The Cake He Baked for My Sister

My fiancé set a cake he'd baked himself in front of my parents' biological daughter, the girl who shared my birthday. To make that cake, he started learning a month ahead.

He burned it once, it collapsed once, and only on the third try did he finally get it right.

And I, the fiancée he'd been promised to since we were kids, had never once gotten so much as a birthday he remembered. When their biological daughter came home, I gave up my room.

I gave up my parents. It never once occurred to me to give up Weston. The moment the candles were lit, I finally understood. It wasn't that he had no patience.

It was just that his patience had never belonged to me.

After the party, I asked the parents from both families to stay behind. "I'm willing to call off the engagement." Chapter 1 The day I found out I wasn't my parents' biological daughter, I was haggling with my dad.

I wanted to move my wedding with Weston up to next spring. My dad had always said I was too young, but when he heard that, he didn't raise a single objection.

He only asked me, "You want to marry him that badly?" I hugged a throw pillow and nodded very earnestly. "I do.

Better get the marriage license before he gets sick of me." Normally when I said things like that, my mom would poke me in the forehead and tell me I was hopeless.

That day, she sat next to me and kept stroking my hair. After a while of that, I started to feel something was off. "Did we go bankrupt?

Are the Aldridges calling off the engagement?" My dad turned over a document on the table. "Jo, take a look at this first." They were two DNA test reports.

I read them several times, and the first thought that popped into my head, of all things, was that my poor dad was screwed. Then I saw the second report.

My mom and I weren't related by blood either. Now the one who was screwed was me. The living room was quiet for a long time. My mom held my hand and explained, all out of order.

Years ago, during a hospital transfer, two babies had been switched.

Recently they'd gone to a small rural town on business and met a girl who looked a lot like my mom when she was young. At first they hadn't thought much of it.

Then, in passing, the conversation turned to birthdays and the hospital where she was born, and they grew suspicious. "Her name is Kayla Grady.

She's twentytwo, and she has the same birthday as you." My dad handed me his phone.

In the photo, the girl stood outside a restaurant, still in her apron, holding a stack of takeout containers.

Her features looked a lot like my mom's, especially when she smiled: that faint dimple beside the right corner of her mouth. Not like me.

When I was little, I spent ages poking at my cheek in the mirror and never managed to poke one into existence. My mom was still explaining.

They'd done the tests behind my back because they were afraid it would turn out to be a mistake and scare me for nothing.

Halfway through, I asked her, "So where do I live?" She burst into tears. "At home, of course. Where else would you live? I raised you for twentytwo years.

You think because you're not my biological child, you're not my child anymore?" My dad scooted closer to me too.

He said my room would stay as it was, my things would stay where they were, and from now on the family would simply have two daughters.

That included the marriage arrangement with the Aldridges. That wouldn't change either. He'd gone and asked Mr. Aldridge specifically. Mr.

Aldridge had said the two kids grew up together. The engagement was to a person, not to a DNA report.

I hadn't cried the whole time, but when I heard that, my nose suddenly stung terribly. "Then you should've said so sooner." I pulled out two tissues and covered my face. "I'd already worked out whether I could afford a hotel." My dad pushed my bank card back to me.

I'd pried it out of my phone case a minute before and set it on the table. It held all the allowance he'd given me over the years.

He looked at the card for a good while, and finally said: Chapter 2 "You silly thing." That night, I called Weston.

Before I did, I practiced twice in front of the mirror, and only when I thought I sounded casual enough did I hit call. "Got some big news for you.

I'm not my parents' biological kid." On the other end, papers rustled. "I heard." The whole speech I'd prepared was suddenly useless. That was always how Weston was.

He heard things before I did, said less than I did. He'd even found out about my own origins faster than I had.

Twisting a button on my pajamas, I asked him, "So are you still marrying me?" Someone on his end called him "Mr. Aldridge." He didn't answer them right away.

He only said to me, "The engagement stands. Don't overthink it. I've got things to deal with here." The call ended. Fortyseven seconds total.

I stared at the screen for a while, then added a little heart after his contact name. Then I went downstairs to help my mom pick out gifts to welcome Kayla home.

The day Kayla came home, she brought one suitcase and two big bags of stuff.

One of the suitcase wheels was broken, and when the driver lifted it, the clear tape wrapped around the bottom caught on his pant leg. My mom's eyes went red on the spot.

Kayla, though, looked at the driver's pants first. "Sorry, the tape's new. It's a little sticky." She set the two bags down. One was full of oranges, the other walnuts.

Her adoptive father had grown them all himself.

She talked fast, like she was afraid we'd get the wrong idea. "They wanted to come too, but they were worried it'd be inconvenient for you, so they had me bring a few things first.

These walnuts aren't bitter. I picked through them." My dad bent to take the bags, but my mom had already thrown her arms around her. The two bags got wedged between them.

An orange fell out and rolled down the front steps. I ran out after it. When I came back, my mom was still crying.

Kayla was clutching a used tissue, her own eyes red, but she didn't know whether she should lift her arms and hug her back. I handed over the tissue box.

She saw me, and her lips moved. I spoke first. "Kayla." Before she came, we'd exchanged phone numbers. She'd asked what foods my family avoided, and then what I liked to eat.

I told her I liked sweeter oranges and didn't like cracking walnuts. So inside the bag of walnuts, there was a separate sealed container. It was full of shelled walnuts.

At dinner, she handed me the container and said quietly, "Eat these first.

They lose their flavor if they sit too long." I pushed the coconut chicken soup in front of me toward her. "This is really good.

Mom's specialty." My mom stopped me first. "Kayla doesn't eat coconut. Mrs. Olsen, get her a different bowl." She turned to explain to me. "It came up on the phone yesterday.

I forgot to tell you." I said it was fine, I'd have it myself. Through that whole meal, my mom barely touched her knife and fork.

She kept serving Kayla food, asking where she used to go to school, whether it was cold in the winter, how late she got to eat when the restaurant was busy.

Kayla said it was all fine. The more my mom heard, the harder she cried. Eventually Kayla didn't dare say any more.

She took the serving tongs, picked up a piece of fish, and put it on my mom's plate. "Please eat.

It's really going to get cold." My mom looked at that piece of fish and cried all over again. After dinner, I showed her around the second floor.

The eastfacing guest room had been made up long before, with a new bed, dresser, and curtains. She didn't look at any of that first. She only asked where the washing machine was.

I told her to put her clothes in the hamper and someone would collect them. Chapter 3 She nodded. After a moment, she asked, "Underwear too?" I couldn't help laughing.

She laughed too, and her shoulders finally loosened a little. When we passed my room, the door was open. The afternoon sun came in and fell right across the window seat.

The blanket I'd spread there was warm and fluffy from the sun, and beside it sat a halfbuilt LEGO set. Kayla glanced inside.

My mom happened to be coming upstairs with a plate of fruit. Following her gaze, she said, "Jo's room faces south.

In the winter it gets sun all day." Then she added, "Yours gets sun in the morning too." Kayla looked away at once. "It's great.

I'm an early riser." My mom carried the fruit into her room, had her test how firm the mattress was, and had someone bring up the spare heavy comforter.

That night, I went downstairs for water and heard my mom talking to my dad. "Her hands are covered in old chilblain scars.

I saw them when she washed up today." My dad said he'd have a doctor come take a look tomorrow. "That's not the point. I sat in her room for a while this afternoon.

The minute the sun moves past, the room goes cold." I held on to the stair railing and didn't go any farther down.

After a while, my dad said, "Let's fix up the southfacing room on the third floor." "The third floor's too far. She just got here. At night she wouldn't be able to find anyone.

What if we converted the study?" They talked through several options. Not one of them mentioned my room. The next day, though, my mom came to put a new blanket on my window seat.

She hadn't done things like that herself in a long time. I sat on the bed and watched her fold up the old blanket and smooth out the new one.

She touched the pillow the sun had warmed. "Your room really is the most comfortable." I switched off the tablet in my hand. "Mom, why don't I switch with Kayla?" She didn't agree right away.

First she said there was no need, then that moving everything would be a hassle. But once I'd said, "It's just switching rooms.

It's not like I'm moving out," her grip on the old blanket loosened. "Then I'll have your new room redone. Didn't you always want a walkin closet?

We'll knock through to the room next door too. It'll be roomier than this." She talked fast. She'd already decided which wall the wardrobe would go on. I nodded and said okay.

When Kayla found out, her first reaction was to say no. She stood in my doorway, still in her slippers, her heels planted outside the threshold. "I really didn't want your room.

I was just looking that day." "I know.

I want a walkin closet." I opened the closet door to show her the clothes crammed together inside. "If I don't switch rooms, next I'll have to switch houses." She didn't laugh.

She stopped one of the staff who was about to come in and pack up my things. "But you've lived here so long." I took a framed photo down from the wall and wiped the dust off the frame with my sleeve. "A room's a room." That photo had been taken on my eighteenth birthday.

Weston stood behind me, holding the birthday hat I'd insisted he wear, his face radiating total unwillingness.

Kayla looked at the photo and asked, "Is this your boyfriend?" "Fiancé." I hugged the frame to my chest, my voice finally light again. "Weston Aldridge.

I'll introduce you sometime." On moving day, my mom had someone come measure Kayla for clothes. Several fabric swatch books were laid out downstairs.

When I came down with the last box, my mom was choosing colors for her.

She saw me and quickly called out, "Jo, come pick a couple too." Chapter 4 My hands were full, so I said, "You pick for me. You know what I like." My mom smiled and agreed.

The two fabrics sent up that afternoon were both pale pink. I hadn't worn that color in years. But I didn't say anything.

When I was little, every time we bought dresses and my mom asked which one I wanted, I picked the pink one. She remembered that. It wasn't exactly remembering wrong.

Kayla's official name change was settled several weeks later. My dad came up with a few names, wrote them down, and let her choose.

She looked for a long time, then finally pointed at "Jocelyn." "This one. It's like my sister's." I was born seventeen minutes before her.

About those seventeen minutes, she'd actually gone and asked the hospital, and even showed me the record. I said there was no need for that. She could just call me by my name.

She insisted on calling me her big sister.

My mom listened nearby, smiling until her eyes crinkled, took a photo of the paper with the name on it, and posted it in the family group chat.

From that day on, there were two Jos in the house. At first I kept answering by mistake.

My mom would call "Jo" from upstairs, and by the time I reached the stairs, she'd already gone into Jocelyn's room carrying a shawl.

My dad came home and said he'd brought Jo a present. I'd just set my cup down when he pulled a bike helmet out of the bag.

Jocelyn had mentioned that she used to ride an ebike to work, and when her old helmet cracked in a fall, she couldn't bring herself to replace it. My dad remembered.

He even remembered the size she'd mentioned in passing. After that, I stopped answering.

Once, my mom called three times, then came into the music room and asked why I was ignoring her.

I said, "I thought you were calling Jocelyn." She stood in the doorway and didn't push. She only said there was fruit downstairs.

That night, she had someone bring me a very expensive set of pajamas. The tags were still on. They were half a size too small.

I folded the pajamas back into the box and put it on the top shelf of the closet. At dinner the next day, my mom asked if I liked them. I said I did.

She visibly brightened and put another piece of fish on my plate. "I knew it.

Our Josephine still loves that brand." Only after she'd served me did she notice she hadn't taken the bones out, and she hurried to pull my plate toward herself.

I stopped her. "It's fine. I'll do it." Across the table, Jocelyn set down her knife and fork and looked at my plate.

The little dish of fish in front of her already had every bone picked out. That weekend, my mom took me for a fitting as usual.

It was for the outfit I'd wear to an older Aldridge relative's birthday. When I came downstairs dressed, Jocelyn was doing my mom's hair. She was very deft.

In a few moves she had it twisted up, a hairpin slid through, and it held without an elastic.

My mom looked in the mirror again and again. "Your grandma used to love wearing it like this." Then she caught sight of me in the mirror. "Jo, Jocelyn's coming too.

The tailor can take her measurements while we're there." I said okay. On the way out, I reached out of habit for the right rear door.

My mom got carsick, and I usually sat in the back with her. That day she was already inside, still holding Jocelyn's hand. "Hurry and get in.

It's windy out, and that top of yours is thin." Jocelyn bent to get in, and only after she sat down did she notice me standing by the door.

She scooted toward the middle. "Sis, sit here." I shut the door for her. "I'll sit up front.

I can give the driver directions." The truth was, we'd been going to that shop for seven or eight years.

Once the car pulled out, I kept my head down and texted Weston, asking if he was free that afternoon to grab a meal with me. Chapter 5