Ghosts Can’t Eat Cake

The day I died was my mom's birthday.

She had, for once, saved me a really big piece of cake.

I floated in front of that cake, ghostly and hungry, taking a longing sniff.

But the next second, the cake was handed to my sister instead.

Lily, go ahead and eat. Your sister, that ungrateful brat, clearly doesn't deserve any!

Then she turned to Dad, who was recording on his phone.

"Did you get all that? When that little brat comes back, make sure she watches this. Let's see if she dares to say we're playing favorites again!"

"Of all the things she could've done, she had to run away from home!"

"We spoiled her rotten! If she's got the guts, she should never come back!"

Mom slammed her hand on the table while cursing me out, that cold sneer on her face.

She didn't notice the panic written all over my sister's face as she held the cake.

She didn't notice her tangled hair either.

And she definitely didn't notice the dark stains of blood on her sleeve.

That blood was mine.

When Mom was yelling at me in the community playground, a bunch of elderly neighbors had gathered to watch the drama.

One old lady pointed at my mom and started lecturing the toddler in her arms.

"Sweetie, you need to be a good girl. Don't be like that lady's kid, hiding somewhere and refusing to come home."

The little kid in her arms was sucking on her fingers, her voice muffled.

"Hungry tummy."

Her grandma replied, "Exactly, that's why this lady is trying to call her daughter home"

"Bullshit!"

"Me, calling her home? That little bratI hope she drops dead out there!"

Mom whipped around and snapped at the old lady.

The old lady covered her grandchild's ears and said awkwardly, "Watch your language, will you? There are children here."

"With a mom like you, no wonder your daughter doesn't want to come home!"

I crouched on the rusty swing, which swayed gently in the wind, creaking softly.

Mom's face turned bright red.

"Mind your own damn business, you old hag!"

The old lady took half a step back after being yelled at.

But looking at the innocent toddler in her arms and the crowd of onlookers, she couldn't help but argue back.

"Wh-what are you getting so defensive about!"

"Last time I saw you all at the grocery store, you were carrying your younger daughter while the older one trailed behind, dragging shopping bags that were almost as tall as her!"

"Tell me, folksthey're both your kids! What kind of mother does that!"

The moment she said that, whispers erupted through the crowd.

"Oh wow, now that you mention it, I think I've seen that too."

"That girl was so skinny and pale, head down, barely able to walk straight."

I crouched on the swing with my head down, picking at my fingernails.

From struggling before I died, my nails had peeled back one by one.

Now that I was a ghost, the wounds were still the sameraw flesh tinged with a dark purple.

At least they didn't hurt anymore.

Mom was all about appearances. Hearing those words, her face turned even redder, and her voice got shriller.

"So what if I made her carry a few things? Would it kill her to help out around the house?"

"That bag was full of snacks she wanted to eat anyway! She was carrying her own stuffwhat's the problem?!"

That wasn't true.

I held my breath and kicked the swing hard.

That day, the shopping bags had been so heavy they turned my fingers purple.

They were stuffed with my sister's favorite snacks, the soda Mom loved, and the cigarettes Dad smoked.

I stumbled along behind Mom, sweat dripping into my eyes, making them dry and sting.

My sister was being carried in Mom's arms, holding an ice cream cone, her face smeared with it.

She turned her head, a big smile on her face. "Want some, Emma?"

I licked my lips, desperate for a taste.

Mom immediately turned my sister's face back around.

"Ignore her. She deserves it. That's what she gets for failing her test and talking back."

When we got home, they sat on the couch watching cartoons.

I was locked out on the balcony to "reflect" and redo my test papers.

My stomach cramped with hunger.

In the living room, Mom fed my sister, smiling so gently.

That smileI had never once been on the receiving end of it.

A thought began to grow inside me like a vine, wild and consuming.

I stopped picking at my bloody fingernails and looked up at Mom.

She was arguing back and forth with the neighbors, her pretty eyes blazing like a fire that would never go out.

If Mom found out I was dead, would she regret it?

Would she cry for me?

Would shejust oncehold me the way she held my sister?

I jumped off the swing and floated over to her side, reaching out to touch her.

But my fingertip passed right through her arm, just as I expected.

I pouted, then carefully slid my finger into Mom's loosely curled palm.

It almost looked like we were holding hands. I couldn't help but smile a little.

The next second, Mom flung her hand away.

Of course, she couldn't actually shake off my ghostly fingerit was just a gesture she made while arguing.

"She's my daughter! I'll discipline her however I want!"

"If she wants to die out there, then let her! At least I'll finally have some peace and quiet!"

My finger stayed suspended in midair, still curled in that pretend hand-holding pose.

I stared at my transparent finger for a long time, then slowly pulled it back.

Mom stormed back home, furious.

Dad was still playing video games. When he saw her come in, he didn't even turn around.

"Emma wasn't at the playground?"

"She's dead to me!"

"That little bratwhen she gets back, I'm gonna beat her senseless!"

Dad's fingers on the keyboard didn't even pause.

"Don't say stuff like that."

"Besides, this is partly your fault. If you hadn't taken the dress you promised Emma and exchanged it for Lily's size, she wouldn't have run off in the first place."

That was all it took to set Mom off. She grabbed a pillow from the couch and hurled it at Dad.

"How is this my fault!"

"Lily needed that dress for her recital! Emma has plenty of dresseswould it kill her to give up one?"

"Well, Emma wasn't wrong when she said you play favorites!"

"Me? Play favorites? Lily's youngerwhat's wrong with asking her sister to be a little understanding? Isn't Emma supposed to act like a big sister? I spend tens of thousands on tutoring for Emma every yeardoesn't that count for anything?"

"Act like a big sister? Is that why you've yelled at her so much she's too scared to come home?"

"She's got a guilty conscience! She's probably hiding somewhere having fun, just to make me mad!"

Mom and Dad went back and forth, their argument growing louder and louder.

Neither of them noticed the small figure crouched in the corner of the living room, hands pressed over her ears, face full of fear.

She was still wearing that dressthe one I'd never even gotten to wear before it was exchanged at the store for a smaller size.

I floated over and curled up across from her, hugging my knees, staring at the dress she was wearing.

Blue, covered in rhinestones, so pretty and sparkly.

Like the dress Cinderella wore in the cartoons.

Dad had promised meif I passed my test, he'd buy it for me.

I studied so hard for so long, and finally, I passed.

But the day the dress arrived, my sister cried and begged to wear a princess dress for her kindergarten talent show.

Without a second thought, Mom took the dress and the receipt back to the store and exchanged it for the smallest size.

"Emma, you're the big sister. Let your little sister have this one."

"Next timenext time, Mommy will buy you an even better one."

There was no next time.

I looked down at my own dresswashed so many times it had faded to a grayish white.

In the bottom right corner, there were a few drops of ink my desk mate had flicked onto it during calligraphy class. No matter how many times I washed it, it never came out.

Lily's expression grew more and more dazed.

Every time she heard my name, her body would flinch.

Finally, she couldn't take it anymore and burst into hysterical sobs.

"Emma! Emma!"

"Emma run!"

The heated argument between Mom and Dad stopped abruptly.

Mom hurried over and pulled Lily into her arms, gently patting her back.

"Baby, I'm sorry. Mommy was wrong. Did we scare you?"

"It's all your sister's fault for running off. When she comes back, we'll yell at her together!"

Dad walked over too. He sighed, his voice weary.

"Okay, okay, stop crying. Daddy will buy you a doll tomorrow, how about that?"

But Lily kept sobbing hysterically, calling out "Emma" over and over again.

That night, Lily developed a high fever.

Mom held Lily's hand, her face exhausted, stroking it over and over.

In the silence, she seemed to be talking to herself, her voice hoarse and bitter.

"Your sister has been nothing but trouble since the day she was born. Now she won't even come home, and she's still finding ways to torment us..."

"If she hadn't been so stubborn and run off, you wouldn't have gotten so scared. You wouldn't have gotten sick..."

"If she had any conscience at all, she'd come back and apologize on her own..."

I stood on the other side of the hospital bed, watching Mom's tired, tender profile.

When she looked at Lily, her eyes were filled with such genuine worry and love.

I had dreamed of that kind of tenderness countless timesif only I could have it just once.

Now I was seeing it with my own eyes, but in this way.

A sharp ache spread through my chest.

So even ghosts could feel pain.

I slowly reached out, wanting to touch Mom's messy hair, wanting to tell her: Stop blaming me. Emma's never coming back.

My fingertip passed through her again, leaving nothing behind.

Just like my death.

Apart from making my sister sick and giving Mom another reason to complain about me

I left nothing behind.

The next day, Mom and Dad carried a listless, hollow-eyed Lily out of the hospital.

As Dad folded the princess dress, his fingers paused on a stiff, dark-red patch of fabric on the sleeve.

After a moment, he called out to Mom, who was coaxing Lily to drink some water.

"Come look at this. Is this... is this blood?"

Mom walked over. One glance, and her face went white.

She grabbed Lily's arm and frantically checked her over.

"Lily, tell Mommywhere are you hurt? Let me see!"

Dad tensed up too, checking Lily's other arm, even lifting her hair to examine her scalp.

Lily just stared with empty eyes, letting them move her around however they wanted. No crying, no fussing, no words at all.

They didn't find a single wound.

That blood wasn't Lily's.

I floated over and looked too.

That bloodstain was probably from when the bad man grabbed me and Lily.

He had grabbed my hair and yanked it back hard.

In the searing pain, I lost my balance and my forehead slammed into a jagged rock jutting from the wall.

Warm liquid instantly blurred my left eye, carrying the taste of rust.

A few scalding drops of blood splashed from my forehead and landed on Lily's blue sleevethe sleeve she was using to grip my shirt so tightly.

"Emma!"

Lily's piercing scream was the last clear sound I remembered.

After that, everything became chaotic and dark.

I only remembered using the last of my strength to shove Lily toward the crowded plaza.

Then more fists and more pain rained down on me.

By the time I was aware of anything again, I was already floating, weightless, crouching in front of the cake Mom had saved for me.

"It's not Lily's blood..."

Dad's eyes were blank, his voice trembling as he asked Mom, "Then whose is it?"

Mom didn't answer.

She suddenly turned to look at Lily, who kept murmuring "Emma" over and over.

The hand holding the water bottle wouldn't stop shaking.

Unlike the car ride to the hospital, filled with Mom's constant cursing

The drive home was dead silent.

I followed them into the apartment complex.

Just as they reached the entrance to their building, they ran into the college-aged guy who lived across the hall.

He was on his bike, about to head out.

"Hey Mr. and Mrs. Carter, is Lily feeling better?"

He stopped his bike, a simple, friendly smile on his face.

"Oh, and Mrs. Carterhappy belated birthday."

"Yesterday's cake had extra mango in it, you know. Emma asked us to add it. She said it's your favorite."

The moment he finished speaking

I saw Mom's fingers twitch violently. Her nails dug into her own palm.

The guy kept talking, his tone light and teasing.

"Last month, Emma helped out at my parents' bakery for a whole afternoon. She earned a little money and was so happysaid she wanted to buy you a birthday present."

"She even asked my mom which hand cream was best. Said your hands crack in the winter."

He concluded with a smile.

"Emma's such a good kid. Sweet, thoughtful, and hardworking too."

Mom and Dad stood frozen in place.

I was a little stunned too.

I thought about that tube of hand cream.

I had hidden it in the innermost zippered pocket of my backpack, guarding it like a big, sweet secret.

Every night after finishing my homework, I would secretly take it out and hold it.

I imagined how Mom might look when she got itwould she smile, even for just a second?

Would she reach out with those hands and gently ruffle my hair?

Even just once.

But now, that hand cream was probably still lying quietly in that backpack.

Tucked away with my body, which had long since gone cold, hidden in some filthy corner.

Mom opened her mouth, probably about to argue like she always did.

But this time, all the sharp words got stuck in her throat.

For the first time, when it came to something about meshe was silent.

Back home, the silence stretched on.

Without a word, Mom grabbed the mop and started scrubbing the floor, pressing down so hard it was like she wanted to stab right through it.

Dad didn't turn on his computer. He sat on the couch, then suddenly looked up and asked Mom:

"Emma's been gone all night."

"She's only nine. Where could she even hide?"

Mom slammed the mop onto the floor and hissed through clenched teeth.

"How should I know?"

"You're on that stupid game all day! You don't even care that your daughter ran away!"

"I don't care?"

Dad shot to his feet, his voice rising.

"Every time I tried to discipline her, who said I did a good job?"

"Who's the one who took the dress I bought for her and gave it to Lily, saying the big sister should give in to the little sister?"

"And what about you? Have you ever gone to a single parent-teacher conference for her? Have you ever washed her clothes even once?"

Their argument raged on, each of them scrambling to prove they weren't to blame.

Adults are ridiculous. Even worse than kids when it comes to dodging responsibility.

I sat on the ceiling light, swinging my little legs.

At least I don't have to grow up.

"Last year when she was in the hospital with a fever, you sat outside her room playing games for three days straight!"

"And you? You took Lily to the indoor playground and left her all alone in the hospital!"

Every word was a knifecutting the other person, and cutting themselves too.

Like that was the only way they could feel better.

Mom suddenly stopped, breathing hard, and looked around the apartment.

On the living room wall hung Lily's first birthday photo. On the coffee table sat Lily's toys. Even the fridge magnets were covered with Lily's drawings.

This homewhere was there any trace of me?

Dad followed her gaze, his face slowly draining of color.

He opened his mouth, but in the end just slumped back onto the couch and said in a voice almost too quiet to hear:

"Did we... did we really treat Emma badly?"

Yes.

For a long time now.

Outside, the distant wail of sirens began to echo, getting closer and closer.

Mom and Dad instinctively walked to the window and looked down.

Mom's hand gripped Dad's arm tightly, her lips trembling.

"Something didn't happen, did it?"