She licked frosting off her thumb. Then she cut another huge piece for Karen. Then one for Frank.
She started to put the knife down. “Where is Lily’s piece?” I asked. My mother looked at me as if I had spoken in a foreign language.
“What?”
“The birthday girl,” I said, pointing to Lily. “She hasn’t had a slice.”
“Oh, please,” Linda scoffed. “Look at that dress.
It’s silk or something. She’ll just make a mess. She drops food everywhere.
It’s disgusting to watch.”
“She’s two,” I said. “And it’s her cake.”
“She doesn’t deserve cake,” Linda said coldly. “She hasn’t earned it.
She sits there like a lump. Cake is for good children who behave and talk to their grandmother.”
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