The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake

by Aimee Bender

I wondered what he knew about the family; what he didn’t know. What family he lived in. My mind wandered around.

If I didn’t focus on how envious I was that this lightness was where she came from, those sandwiches did help me through the rest of the day.

Someone called for the cake, and George kissed my cheek and squeezed my hand and thanked me and gave me as much as he could in that moment until time and progress ripped him away and he returned to his bride, who welcomed him in her arms like he’d been at sea for weeks.

My father, out of nowhere, taking shape.

He tightened his lips, and the word lucky bounced around us, the wrong word, meaning nothing.