This Cake is for the Party Read Online Free PDF

answer me. She crouches down to Atlas’s eye level and calls him over to her. He hesitates, then gives up on his truck and walks over to his mother. Krystal tells him, “Be good for Lise, okay? I’ll be back to get you in two hours. Do you want to stay outside with Greg or come in with me?”
    â€œI want to stay outside!” Atlas yells.
    Krystal smiles at me. “I’ll just go take these tights off,” she says. “You don’t mind?”
    Atlas has one hand busy in the crotch of his nylon track pants. He waggles his penis like a little tail under the fabric. “These are my favourite pants.” he tells me.
    I spin the wheels on the cheap toy truck. I press hard into the plastic with the palm of my hand, getting it to really spin. “Well, they’re pretty snazzy,” I say.
    â€œMy truck!” Atlas says. “Give it back.”
    I hand it over. “Did you eat lunch yet?”
    Atlas shakes his head.
    â€œYou hungry then?”
    Atlas nods. The boy has a large head for a four-year-old. It’s disproportionate to the rest of his body—he still has a round belly and short, rubbery appendages that look baby soft and malleable. A colossal growth of shaggy, dusty blond hair does its best to cover the expanse of his forehead. When I consider the length and width of Atlas’s cranium, I wonder if it’s normal for a kid to have a head that big. Krystal leaves him alone too much, but would that result in a head-size problem?
    â€œLet’s go make ourselves a sandwich,” I say to Atlas.
    It’s almost too hot to eat, but it’s cooler inside. I lead the way into the house, holding the screen door open for Atlas with one arm. As he walks under, I flex my bicep to make it look like the rabbit is jumping over him. Atlas squeals, and comes back outside right away so he can do it again. He crouches down beside me and then jumps like he’s the rabbit, and disappears into the dark house. There are no windows installed on the south side, which means that, a little after breakfast, we don’t get any direct light indoors. I stand in the doorway for a few seconds, letting my eyes adjust.
    We’re in the kitchen eating peanut butter, mustard and lettuce sandwiches on whole wheat bread when Krystal and Lise emerge from the bedroom smelling like cigarette smoke and a high-pitched perfume.
    â€œYou’re teaching him disgusting habits,” Lise says, nodding to the squeeze bottle of mustard on the counter.
    â€œ I’m teaching him bad habits,” I say.
    Krystal looks at me. She’s holding her black tights bunched in one hand, the feet and toes dangling. I screw the lid back on the jar of all-natural peanut butter and put it back in the fridge. “It’s whole wheat bread,” I say to the fridge door.
    â€œOh honey,” Lise says, and for a second I think she’s talking to me. Then she says, “Don’t play with your food, okay?”
    Atlas has taken his sandwich apart on the kitchen table. He’s eating the mustard side first. The lettuce from the middle has fallen to the floor beside him, a smear of bright yellow on the tiles.
    â€œAren’t you going to be late for your lawyer interview?” I ask Krystal.
    â€œMy watch was fast,” she says. “I have an extra fifteen minutes.”
    Lise sees some mustard on Atlas’s face. She folds a piece of paper towel, dampens it with tap water, and tries to wipe his cheek. Atlas turns his face back and forth, ducking the towel at each swipe. Something about his twitching head and his frustration makes me feel a flutter of understanding, shadowy wings in my frontal lobe: I know just how he feels .
    â€œWow,” I say. “That was lucky. Good thing it wasn’t fifteen minutes slow.”
    Krystal ignores me and says to Lise, “Thank you. I’m going to get going. I’ll see you around three?”
    Lise hugs her. “Those are my