I felt more comfortable knowing someone was outside watching out for me, but my relief was short-lived. The cakes stopped showing up at my home, but that didn’t mean they wouldn’t find their way to me one way or another.
During lunch one day, I heard my co-workers laughing wildly.
“What’s so funny?” I asked.
One of them pointed to a birthday cake on the lunchroom table.
“Go ahead, eat some, fatass,” it read.
I spotted the Just Desserts Bakery business card, and quickly swatted a spoon out of a co-worker’s hand before he could take a bite. My colleagues looked at me as though I was losing my mind, but I didn’t want any harm to come to them. I gathered the pieces of cake that had already been served, tossing them furiously in the trash bin, before doing the same with the cake. When I tried to explain myself, my co-workers refused to listen to me. One of them implied that I was being “moody” because of my cycle.
Sobbing, I drove home in a car that stunk of sugar. The scent made me nauseous. I could practically taste it now. If I wasn’t already crying, the smell alone would have made my eyes water. I rolled down the windows, but it barely made a difference. By the time I got home, I had convinced myself to take the bus for a few days, just so I could get away from the stench.