“Remember that summer you baked a lemon cake in a litter pan?” Willa says now. She’s already laughing again, biting at the end of her cone and pressing a napkin against the corners of her eyes. “I didn’t bake a cake in a litter pan,” I say. “Did you or did you not bake a cake in a pan that had had cat litter in it?” “It had cat litter in it for, like, a minute—just while I was dealing with the real litter pan. It was that summer Chicken was sick. It was a disposable aluminum pan and I washed it really well and threw it out after.” “Threw it out after what?” “After baking a cake in it,” I
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lol
