Graham pointed to a wall at the corner of the restaurant with mounted picture frames. “A couple dozen. We’ve been doing this since 2012.”
Retta shook her head before saying to Duncan, “You’re carrying me out of here if I pass out from a sugar rush.”
“I got you,” Duncan said before clapping his hands and rubbing them together. “Bring it on, Graham.”
Within ten minutes, their server returned with the cake. He settled it between them, and Retta studied the monstrous dessert covered with white buttercream and confetti sprinkles.
The whole date had been a sequence of odd events, but this was something she would never typically think of doing with someone she didn’t even consider a friend. However, Duncan’s exuberance was contagious.
“Why am I nervous?” Retta asked, presenting her shaking hands for Duncan to see. “I feel like we’re about to go on another roller coaster.”
Also, her ego was now somehow tied to how fast she could eat cake.
“We got this,” he said, raising his hand for a high five that she responded to.
With his thumb poised on the stopwatch, Graham asked, “Are you folks ready?”
They nodded.
“You can begin eating now.”
Retta grabbed the knife and server they’d been provided and cut herself a slice.
Meanwhile, Duncan went straight into the cake with his fork. “We don’t have time to be refined here.”
She placed a forkful of cake in her mouth, and the corners of her lips turned down as she chewed. Leaning forward, she whispered, “It’s dry.”
“This isn’t about that. You get it down,” Duncan said. His shoulders were hunched, and his movements mechanical.
In an attempt to match his pace and vigor, Retta forked an even bigger piece into her mouth but almost choked. The cake went down as smoothly as sawdust. Mercifully, they’d also been given tall glasses of milk. For several minutes, they took graceless bites and washed it down with their drinks. If her mother could see her now.
“I think I like this buttercream though. It’s not too sweet,” Retta said, as she paused to study it on her fork. Concentrating on the details and technique put into the construction of the cake helped her forget her suffering.
Duncan snapped his fingers and pointed at their sugary burden. “Focus.”
“You have thirteen minutes left,” Graham said. He’d settled onto a stool and split his time between his phone and watching them eat.
Retta and Duncan looked at the amount of cake left and then to each other. Without breaking eye contact, they plunged their fists into the tiered structure and shoved a chunk of it into their mouths. Hey, they had tickets to an annual seafood event to win.
Why had he even thought this was a good idea?
After many minutes, Duncan slowed down, shaking his head. “I can’t do this.”
“One minute,” Graham said.
Their waiter’s pronouncement gave Duncan a second wind. He started tapping the table to the rhythm of his chewing and mentally blocking out any discomfort.
Graham raised his arm and held out his fingers as he said, “Ten, Nine.”
One lopsided slice left.
“Eight, seven.”
His mouth was full, and he thought he might hurl.
“Six, five.”
Retta suddenly stood up and stomped her feet like she was trying to force the food down.
