“Can we go to the memorial site?” she asked. “I know he’s not really in there, but—” “It’s kind of dark. Can we go tomorrow? Why don’t we go back to your place tonight and make a cake or something for him.” “A cake?” I shrugged. “It’s better than mourning him. Why not celebrate?” “Okay, I kind of like that idea.” She reached for my hand and squeezed. “I have a killer strawberry cake recipe. And I even make my own frosting.” I made an exaggerated moan. “Even better.”
