Page 189 of The Encore’s Crown

“No idea. I blacked out at the register.”

She marches toward him, already reaching for the box. He lifts it above her head.

“No arguing, just eating or I'm taking it home.”

“It is my cake.”

Kiri relaxes beside me with each breath. Rithy catches his eye over Mrs. Chhim’s head. Something passes between them, a silent confirmation that it wasn’t him. Not this time. I lace my fingers more tightly through Kiri’s while Mrs. Chhim orders Rithy into the kitchen and threatens him playfully with a knife if he doesn’t surrender it willingly.

The house fills with noise again. Laughter and arguing. Mrs. Chhim calling both her sons stubborn while smiling too widely to make the insult convincing. The photographs remain open across the coffee table. A family history told only through its happiest memories.

Proof that even inside a house built around fear, they still, sometimes, found reasons to smile.

Rithy gets the cake out of the box while all four of us are standing around the kitchen island like he’s unveiling a religious artifact. Pale green layers sit beneath a smooth yellow frosting topped with tiny white flowers beside shards of spun sugar so delicate I’m afraid breathing too close might destroy them. Mrs. Chhim presses both hands to her cheeks.

“Oh, too beautiful.”

Rithy beams. Mrs. Chhim circles the island, admiring every side. Kiri finds the candles before she can ask how much it cost again. Rithy bought two gold number candles for the occasion, and Kiri pushes the six and five into the center of the cake while Mrs. Chhim watches with open disbelief.

“Sixty-five,” she says.

Her hand rises to her throat.

“I can't believe.”

“You don't look a day over thirty-five,” I tell her.

Kiri lights the candles. Their flames reflect in her eyes as we gather around the island and sing to her. Kiri’s voice drops into that deeper register he rarely uses but his voice is actually nicer than he'd ever admit. Rithy harmonizes automatically, because even happy birthday becomes a full performance when musicians are involved. Mrs. Chhim joins them, laughing through tears.

“Make a wish,” I tell her.

“I have everything today.”

Mrs. Chhim leans forward and blows out the candles while we cheer loudly enough to annoy the neighbors.

“Sixty-five,” she says again as Kiri pulls the candles free. “How do I become so old?”

Rithy grabs the knife.

“Dad’s eighty-seven. He should’ve been dead years ago, but apparently spite is an excellent preservative.”

Kiri snorts before adding, “That and whatever demon he sold his soul to.”

Ma’s smile disappears.

“Don't talk about James this way.”

Rithy’s hand stills over the cake. Kiri looks toward the counter. The warmth in the room dips, not gone but bruised.

“He is still your father,” Ma says.

Rithy’s mouth tightens.

“Unfortunately.”

“Rithy.”

“Fine.”