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Dorothy shut the front door behind her, her bag nearly slipping off her shoulder as she stomped inside. She muttered under her breath, shoving the bag onto the entryway table before making a beeline for the kitchen.
Rose was already in there, humming to herself, a light dusting of flour on her cheeks as she carefully spread frosting onto a freshly baked cake. She had spent all afternoon making it from scratch, convinced that Dorothy would love the surprise. But the moment she heard the door slam, her body stiffened. She peeked over her shoulder and saw Dorothy approaching.
“Oh no,” Rose whispered to herself, her eyes darting around for a place to hide the cake. There was no time to put it in the fridge. No time to shove it in the oven. In a moment of pure panic, she grabbed the cake and quickly set it on a chair, scooting it under the table just as Dorothy stormed into the kitchen.
“Rose,” Dorothy greeted flatly, barely even looking at her.
“H-Hello, Dorothy!” Rose said, forcing an innocent smile, wiping her hands on her apron.
Dorothy sighed and rubbed her temples. “You would not believe the day I’ve had.” She walked toward the table, and Rose’s heart practically stopped in her chest.
“High schoolers?” Rose asked, trying to distract her.
“High schoolers,” Dorothy confirmed darkly, placing her hands on the back of a chair—the chair with the cake. Rose nearly lunged forward to stop her but hesitated, afraid of making it obvious.
Dorothy groaned. “You know, I woke up this morning thinking, ‘Maybe today won’t be so bad.’ Then I walk into class, and what’s the first thing I hear? A student calling me ‘Frankenstein’s mother.’” She clenched her jaw. “And I think, ‘Alright, I can handle that.’”
Rose fidgeted, glancing at the chair as Dorothy pulled it out slightly.
Dorothy continued. “But then I assign an essay, and some brilliant kid stands up and says, ‘You can’t make me do work. My dad’s a lawyer.’” She threw her hands up. “A lawyer, Rose! As if I give a damn!”
Rose could see Dorothy’s frustration peaking, and she wanted to comfort her, but her panic over the hidden cake kept her frozen in place.
Dorothy took a deep breath and ran a hand down her face. “I just need to sit down.”
Rose’s eyes widened in horror. “Wait, Dorothy—”
But it was too late.
Dorothy sat down firmly, and the sound that followed was unlike anything Rose had ever heard before. It was a thick, moist squish, followed by a slow, oozing glop.
Dorothy froze. Her mouth fell open slightly, her eyes closing as she inhaled deeply through her nose. A long, defeated sigh left her lips.
Rose slapped both hands over her mouth, eyes as big as saucers.
Dorothy, eyes still closed, spoke in a dangerously calm voice. “Rose?”
Rose’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Yes?”
“What did I just sit in?”
Rose swallowed. “...Cake.”
Dorothy opened her eyes and turned her head to look at her. Her gaze was sharp, emotionless. A death stare.
Rose winced. “I—I was baking a cake to surprise you! And I didn’t want you to see it too early and ruin the surprise, and then you came in and you were in a mood, and—and then you sat in it.”
Dorothy let out another deep sigh, running a hand down her face before muttering something that sounded suspiciously like goddammit. Then, in a quieter voice, she mumbled, “I need a cigarette.”
Rose gave a nervous chuckle. “I can bake you another cake?”
Dorothy shook her head, her expression flat. Slowly, she stood up from the chair, and a grotesque slurp sound accompanied her movements as the cake, now a pile of mush, peeled away from the seat and stuck to the back of her pants.
“No, Rose,” Dorothy said in exhaustion. "Just order me a pizza instead.”
Rose perked up. “Okay! I can do that.”
Dorothy sighed again and turned to leave, muttering, “I’m going to go change my pants.”
As she walked out of the kitchen, Rose finally got a full view of the disaster on Dorothy’s backside—frosting smeared from her waistband down to the backs of her thighs, chunks of cake clinging helplessly to the fabric. It was absolutely ridiculous, and Rose had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.
“I love you,” she called after Dorothy, unable to resist.
Dorothy paused for a beat, glancing back at her with a tired but unmistakable smirk.
“Fuck. You.”
Rose blinked, a little taken aback—then she let out a giggle.
Dorothy shook her head and continued walking. “I love you too, Rose, but you better not put cake in a chair.”