake had a pattern like grass and flowers in a meadow and some aspen leaves. She was always going on about plants. I covered Josh’s with faces made of marzipan; they were all talking to each other. That man could charm anyone. If only I were younger … Becky’s was shaped like a fedora because she was wearing a hat every time I saw her, and Jodi got a cat face. She might not be a cat person, but she always struck me that way. And then my niece. Who was my only niece by blood and would have been my favorite even if she weren’t. I dotted Natalie’s pale yellow cake with white flowers. Hovering over them, hummingbirds and moths and bumblebees, all in shimmering shades of silver or green. Everyone could have a piece with a flower and a pollinator. Whether they got the point or not, I don’t know. It was my way of saying that there are many ways to be fertile. I knew Natalie had always wanted children. I just wanted her to remember what I could make.


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