Eat that mess yourself: how my sister embarrassed me in front of everyone over a cake that wasnt mine
Elodie had meticulously styled her hair, slipped into her finest dress, and after a light spritz of perfume, headed to her older sister Camilles birthday. In her hands she clutched a neatly wrapped box containing a cake, hoping it would be a pleasant surprise and perhaps smooth over their strained relationship. When she reached the fifthfloor apartment, Elodie rang the bell twice. The door opened, and Camilleradiant in a fresh robe, her curls perfectwelcomed her with an enthusiastic clap:
Is this for me? Its my birthday, you didnt forget, did you?
Of course its for you, Elodie replied calmly, handing over the box.
Camille lifted the lid and peered inside. Her initial admiration quickly turned into suspicion.
Did you bake this?
Yes, Elodie answered, a hint of uncertainty in her tone.
Are you sure? Camille narrowed her eyes, turning the box over. Whats it made of?
Shall we talk about the recipe or join the guests? Elodie tried to dodge.
It was already too late. Camille sensed something was offand she had reason. Three days earlier she had called Elodie in tears:
I broke a nail and fought with Antoine. I have no desire for anything! Cancel the cake, cancel everything!
Elodie had taken the news philosophically and accepted an urgent order from a regular client. Yet that very afternoon Camille called back:
Were reconciled! He gave me a gold bracelet! Ill be waiting at sevenp.m.with the cake!
Youd cancelled everything, Elodie stammered.
Stop making excuses! Youre a pastry chef, prove you can bake!
Elodie tried to explain that a cake could not be made in six hours, but Camille pressed on. She even phoned their mother, hoping for support:
Is it really that hard to please your own sister? her mother answered.
Realizing she was alone, Elodie improvised: she bought an unsold cake from a littleknown baker also named Elodie (not the same one). It looked impressive on the outside. Intent mattered, right? But Camille saw through the ruse instantly.
Elodie, come here! she shouted toward the kitchen.
A brunette with long hair emerged, and Elodie recognized her at once.
Is this your cake? Camille asked coldly.
Mine. She sold it to me. The other Elodie sneered, So youre the legendary sisterbaker?
Elodie froze. The guests fell silent. Camille, lips tight, ripped the lid off, plunged a finger into the frosting and flung it at her sisters face.
Eat that trash yourself! she spat. You didnt even bother to make something on your own. Get out!
She pushed Elodie outside before doing the same to the other baker, who left cursing the whole household and making an obscene gesture.
Outside, Elodie wiped her face with a wet wipe and opened her phone. Dozens of messages from her mother awaited:
You disgrace the family! Betray your own sister! Are you ashamed?
She didnt reply, simply turned the screen off in silence. But the drama wasnt over.
The next day Camille posted on social media: Dont even trust your sistershe brought me a storebought cake pretending it was hers. How mortifying.
Elodie cried all morning, then gathered herself. Not for them, but for herself. That day she swore: no more cakes for the family, no more gestures of goodwill toward people who could step on you at any moment.
For the first time in ages she felt lighter, because now her life would contain only what is truly sweetno fakes, no hypocrisy, and no socalled family.
Clean Up This Mess Yourself: How My Sister Embarrassed Me in Front of Everyone Over a Cake
