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Rosie is never finding her mate. She can stay here with us forever.

Elsie pulls away, clearly trying not to laugh. “You brought it up.”

“I made a mistake.”

Rosie climbs onto one of the kitchen chairs and reaches toward the cake.

Elsie catches her hand without even looking. “Don’t touch.”

“I was just checking it.”

“With your finger?”

Rosie grins.

I glance around the kitchen. There are decorations everywhere, along with bowls of food waiting to be taken outside. “Where is everyone?”

“Ansel and Julian are setting up the tables out back. Abe went to grab more ice. The others should be here soon.”

“Why didn’t you wait for me? I would have helped.”

“You’ve been planning this party for three months. You’ve done enough.”

“It’s her birthday.”

“It’s a birthday party, Pyrce, not a royal coronation.”

I look at our daughter. “She’s basically a princess.”

“Exactly!” Rosie shouts.

Elsie points the strawberry knife at me. “You’re the reason she demanded two cakes.”

“She should have two cakes.”

“No one needs two birthday cakes.”

“She only turns four once.”

Elsie shakes her head, but I can see the smile she’s fighting.

Rosie studies us for a moment before asking, “Did Mommy have two cakes when she was four?”

My smile slips. Elsie’s parents barely noticed she existed. I doubt they ever gave her one cake, much less two.

Elsie must see the answer on my face because she touches my wrist.

“No, sweetheart,” she tells Rosie. “I didn’t.”

“Why not?”

“My parents weren’t very good at birthdays.”

Rosie looks horrified. “Did Daddy make you a cake?”

“I didn’t know your mommy when she was four.”

Rosie frowns. “Where was she?”