Patti Friday: Moongirl Cake

Moongirl wasn’t her given title, however people hadn’t known as her Lillian Mae for the reason that final yr of highschool. The nickname began the summer season her hair turned white at seventeen — not grey, thoughts you, white — and it curled prefer it had someplace to be. Her finest buddy Marlene mentioned it made her seem like the moon glowing by a lace curtain, and the title caught faster than a June bug on a display door.

It was the early Nineteen Sixties, and Moongirl had two infants at her ft — a curious little lady named Birdie who insisted on carrying her Sunday footwear within the sandbox, and a child boy named Bobby who largely simply stared on the ceiling fan prefer it owed him cash.

Her husband, Charlie, was what the opposite husbands known as “concerned in the neighborhood,” which meant he was not often residence and all the time smelled faintly of aftershave, cigars, and people clubhouse meatballs no person actually favored however all the time ate. Golf on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Lodge on Wednesdays. Arts & Letters on Mondays. Fridays? Nicely, Fridays had been hers.

Moongirl claimed Friday the best way a hungry neighbour claims a potluck casserole — agency and unapologetic. Each week, whereas Bobby napped and Birdie narrated her imaginary radio present from the porch, Moongirl would tie on her pineapple-printed apron, tune the kitchen radio to Patsy Cline, and bake her signature cake: Pineapple Upside Down.

It wasn’t fancy, however it was well-known. The form of cake that made grown males loosen their belts and widows blush. Caramelized pineapple rings so shiny you possibly can verify your lipstick in ‘em, a buttery golden sponge that held collectively like good household gossip, and cherries dropped proper within the heart of every pineapple like punctuation.

“You set a cherry within the center,” Birdie would whisper reverently every time, like she hadn’t watched her mama do it thirty-five Fridays in a row.

“I absolutely do,” Moongirl would say, urgent it in like sealing a promise.

As soon as the cake was flipped (cleanly, all the time — Moongirl mentioned damaged desserts introduced unhealthy luck and lukewarm espresso), she’d lower two little slices: one for Birdie, one for herself. Bobby didn’t have tooth but, however he’d gum the sting of a crust with mighty willpower.

The remainder of the cake went to whomever wanted it most that week — Miss Martha down the street whose son nonetheless hadn’t written residence from fundamental coaching, the exhausted mailman who Moongirl suspected hated his job however cherished pineapple, or the checker at Dominion who as soon as known as Birdie a “brilliant little spark.” That bought her two weeks’ value of cake.

Charlie would come residence round eight, whistling by his tooth, asking, “Did now we have cake right now?”

“We absolutely did,” Moongirl would say, sipping milky tea and rocking Bobby with one naked foot, “however the moon doesn’t rise twice.”

And he’d smile, kiss her hair, and go warmth up leftovers. As a result of everybody knew — even Charlie — that Fridays belonged to Moongirl, her cake, and the quiet form of magic solely a lady with infants on her hip and sugar in her soul might make.

ORDER ‘Moongirl Cake’ advantageous artwork print right here.