In the midst of setting up the snack table, the doorbell rang. I wiped my hands on my apron and hurried to answer it. A delivery man stood there, holding a large box with a cheerful “Happy Birthday!” sticker plastered on the side. “For you,” he said, handing me the box that was surprisingly heavy. “Oh, I didn’t order this,” I murmured, more to myself than to him, as I signed for the package. I assumed it was a surprise from one of Tom’s friends or his family. Busy as I was, I thanked him quickly and placed the cake box on the kitchen counter to deal with later. As the party filled up, Tom was the center of attention, laughing and clapping his friends on the back. He always had this easy charm that made everyone feel welcome. His parents, Jane and Michael, brought in a homemade pie, smiling broadly.They hugged me, praising the decorations and the cozy atmosphere. My best friend Lisa was right behind them, her arms laden with gifts and her kids in tow, adding to the joyful chaos. In the kitchen, I finally had a moment to slide the mysterious cake into the fridge.
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