“My son was something of a disciple of flying things. On his bedroom wall were posters of fighter planes and wild birds. A model of a helicopter was chandeliered to his ceiling. His birthday cake, which sat before me on the picnic table, was decorated with a picture of a rocket ship - a silver-white missile with discharging thrusters. I had been hoping that the baker would place a few stars in the frosting as well (the cake in the catalog was dotted with yellow candy sequins), but when I opened the box I found that they were missing. So this is what I did: as Joshua stood beneath the swing set, fishing for something in his pocket, I planted his birthday candles deep in the cake. I pushed them in until each wick was surrounded by only a shallow bracelet of wax. Then I called the children over from the swing set. They came, tearing up divots in the grass.We sang happy birthday as I held a match to the candles.Joshua closed his eyes."Blow out the stars," I said, and his cheeks rounded with air.”

“So how did he look at me?""Like it was his birthday and you were the cake.”

“Just to show my dad that I think he's number one, I bought him a urinal cake for his birthday.”

“If God had to go to such lengths to invite people to his birthday party, I reasoned, He probably wasn't serving very good cake.”

“I laugh, and it was amazing! I swear I could see my laughter floating around me like puffy things you blow off a dandelion, only instead of being white it was birthday-cake-frosting-blue. wow! Who knew hitting my head and passing out would be so much fun? I wonder if this was what it was like to be high.”

“She couldn’t take her eyes from the dancing flame. No, this was so wrong. Candles should be used for meditation…for romance. Or on a birthday cake at least.So where was the cake? The present? The song? As he stepped closer to her—as the damned flame got way too close—she started singing. “Happy birthday to me. Happy birthday to me…” Marcus paused, looking at her in disbelief. See. I knew he didn’t have a sense of humor. “Happy birthday, dear Gabi”—she lifted her head and blew out the candle—“happy birthday to me.”