Wesley's Cake

Wesley had never decorated a cake before, but his granddaughter was turning seven on Saturday, and he wanted to do it himself.

The night class met in a community kitchen in Portland. The teacher gave each student a plain round cake and a bowl of white cream. “First,” she said, “we cool everything down. Warm cake tears.”

Wesley waited. His hands were shaking a little.

Then they spread the cream. The teacher showed him how to brush a thin layer over the top, smooth and even, like painting a wall. Wesley's first try looked rough, so he scraped it off and started again. The second time was better.

“Now,” the teacher said, “we design the top. Keep it simple.”

Wesley thought about his granddaughter. She loved the garden behind their house. So he made small green leaves around the edge, like a frame, and one careful flower in the middle. It was not perfect. One leaf leaned the wrong way.

Finally, he stood back and looked at it. The other students had fancier cakes, with roses and gold dots. Wesley didn't care.

He took out his phone and sent a photo to his daughter. A minute later, she wrote back: “She's going to cry. In a good way.”