Page 141 of Cackle

“Can I come in?”

She pauses to consider.

“You said you wanted to apologize,” she says. “But you didn’t.”

“I’m sorry, Sophie. I really am.”

“All right, then,” she says, moving out of the way so I can enter. “Would you like some tea?”

IT’S MY PARTY

There are yellow roses. Hundreds of yellow roses all around my room. Ralph is on my nightstand in a stripy conical hat. He’s got a tiny party horn in his mouth.

“Good morning, Ralph.”

He blows the party horn and wiggles his little legs.

“I know, I know,” I tell him. “Thank you.”

There’s a large box at the foot of my bed. It’s tied with yellow satin ribbon. I yawn, flop over and pull it toward me.

“Is this from you?” I ask Ralph.

He deflates, shakes his head no.

“That’s okay,” I tell him. “Your presence is my present.”

He holds his cheeks.

I tug gently at the ribbon and undo the neat bow. I set the satin aside, folding it up and placing it behind me on my pillow.

I open the box. Inside is a new dress. A birthday dress. It’s a pale yellowy gold, with lacy sleeves and a corset back.

I put it on immediately. I admire myself in the full-length mirror. I run my hands over the fabric, over my body, over my skin. My face. My brilliant nose. My pretty eyes. My ample cheeks.

I get my hairbrush. It has a thin silver handle engraved with flowers.

I carefully lower myself to my knees, making sure the dress doesn’t wrinkle. I fan it out around me. Then I brush my hair.

I never used to take the time to brush my hair, but it really makes all the difference.

Ralph is still blowing his party horn.

“You don’t have to keep doing that,” I tell him. “Save some energy for the party.”

He gets in one more blow before letting the horn fall from his mouth. He then crawls into bed and takes a quick nap.

I check the time, and it’s disappointingly early. I change out of my dress and back into my pajamas. I make myself toast and a mimosa. I watch a reality TV show marathon about women trying on wedding dresses.

“They’re so excited for one day in a pretty dress,” I say. “Someone really should tell them. They can wear a pretty dress whenever they want.”

Ralph grunts. He’s annoyed that I’ve woken him with my bullshit.

“Women are out there tethering themselves to mediocre men just so they can wear a ball gown. It’s a shame.”

He grunts again.

“Okay, sorry, sorry,” I say. “I’ll shut up.”