our home in Dayton, Ohio. Mom had bought a supermarket cake decorated with pink frosting roses, and about ten children from my class had come over.
Camille was twelve at the time.
Even though it wasn’t her birthday, she had invited several of her own friends.
They sat together on the porch swing, whispering and laughing while the rest of us played.
After everyone sang Happy Birthday, Mom began cutting the cake.
She served Camille first.
Then Camille’s friends.
Then the other children.
I stood patiently beside the table, waiting for my turn.
When I finally reached for a slice, Mom caught my wrist.
“Olivia, don’t be greedy. You didn’t pay for this cake.”
I remember pulling my hand away immediately.
I remember feeling embarrassed even though I had done nothing wrong.
And I remember watching everyone else enjoy my birthday cake while I waited.
By the time Mom finally
