Vows of Misfortune

21.

It was the day my parents were leaving for England. My mum's makeup had become wet and stained because of her tears and I didn't even bother wearing makeup because I knew that was the outcome waiting for me.

Dad and I hugged the longest. "I'll miss you," I whispered into his chest. He pat my head and then kissed the top of it, pushing me away. As if keeping me in his arms any longer would mean he was going to cry too.

"We'll see you in a few months," he reiterated the same words he'd said a few hours before.

Romir and I watched as they went around the metal bars and passed the guards standing outside. We stood behind the bars, waving as they turned for a final goodbye.

My chin trembled and soft, small gasps left my mouth whenever I tried to take a breath. Romir didn't ask questions as he began to turn and head back toward where he had parked his bike. I followed him at a close distance, making sure I had enough privacy to sob quietly to myself.

Stop crying. You'll see them soon. It's not goodbye forever. I sniffled and wiped at my cheeks. So many people never saw their parents after getting married at all so I was lucky in that regard. I didn't have any reason to be crying.

I sat on the back of Romir's bike, making sure not to touch him as I always did. And like always, he was the only one that had a helmet. We drove by, the speed and the wind drying my tears and allowing me to try and focus on the whizzing of the scenery and the people that walked by.

It distracted me.

Instead of going down the main road, however, Romir turned into a corner of a narrow street. We stopped outside a bakery, the smell of butter and dough wafting into my nose. Mhm, smells yummy.

"What are you doing?" I asked, ignoring my stomach.

"It's uncle's birthday in two days," he responded, gesturing for me to get off. I did and waited beside it.

I assumed he was going to go inside and buy a cake. He parked the bike and we both headed up the mini stairs leading to the glass door and he pushed it open.

He didn't hold it open for me to follow; he let it go and my left hand shot out to keep it open. I glared at the back of his head.

Thanks a lot. I would have said something but the array of selections of different styled and colourful cakes on display behind glass cages made my jaw drop.

Nutella, Tiramisu, Fruit Overload, Strawberry Shortcake, Ferrero Rocher, I listed off. Damn, there was everything. "What kind of cake does he like?" I asked.

"Don't know."

How was that even an answer? "How do you not know?"

The tall young woman behind the glass cage looked between us. "Hi, can I help you?"

"Go with Black Forest," I whispered. "Since you clearly don't know anything about your uncle." He swivelled his head slowly toward me. "I'm being serious."

He ground his teeth. "...Black Forest." I was shocked that he actually listened to me, wiping the mocking smile off my face.

"Any writing on that, sir?"

"Happy Birthday."

"That's it?"

He nodded and swiped his card. Instead of handing us the cake from the display itself, she said, "A new batch of Black Forest cakes are just being made. It won't be long."

That made sense. So I waited while staring at the glass display when someone calling out made me turn to the front door.

"Romir!"