A Father's Gift (A Chocolate Cake Story)

Emily

Mrs. Jensen looked at the calendar and was surprised to discover that tomorrow would be her son's 26th birthday. It seemed like only yesterday Michael had left to serve his country. Well, she thought, time flies. The war had ended 5 years ago.

So many lives lost forever. And it wasn't even a real war – not officially, that is. Not like World War II. Men, thought Mrs. Jensen, have no common sense. No common sense at all. But thank God, she mused, that her son did.

Michael had a family of his own now. He'd taken a job overseas. Very secretive about it, he was. Mrs. Jensen was certain it had to be important work, or else why would he not answer her questions about it, instead of simply smiling? And it was strange that, no matter what his job entailed, he'd always be home for his birthday. Strange, but sweet. And so like Michael. She'd tease him that he really only came for the cake.

He loved chocolate cake! As a boy, after he had tasted it for the first time (she'd made it from a Betty Crocker mix) he only wanted chocolate cake for his birthday. No other kind of cake would do. These past few years, her arthritis had prevented her from making it herself, so she bought one from the supermarket: the special one, with the rich frosting and sinfully moist layers.

She couldn't understand why Michael insisted that his father not be at his birthday celebrations. It made no sense at all. Michael had always been strong-willed, so she let him have his way. He did tell her that he met with Henry regularly. Once, she had asked Henry about that. Henry thought she was kidding, and when she told him to stop teasing, he had gotten quite angry and began shouting. He then left the room in tears!

The next day, he took her to a doctor, who performed many tests and asked her too many questions, most of them personal and some of them insulting. He'd prescribed some dreadful tasting pills that made her dizzy. She stopped taking them, and never spoke to Henry about Michael or his visits again. But she worried about his state of mind. Men, thought Mrs. Jensen – I'll never understand them! Only last year, Michael had asked her to learn Vietnamese. It was important, he said.

Strangely enough, there was a class being taught at the local community center. She'd attend on days that Henry was at work – best not give him something he'd complain about, saying it was a foolish waste of time and money. She sighed, left Michael's old room, and went to bed.