Estrella House Publishing

To the person who loves my husband:

I don’t know who is reading this letter. Maybe it’s you, Maryanne, the best sister I could ever have asked for. Maybe it’s you, Allen and Alice, the neighbors who welcomed us to Fenwick’s End all those years ago and made this place feel like home. Maybe it’s you, Charlotte, who watched Cam as a baby so that we could work, and became a lifelong friend.

Or maybe it’s you, the person Darrell falls in love with after I’m gone.

“Pops really wrote this?” Cam asked.

He held the letter gingerly, backpack hanging off his shoulder as he scanned the neat handwriting once more. Brad had already been at the house when Cam came home from school that afternoon, having let himself in with the key Darrell had given him for emergencies years ago, the letter burning a hole in his back pocket.

“You’d know his handwriting better than I do,” Brad pointed out as he searched through the cupboards for what he needed: a mixing bowl, pans, a cooling rack. “But yes, he must have. I found it in that desk your dad gave me.”

Cam swallowed hard, fingers brushing the neat script. “August fourteenth…he died a week later.”

The letter had been unfinished, the envelope blank. Dan must have intended to return to it later, and then later never arrived, so it had sat abandoned in the desk all these years.

“You can keep it, of course. It belongs to you and your dad,” Brad said. “I’m using a photocopy to make the cake. Didn’t want to get chocolate on it or something. Want to help?”  

Whoever ends up reading this, we share something in common: loving Darrell. Birthdays have always been hard for him; now they’ll be even more difficult. I hate to think that he’ll go the rest of his life never having the cake I used to make him; it was the only part of his birthday he liked, aside from Cam’s cards. It’s simple enough that even I couldn’t mess it up.

Step 1: Gather the following ingredients…

“How long until your dad gets home?”

“Said his shift ended at five.” Cam leaned a hip against the counter. “What are you looking for?”

“Vanilla.”

“Second cabinet to your right.”

Brad had been in this kitchen dozens of times over the years, but usually just to grab beers from the fridge for him and Darrell during commercial breaks of whatever game they happened to be watching. “Grab the eggs and milk for me, would you? We’ve got less than two hours to get this cake finished for your dad.”

Cam ambled over to the refrigerator. He must have grown three inches since the last time Brad saw him. He’d be as tall as Darrell soon. “How many eggs?”

“Two.”

Cam brought the eggs and milk over to the counter. “You know how to bake?”

“Used to help my mom. I’m no chef, but I know the basics.” Brad ran his finger down the list again. “Let’s see…we’ve got the salt, the baking soda, cocoa powder—”

“Don’t you mean you’re no baker?”

“Whatever.” Brad snapped the hand towel in his direction. “Set the oven to 350, smartass.” 

Step 3: Add eggs, milk, vanilla…

“You were fourteen when she died?”

Brad let Cam crack the eggs in a bowl while he measured out the other ingredients, one eye on the clock. It was supposed to take less than an hour for the cake to bake, but then it needed time to cool before they could frost it.

“Yeah.” A year younger than Cam was now, but four years older than when Cam had lost Dan. It was the first thing they had bonded over three years ago. With Darrell, it had been college basketball, and with Cam, it had been the experience of losing a parent young.

“But you had your dad.”

“Not like you do,” Brad said. His father had retreated into his grief, and Brad had left home the moment he turned eighteen. “We don’t really talk anymore. Wanna help me mix this?”

Cam used the mixer on the batter while Brad greased the pans.

“You don’t need him,” Cam said suddenly. “You’ve got us.”

Brad nudged his shoulder. “Yeah, buddy. I’ve got you two.”

Step 5: After you’ve greased the pans, pour the mixture…

“He left me a bunch of letters,” Cam said. He was watching Brad carefully pour the mixture into the two pans. “He wanted me to open some of them after he died, and then he gave others to Dad so he can give them to me on my birthday every year.”

“Do you like that?” Brad’s mom had died in an accident, sudden and brutal. He sometimes wondered if it would have been better if they had known it was coming, if she could have given them a long goodbye. He still wasn’t sure.

“I didn’t, at first,” Cam admitted. “I was really angry. I didn’t want the letters, I wanted Pops. But now I look forward to it. I always wondered why he never left anything for Dad.”

Brad placed the pans in the oven and set the timer. The cake wasn’t large, so hopefully they could get away with only letting it cool for an hour before frosting it. They were cutting it close enough as it was.

“He left things for your Dad; they just weren’t letters.” Darrell and Dan had said their goodbyes differently—not that Brad knew all the details, but Darrell had opened up a bit about his dead husband three years into their friendship. “Except for this one, I guess.”

“Do you think Dad will ever marry again?” Cam was reading the letter once more. He must have read it five times already, not that Brad could blame him. “Pops seemed to think he would.”

“Dunno, buddy. You know as much about his love life as I do.” It was the one thing they never talked about. Mostly they laughed over Brad’s disastrous attempts at dating. “How would you feel if he did?”

“They’d never be my pops,” Cam said. “But…I’d want to like them. And for them to like me.”

“Anyone who doesn’t like you is an idiot,” Brad said. “And your dad wouldn’t marry someone like that in the first place.”

Step 7: This is the most important step of all—make sure Cam gets to lick the bowl.

“So, you made this every year with your pops?”

Cam nodded from his perch on the counter. He had a smear of chocolate at the corner of his mouth, and for a moment Brad could easily picture the eight-year-old version of him in this kitchen, helping Dan break the eggs and pour the batter into pans and lick the bowl clean.

“Yeah, Pops would send Dad out on a bunch of errands or something and then we’d have the cake ready by the time he came back. He always acted surprised about it.”

“But no presents?”

“Nah, he hates them. I always made him a card, though.” Cam swiped his finger through the bowl and licked the chocolate off. “This is so good.”

“It’s literally just raw eggs and cocoa powder,” Brad laughed, though that hadn’t stopped him from licking the spoon earlier. “Want to play something?”

Cam perked up. “Really?”

Brad shrugged. “We’ve got to let the cake finish baking, and then it’s got to cool. Why not?”

“Aren’t you supposed to make me do my homework or something?”

Brad laughed. “I’m not your dad, kid. It’s not my job to be the responsible one.”

“Awesome,” Cam breathed. “Mario Kart? I’m definitely going to win this time.”

“That’s what you say every time, Cam.” 

Step 9: Make sure he knows he’s loved.

Cam’s head shot up when they heard the crunch of wheels in the driveway. “Dad’s home!”

A car door slammed. Brad frosted the last part of the cake and hurriedly tossed the butter knife in the sink. Darrell called out a greeting from the hallway as he took off his shoes and shed his coat.

“Happy birthday!” Cam and Brad called out in unison.

Brad was willing to come over to his best friend’s house and make him a cake for his birthday, but singing to him was out of the question, so he played the song on his phone while Cam lit the candles, all forty-four of them. Darrell stood frozen on the threshold for a minute before coming into the kitchen. When the song ended, he blew out the candles. He cleared his throat, and then asked, “What’s all this?”

“Brad found a letter from Pops!” Cam brandished it excitedly. “He wrote down the cake he made you every year for your birthday.”

Darrell stared at the two sheets of paper like they might be a bomb about to go off. After a moment, he reached out and gingerly took them from his son. He scanned the first page. Brad watched as his throat worked, but he said nothing.

“We thought you’d like it,” Cam said tentatively, some of the excitement leaking out of him.

Darrell reached for Cam and wrapped him in a hug.

“I love it,” he said, pressing a kiss to his son’s hair. “I’m just surprised. Thank you.”

“It was Brad’s idea,” Cam mumbled, embarrassed.

“Cam was an excellent helper,” Brad said. “Want a slice?”

“It’s five pm.”

“I think you’re allowed to have dessert before dinner on your birthday.”

So they sat on the stools at the kitchen counter and had a slice of cake each, and Brad pretended not to notice when Darrell discreetly swiped a knuckle under his eye as he ate that first bite.

Eventually, Cam went off to his room to start on his homework, and Brad put the rest of the cake in a container to store in the fridge while Darrell set about making dinner. He grabbed a couple of beers after setting the cake on the middle shelf, cracked them both open, and handed one to Darrell.

“Where did you find that letter?” Darrell asked after several minutes of companionable silence, Brad sipping his beer at the counter while Darrell worked on the meal. It was chicken tikka masala tonight, and Brad’s stomach growled despite the cake he’d just eaten. Darrell didn’t ask if he was staying for dinner, just automatically took out three plates from the cabinet and set them on the dining room table.

“Remember that desk you gave me last year?” Brad said. “The one that’d been taking up space in your garage? Finally got around to using it. The letter had fallen behind the drawers. I only found it because I pulled them out to clean them. I found it a few days ago. I wasn’t keeping it from you.” 

“Thanks,” Darrell said. “It…means a lot.”

“You ever think about dating again?” Brad blurted, and it must have been the beer that loosened his tongue.

Darrell turned around, and their eyes met. He held Brad’s gaze for a moment, and then his eyes flicked to Brad’s lips and back up again.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Once or twice.”

“Dad!” Cam shouted, and the spell broke. Brad leaned back, drawing a breath. “The wifi’s stopped working!” 

“Of course it has,” Darrell muttered, wiping his hands on a towel. He tossed Brad a smile. “Duty calls. Be right back.”

He left Brad alone in the kitchen with a pounding heart and an ache behind his sternum.

Voilà ! You’ve made a cake! Don’t worry if it’s barely edible—Darrell will eat it regardless, because you’re the one who made it for him.

I wish you well, whoever is reading this. I hope Darrell has you in his life for many years to come. Look after my husband, please. It’s the last gift I can give him.