Monday December 30, 2013
Red wants me to bake him a chocolate cake for his birthday but I’m trying to cut down. On chocolate. Not on cake. “Let them (me) eat cake!” I say. “What about lemon? Citrus is so fresh…” I try to entice him. He rolls his eyes. “Citrus is so nice this time of year!” Red stands up and makes for the fridge. This guy can eat an entire frozen lasagne. He can eat a whole crate of those clementines. “I want a chocolate cake, okay?!” “Fine!” I say, “I just won’t be able to have any!” “Oh Jesus, Ramona,” he says, “it’s a special occasion every Thursday night when the girls come over but you won’t celebrate with me on my damn birthday?” I think he’s upset because he’s turning twenty. He isn’t ready to have the responsibility of no longer being a teenager. “I’ll make you a chocolate cake,” I say. “I’ll make it, I’ll eat it, and then I will be very upset. And you know who is going to have to deal with me like that?! YOU.” After standing there, door open, gazing in like he might find the secret to life, Red takes a jar of pickles from the fridge and goes upstairs to his room.