“I need you to move your cake.” She purses her lips as she drops her eyes to the white cake box with a clear window resting on her stand before pulling two menus from underneath. Before I can cling to her leg and beg her to help me, she’s leaving, guiding the couple behind me, who are in their sixties and have been staring wide-eyed at said cake, toward their table.

The cake is in the shape of a man’s chest, his pecs and abs are chiseled to buttercream perfection while a fondant penis juts upward to his belly button, a clear creamy substance spills from the crown and spells out ‘Here cums the bride’ across his abdominals.

I thought it was hilarious when I picked it out. It’s not my fault that this massive man cake is too large for the bakery’s traditional cake boxes, leaving this clear box the only option. They should have warned me when I ordered it. Maybe suggested they shave a few inches off of the giant cock so that it could fit in a proper box. One that didn’t display its contents to everyone within a five-foot viewing radius.

In my hurry to get to the restaurant, I didn’t have time to tape a piece of paper over it. I figured once I got it here and set up in the private room that the cake would be a non-issue. Now, the massive penis on the cake I’m holding is the least of my problems.

I maneuver the bag of party supplies in my right hand so I can move the cake box off of the host stand, then set everything down on the deep-set windowsill. I need to think. There has to be a solution here. Then, I remember all the effort it took to find a location and make the reservation. The reasons that I booked the restaurant in the first place.

My apartment is tiny with a capital T. It would be against fire code to have that many people in it at once. That and we wouldn’t be able to move if we happened to cram all of us inside. Lauren and Claire’s hotel room is bigger than my apartment. I could show up there and tell Lauren what happened. That she flew to New York City for her bachelorette party and I forgot to confirm the restaurant reservation. This trendy, upscale and completely unaccommodating restaurant was one of the only places I could find that didn’t have a room fee. A rare gem in this expensive city.

My phone buzzes, and while I expect it to be from my friends, I look down to see it’s JoAnna calling me.

“Hello?”

“Oh, Chloe, I’m glad I got hold of you. Are you busy?”