April Seventh

I raised my glass of Southern Comfort to the lone cupcake. "Cheers."

The whiskey was sweet and warm but didn't sit right in my stomach. Groaning, I set the glass back on the stained table, which was sad and bare except for the cupcake and the whiskey.

My brain was foggy from the afternoon drinking and the unusual humidity that made the air thick and hot. I knew I was forgetting something. Oh yes, the candle. How old was she this year? I felt the sweat on my brow threatening to fall into my eyes and mopped it up with the base of my wife-beater. Thirty? I supposed she'd be thirty this year.

The knick-knack drawer only had half an open box of candles. Pink would never do. Blue? Nah. Red? Perfect.

I plunged the candle into the white icing of the cupcake until I found resistance and pushed it a little more. It was lopsided but that was okay. Nobody was going to see it. I wiggled it until it was more or less upright.

Lighting the candle, I sighed unhappily. "Here's to another year apart. Happy birthday, Kay."