I brought homemade tres leches cake because Hugo had loved mine since childhood. Carla had ordered a professionally decorated cake.
When I entered the kitchen, she smiled.
“Oh. You made one too.”
“I always make Hugo’s favorite for family birthdays.”
“We already have dessert covered.”
“I can take it home.”
“No, no. It’s fine.”
She said fine as though she meant unfortunate.
My cake was pushed to the far end of the counter.
By the end of the party, guests had eaten every piece.
Carla never mentioned it.
Another Christmas, I bought Gabriel a large construction set because he loved building cardboard bridges.
When he opened it, he hugged me.
Carla examined the box.
“Do you still have the receipt?”
Gabriel’s face fell.
“Why?”
“In case it breaks.”
“It’s not broken.”
“I know, sweetie.”
Then she looked at me.
“I just like having options.”
Minutes later, her parents gave him a weeklong family trip.
Carla made sure everyone understood how much planning it required.
I said it sounded wonderful.
Then she said, “See, this is why we try to focus on experiences instead of more stuff.”
Gabriel played with my construction set for eight months.
It was never one dramatic insult.
Carla preferred smaller ones.
Comments about my shoes, serving bowls, portions.
“Those potatoes are rich, Margarita.”
