Free This Cake is for the Party by Sarah Selecky

body must have needed the rest.
    On Friday, they were due to arrive before sunset. I’d already defrosted a Go-Manchura ready-to-eat mushroom lasagna, and the ingredients for bruschetta and salad were ready. I selected three flower-remedy tinctures from the cabinet above the microwave: White Chestnut, for recurring thoughts; Impatiens, which is the obvious one; and Black Walnut, for the feeling of being stuck in a rut. The tinctures are made in a base of good brandy. I flavoured a glass of water with three drops from each vial and sipped it while standing at the kitchen sink, watching for a car to come up the hill. The water tasted sweet, like a glass of Scotch at the end of the night, when the ice has long since melted and it’s time to go home.
    The evening sun set the birch on fire, turned the chartreuse leaves electric. A sound like a seated lawnmower stewed at the bottom of the driveway. Then an old burgundy Volvo appeared all at once, taking the hill in a large mouthful. Nina and Brooks. The car hummed while Brooks fidgeted with the headlights and the parking brake. Nina’s face looked eager, a sunflower pressed against the window. I drank the rest of my water, set the glass down on the counter, and walked out into the yellow leaves to greet them.
    Nina looked amazing, as always. Hip-hugging red jeans—who else could wear red pants and pull it off?—with her little black boots that fold down, like a pirate’s. She’d been wearing those boots when we did our Feldenkrais certification workshop years ago, long before they were popular. She slipped out of the passenger seat and stared straight up at the yellow birch trees with her hands on her hips. The one above the cottage was just turning: it had reached its apex of illuminated fluorescent insanity, and it would probably lose most of its leaves before the end of the weekend.
    God, Nina said. It’s like Pantone 803 .
    She turned back to the car and lugged a denim duffle bag out of the back seat. As she bent down to grasp the shoulder strap, her hair fell away from the back of her neck, showing her tattoo. In Gothic cursive, it read: Earl Grey . The Earl was Nina’s old border collie, killed by a bear in a tree-planting camp ten years ago. I was with her when it happened. We weren’t close enough to see it, but we heard it through the trees. Nina left the camp without finishing her contract and never returned to tree planting after that. She got a part-time job pulverizing carrots and apples at a juice bar, enrolled at the Ontario College of Art and Design, and starting painting with acrylics. She really got into the contact dance scene. That’s how she found out about Feldenkrais. But this was all a long time ago. She’s a web designer now. I think she’s even started eating meat again, since she met Brooks.
    I was so glad for the signs, said Brooks. I almost couldn’t see the road because of all the leaves. Do they plough this in the winter?
    Brooks is built tall and narrow, like a townhouse. I hugged him around the waist and my cheek could only reach the middle of his chest. He wore a thin black jacket that zipped up into a sleek tube. It was made of some kind of microfibre that was so soft and smooth, it had a negative texture.
    We should go for a night walk tonight, I said to them. The leaves are falling constantly. It’s so pretty, especially when it’s dark.
    You mean spooky, said Nina.
    You can see the stars, I said.
    I’m in! Brooks pumped his arm too vigorously. Nina rolled her eyes.
    It’s been a long time since we got Brooks out of the city, she said.
    You both look so spiffy, I said.
    I brought my new rubber boots, said Nina. I’m excited to be able to wear them.
    Only two pairs of footwear this time? Brooks asked her. Well done!
    Eight o’clock. Stephen and Evelyn still hadn’t arrived. I made dinner anyway.
    They’ll want some when they get in, said Brooks.
    They probably