“Anyway,” he says with a shrug. “I wanted to surprise you.”
“Mission fucking accomplished,” Bryn snaps. She looks as brittle and breakable as a spun-sugar statue.
I glance around. Yup. Everyone’s still staring. “Look, why don’t we all sit for a minute so we can talk this out without freaking out the whole restaurant?”
“I don’t want to sit with him,” Bryn snaps. “I’m leaving.”
“Just have a piece of cake,” I say. “You can’t not have princess cake.”
She glowers at me, but she lowers into her chair. I do the same.
Auggie runs a hand through his hair and then sits in one of the two remaining chairs. His attention shifts to Bryn.
I’m hoping he’ll have enough sense to apologize, but apparently that’s too much to ask for because he says, “You didn’t recognize me. Why? Is it the hair? Did I go too dark?”
Ha! I knew it was dyed.
I start cutting the skirt into pieces. Sorry, bodiless princess, but only delicious cake can help solve a situation this shitty.
Bryn doesn’t look amused, though. She’s staring at Auggie with murder in her eyes.
He gives a little laugh. “Why, the other day I mentioned to someone that I was planning to celebrate my daughters’ thirty-fifth birthday with them, and she couldn’t believe that I was old enough to have daughters, let alone ones so—”
“Don’t finish that sentence, bub,” I say, lifting a hand. “Also, can’t you read? Look at the candles.”
Bryn laughs too, but there’s no humor in it. “No woman said that to you,” she says, her tone dark, “or if they did, they wanted something from you. You look like you’re auditioning for a commercial for little blue pills.”
He looks horror-stricken now. “You’re just saying that to hurt me.”
“No,” she says. “I’m saying it because it’s true. You left when we were little, and we haven’t seen you since. What made you think we’d want to see you, of all people, on our birthday?”
“Because I’m your father,” he says warmly. Man, that cake video must have really gotten to him. He almost sounds like he means it.
I sense it happening the instant before it does, like Bryn and I really do have that twin connection people talk about. She lifts her drink and splashes it in his face. Then she gets up and turns to go. “Bryn, the cake!” I call out inanely. “There’s a crunch layer!”
“I’m not hungry,” she says without turning. “I’m going to see Matt.”
I make a face, which thankfully she can’t see.
I signal to the waiter, who’s still watching us like he’s eyeballing a car wreck on the side of the road. He probably regrets his role in this sad series of events, or maybe he’s just happy to have a mildly entertaining story to share with other guests.
“Check, please!” I say. And, because I really am excited about that crunch layer, I add, “ll need a box for the cake.”
That accomplished, I turn to look at Auggie.
“Are you wearing makeup?” I ask, confused. There are two dark lines running down from his eyes. I mean, no judgment, but it’s unexpected.
“Is it running?” he asks in horror.
“Is that really what you care about right now?”
The longing look he throws at the bathroom confirms it.
“I tried, Holly,” he says, seeming to really think it’s true. “No one can say I didn’t try. I mean, most dads wouldn’t fly across the country to show up at their daughters’ birthday celebration as a surprise.”
Indeed. Because most dads would have been invited. Admittedly, Bryn and I agreed long ago that our birthday dinner would always be anusthing—other people could hang out with us before and after, but the dinner would just be the two of us, even if we did it on a day other than our actual birthday. But even so.
“Your social graces need work, Auggie,” I say. “Do you want a piece of cake to go?”
