The popularity of cupcake-specific bakeries had certainly made her birthdays more manageable, and as cheerfully barfy as these establishments were in general, she’d hoped their convenience would be around a lot longer. At least until she died. This was the last one in the city and was so far from the neighborhood, plus she had to walk through that part with all the flower shops that made her sneeze and weirdly, felt like she was being watched. Should she take up baking? Vanilla, carrot cake, almond, pumpkin with maple creme… what else?
“Pink or chocolate frosting?” asks the baker, wiggling her finger between the two rows of vanilla cupcakes.
“Pink, please. And I’ll take that coffee cake-looking one too.”
“One more for a half a dozen, dear.”
A half a dozen? Jesus. Thinking of six of them she blanches. “Oh, another of the pink frosted things would be swell.”
“Is it a birthday, then?” she asks, nodding at the shopping bag full of purple napkins and streamers.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How old is she?”
“Six.”
“Ah she must be a cutie. You’ve got a pretty face, love.”
“Thank you. She’s very cute, if I say so myself.”
“Don’t ya just wish they could stay that way forever?”
“Forever …. Yeah…” Taking hold of the red and white striped string wrapped around the box Eleanor shivers and says goodnight to the baker.
“Have a lovely party, dear!”
“It’s going to be such a lovely party, Eleanor! You remembered ev-er-y-thing!” Ellie sings out clambering all over the apartment draping it in crepe twists. “Help me with the lights now?”
“Lenore, help her with the lights. They’re in a basket in the closet.”
Lenore materializes in the hall, a hand on her hip and another forever fidgeting with a crystal teardrop pendant around her neck. “Can’t Noni help? I’m busy.”
“Busy? What is it you actually do, Lenore? And who knows where Noni is? She’s harder to keep track of than you.”
The lights were strung up when she came back in with Mom’s punchbowl in hand and a bottle of ginger ale under her arm. Or was it Gramma’s? Either way it was faceted and had a zigzag edge, and sparkled in a way that nothing else she’d ever had did. It was probably Gramma’s.
There’s a thumping in the stairwell and a blur from the door to the table the height of a 12-year-old. The air fills with stale cigarettes and blast beats as Noni pulls her earbuds out, cramming them into the pocket of her purple hoodie. “Am I late? Is it time? Is she here yet?”
An older presence lags behind the blur, pulling a bunch of balloons through the doorway. “Are these ok, Ellie?”
“Yeah-yeah! Exactly perfect, Leni. Look at how exactly perfect this place is! Even Lenore helped!” says the smallest, now in a party dress with pigtails smoothed and a cheery glow about her.
“She helped? Cool,” say Leni and Eleanor in unison. Eleanor cringes. They were becoming so much alike it was creepy.
“Yeah-yeah, cool! And pretty, yeah?” asks Ellie tying balloons to the mismatched chairs.
“Very pretty,” says Noni, pulling a paper bag from her knapsack. “They didn’t have the tin with all the colors so I just got them individually. The guy let me have one free for every three. That’s a deal, yeah? And I had some bucks of my own and got a tablet too. Can’t have pens without the paper, yeah?”
Smiling at the smaller girls, Eleanor pulls some tissue paper from the sideboard drawer. “That’s perfect, Non. There’s some ribbon in my desk, too. Do it up?”
Lenore appears in the doorway again holding a pitcher of juice. “This goes in that thing that was Gramma’s too, yeah?” she says motioning to the bowl twinkling under the lights. The oldest one nods.
“Right, right. You remember that?”
“How to make punch? Who doesn’t know how to make punch?” she says mixing pink and amber together with the silver ladle. Was I this disinterested at 18, Eleanor wondered, arranging the cupcakes on a plain white platter. Mom’s for sure.
Ellie pauses napkin folding, screwing up her face, and dims for a moment “I don’t. Is it just juice and ginger ale? Is it still punch if it’s not in a fancy bowl?”
The broken clock tiredly clanged a single chime. They freeze, remembering when it was overwound; one of the oldest memories they all share. Eleanor is the first to snap back to.
“She’ll be here soon,” say at least two of them. Eleanor isn’t sure who else.
7:03. The littlest of them grab each other’s hands. Glancing over she watches Leni, eyes closed, biting her lip, and Lenore shifting with nervous energy from foot to foot, tightening her grip around her arms.
7:04.
“Happy birthday to us!” they say with varying degrees of excitement. And now there are six.