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Eve gave a low whine as she ever so carefully, ever so tenderly placed the last strawberry slice on the top of the still cooling cake. The frosting had been a disaster, melting in thick trails down the side of the warm cake, something she compensated for by piling on more – a thick enough layer would have sorted that out, right? That was Eve’s thinking, at least, even as she desperately smeared more on, trying to stop the flow of melting sweetness in a way akin to throwing rocks on to a lava river. Sure, it would stop eventually, but more because it had cooled down and less because you had given it more material to melt. She had eventually decided to just let it cool and hopefully redistribute some of the frosting, but when she did that she ended up pulling a chunk out of the delicate sponge underneath.
So she had switched gears, adapted. Modern solutions for modern women; she found there were still fresh strawberries in the fridge and improvised, sticking them all over the cake in some semblance of a pattern. She sliced them thin and somewhat uniform, eating all the pieces that didn't fit the pattern. Chocolate and strawberries went together as perfectly as she and Villanelle, so it was a perfect solution. She smiled as she leaned back and looked at it. The strawberries mostly covered up the dried up creekbeds that the frosting had left behind when it melted. They were arranged in a bit of a checkerboard, so she had jammed the candles between them on top. She had the idea to use as many candles as Villanelle had years, now – 29. She had not bothered to count out the squares of space, so a few had to double up. It didn’t matter, at any rate; she didn’t have time to waste fretting over the pattern, not when Villanelle would be home at any moment.
This was the third cake attempt of the day and she was out of time; the remnants of her previous efforts sat in a designated garbage bag in the alley. The first one had burned horribly, charring so heavily at the bottom that Eve couldn't pry it out of the pan. Somehow, though, the middle had stayed completely molten, making trying to dislodge the charcoal at the bottom that much more difficult. She had thrown the pan out in distress and just restarted entirely. The next cake she had watched like a hawk, staring into the oven to make sure it didn't burn. That one had baked beautifully, golden brown and firm enough throughout. She had been so proud... up until she decided to taste a tiny sliver. It had looked so good she couldn't resist.
She had almost cried when she realized that she had done something to the cake to make it not only dry, but entirely tasteless. After a solid half an hour of dread bordering on existential, she had chucked that one in the bin too, screaming obscenities at it. Her third and last attempt, she followed the instructions down to the very letter. She had measured. She had sifted. She had brought things to room temperature that needed to be there. She had leveled off the measuring cups. She had absolutely avoided eyeballing anything because that had left her with a full bin bag before. The cake had to be perfect, and she had made it perfect. Except for the damned frosting.
Eve made a noise as she heard it.
The door opened quietly and closed just as quietly, but Eve had been listening for it and began hastily lighting the candles.
“Vil! Come in here!” She called, trying to quell the panic the day had caused her.
“Ah? Okay, just a minute, gotta get my boots off…”
When she arrived in the kitchen, the candles were all lit. It looked amazing, and her nerves had subsided at the sight of the flickering flames atop the cake. Eve began to sing, looking to her, excited to show her what she had done. She would avoid mentioning that it was her third try.
“Happy birthday to you… Happy birthday to you… Happy birthday dear -”
“Eve…” Villanelle had smiled as she started to sing… but something in her face changed quickly. It was a look she recognized. It was a look of absolute horror. “Eve? EVE!?”
“I’m not done y – oh FUCK!” Eve yelled.
The tiny individual flames of 29 candles placed just a bit too close together had come together to form 27 flames, then 17, then 10, then 4 – and then 2, by the time Eve realized what was happening. Eventually it hit one beautiful flame, melting both the wax of the candles and the frosting below with horrifying intensity. Eve cried out, a terrible noise, wanting to cry at the sight of her beautiful, beautiful cake going up in flames. She could do little more than grab the platter she had placed it on, chucking it in panic into the sink. Villanelle ran to it and flicked on the tap, using the hose to douse the small inferno.
Bits of cake contaminated water flung up all around as she put out the candle-fire, effectively drenching both parties in the processed.
When all was said and done, Villanelle looked between her and the destroyed cake and slowly, and a noise rose from her throat. It was a chuckle at first, and then full blown hysterical laughter.
“Eve, oh my god! EVE! You made me a cake? And you set it on fire!?” She gasped between breaths as Eve, wet and distraught, pouted.
“Stop laughing at me, you asshole! I tried really hard!” Eve sobbed – then found herself wrapped up in Villanelle’s arms.
“Oh, baby. You tried so hard, and I love you. Is that frosting over there? You made that, not from a can?” Villanelle’s laughing tapered off as she patted her back.
“I made it… it’s really good… I wanted to make everything from scratch and I fucked it up the first two times...” Eve mumbled lamely, dropping her head heavily to Villanelle's shoulder.
“It looks like there’s a bunch left… so how about we take that out to the sitting room and eat it right out of the bowl… And I can tell you all about the time I spent a whole day trying to make you a cake.”
“You don’t bake, though.” Eve observed, giving a weak little smile.
“I sure don’t.” Villanelle grinned. “Neither do you, apparently. But I still love you.”
“Happy birthday, baby… I love you too.”