Chapter 53: A Birthday Without the Guest of Honor
Daniel’s birthday fell in late November. Khloe remembered it before Naomi mentioned it, appearing at breakfast with an old recipe card in her hand and asking whether they could make her father’s favorite cinnamon cake.
“He liked the one with the sugar on top,” Khloe said.
Naomi looked at the card. Daniel’s handwriting sloped gently across the page, with a note in the margin that read, Don’t let Naomi measure the vanilla. She improvises.
She smiled. “He knew me too well.”
They spent the afternoon baking. The batter was thicker than they expected, the first layer of cinnamon fell in an uneven ring, and Naomi forgot to preheat the oven until the cake was ready to go in. Khloe complained theatrically. She defended herself by explaining that great chefs were allowed to improvise. She pointed to the note in Daniel’s handwriting and declared the evidence conclusive.
When the cake finally came out, it smelled exactly right.
They invited Mary over for a slice. She brought a small vase of chrysanthemums and told Khloe a story about Daniel helping her carry groceries during the first winter the Millers lived in Oak Creek. Naomi had forgotten the incident. Khloe listened with her elbows on the table, delighted to discover another ordinary thing her father had done.
After Mary went home, Naomi and Khloe placed one slice of cake on a small plate beside Daniel’s photograph. They did not pretend he would arrive to eat it. The gesture was simply a way to make room for missing him.
“Do you think he’d like the cake?” Khloe asked.
Naomi sampled her own piece. “He’d say we used too much sugar. Then he’d eat a second slice.”
Khloe laughed. “That sounds right.”
They sat together until the dishes needed washing. Naomi told her about the first birthday she spent with Daniel, when she had tried to arrange a surprise dinner and accidentally invited everyone on the wrong date. He had laughed for an hour and insisted on celebrating twice.
Khloe leaned against her shoulder. “I’m glad you remember things about him.”
“Me too.”
“Sometimes I forget his voice.”
Naomi’s chest tightened. She reached for her phone and opened an old family video. Daniel appeared on the screen calling to Khloe from a garden, laughing when the toddler ran in the wrong direction. The recording was short, but his voice filled the kitchen again.
They watched it twice, then set the phone down and finished the cake.
The birthday did not feel less sad than previous years. It felt less lonely.
PART NINE: THE MEASURE OF REAL STRENGTH
Chapter 54: The New Open Mat
The first open sparring session under Coach Barnes’ revised rules took place on a Friday in December. There were fewer spectators, no livestreams, and an instructor assigned to each training area. Participants were matched by experience and size, and no one was permitted to use the session to settle a disagreement from outside the gym.
Barnes announced the changes without turning them into a grand speech. He posted the rules by the front desk, explained them before class, and followed through when a student complained that the new format was less exciting.
“The purpose is training,” he said. “If you came for a spectacle, there are plenty of other places to watch one.”
Trent helped set out equipment. He was not permitted to join the advanced rounds yet. Instead he assisted Lena with beginner exercises and monitored the timing of drills. He found the work less glamorous than he once imagined a black belt’s responsibilities would be.
A boy named Owen, fourteen and nervous, arrived for his second class. He had trouble keeping his stance and apologized every time he made a mistake. Trent recognized the anxiety in the boy’s voice. Years earlier, he had sounded the same way when his father watched his first tournament.
“You don’t need to apologize for learning,” Trent told him.
Owen tried again. This time he completed the movement more smoothly.
“Good,” Trent said. “That’s better.”
The boy smiled with relief.
After class, Barnes found Trent sweeping the edge of the mat. “How’d it go?”
“Owen’s improving.”
“And you?”
Trent considered the question. “I didn’t get mad when he asked me to show him the same thing three times.”
Barnes nodded. “That’s progress.”
Trent looked toward the cage where he had once humiliated himself in front of his friends. It was just a training space now. The memory still stung, but it no longer needed to define every hour he spent at the gym.
“Do you think I’ll test in spring?” he asked.
